A Silent Jolt

“Your loyalty was only ever determined by opportunity..”

‘This is really not nice‘, you say….with no hint of irony.

After so many years:

  • hiding your crippling self loathing behind false masks of charm, vivaciousness, achievement and talent;
  • manipulating everyone you meet to feed you with constant admiration, attention and preferably adulation, though you’ll seek and take a negative reaction rather than make no mark at all;
  • lying pathologically without conscience and often in grandiose fashion, to suit whatever it is you wish to do or make someone believe or feel about you, even when it would actually suit you better to tell the truth or the ’truth’ lies so manifestly elsewhere;
  • believing your own lies and feeling no remorse or guilt about them, their impact on people you supposedly ‘care’ about and how ridiculous you look simply ignoring or denying the truth when you’re outed;
  • belying no startle reaction when confronted with your lies. There’s no anxiety, fear or shame where there otherwise should be;
  • deflecting your lies onto other people or situations. Someone else is always responsible for your misleading actions. Or your invented/exaggerated illness, operation, accident…..…. caused you to ‘lose focus’;
  • surrounding yourself with ‘enablers’, family members, friends and colleagues who you’ve groomed to support your questionable behaviour, again through lies and manipulation, so that you can rely on them mopping up after you, defending your pity plays and even chastising whomsoever attempts to unmask you;
  • using anyone, including your own children, to assist you in justifying any misleading situation, which you see as not that big of a deal really;
  • feeling entitled to constant attention, affection, adulation and sex from those you have invested time in grooming, charming (and devaluing), though you ignore their feelings, needs, desires and achievements;
  • devaluing other people’s achievements when their successes drive your insecurity complex insane;
  • claiming that you’re easily bored to justify living by an entirely different moral code than the rest of the boring population: You think that degrading lesser mortals with smug sarcasm, thinly veiled as ‘only joking’, triangulating friends and partners into paranoid competition for your attention, provoking rage for your personal amusement through ‘fake’ controversial opinions, expressed for the sole purpose of bringing your chosen opponent down a peg or 3 ….you think these things make you some kind of charming and eccentric maverick…. No…… they make you a self-serving, manipulative arsehole.

After all these years, wearing your multiple masks in carefully distinct territories, maintaining your brain-washed enablers’ worship of your obvious lies and manipulations, allowing your ever-increasing need for attention (of any kind) to consume you, I guess it doesn’t feel ‘very nice’ to be ignored by your chosen ‘chief’ provider of narcissistic supply. Not that you can or will ever question your accountability in my having reached the end of the line. Despite slowly chipping away at my every effort to love and support you, by rewarding every truth I spoke (during hundreds of hours of intense conversation) with another lie. You will simply bad mouth me, play the victim and move onto the next empath who crosses your path. You cannot be alone, without supply.

Your loyalty was only ever determined by opportunity, like a 6 year old who forgets they had a play date when another friend crosses his path with a bag of treats. Whats the beef if you lie and cheat when your head gets turned by a random opportunity? You were only going for a treat after all. No big deal. You don’t want to grow up and be accountable. You just want your way.

I’ll tell you whats really ‘not nice’ honey. Discovering that final betrayal: another reckless and unnecessary lie. You choosing the high risk option, when the truth was banal and uncontroversial. You deciding to risk causing me substantial hurt (again), by fabricating yet another elaborate story, this time around your own child, simply to ‘justify’ being out rather than free to make a phone call and all of which was later compounded by a virtuoso performance of ‘how wonderful if feels to be able to be so straightforward with you my love’ …… The truth, that night, would have looked as simple and unequivocal as this : “I’m invited to ‘x’ birthday party tonight, so can we talk late, or would you prefer tomorrow?” Yup, definitely worth jeopardising my already limited trust in you for that….

My rage at you carelessly pushing me beyond where even I can find a half convincing excuse for your actions, fell silent in the absence of words to describe my pain or the will to fight. You are not worth fighting for. I’ve made so many excuses for your bad behaviour, accepted your obvious lies and given you ‘another chance’ time after time. I’ve sold myself short to a demented chameleon.

via Daily Prompt: Jolt

Reality denied

So my mum arrives Saturday,

So you won’t be free next week then?

I’d no idea she was coming at all….

So you won’t be free next week?

Well she expects me to drive her to the Paris house for Easter…

So you won’t be free next week then? Or for Easter?

Well I haven’t really thought that far ahead.

But you’ll be busy for Easter then?

I’ve made no firm plans yet.

So are you taking your mum or not?

Well she expects me to take her to meet my brother and then they’re staying at the house for Easter.

So you’re going to be in Paris with them for Easter?

They know I may have other plans, though they’d be delighted if I was around.

But you don’t have other plans?

Well I’d love to see you.

But you’ve already arranged the whole of April without consulting me. You’re clearly going to be with your mum and brother until after Easter. I imagine I’d have been invited, had you wanted me to be there. Saying you’d like to see me too, saying that now, sounds very nice but is impossible to achieve, given that you have already committed to them.

Oh no, they accept that I may or may not be around.

But your mother arrives Saturday and expects you to leave for Paris with her. You know that you will take her.

I’m so annoyed she didn’t consult me in advance. Honey the doctor has also just confirmed my appointment on the 24th.

I’d no idea you’d asked for an appointment? How convenient that it falls just after Easter. You’ll be able to spend the holiday with your mum and brother and then go up to Lille for the appointment.

Honey I do have to get my back sorted. The pain is chronic now. I simply can’t commit to any of our joint plans until I’ve got the pain under control. I just threw some random dates out there. I’m doing this for us. You do understand that don’t you honey?

Your back flares up every time you have a sticky situation to explain honey.

I do find it difficult to organise all of these things. Even though you may find them banal. I’m already having a panic attack thinking about the doctor.

You’ve had to organise a few appointments and make a few decisions. I’m sorry that you find that difficult honey. It just feels like you have a response, that isn’t an answer, to every question I ask. You’ve missed all of the significant moments in my life so far this year. You make no ‘plans’ but everything falls into place around the dates that suit you keeping all of your significant players apart. Panic attacks and illness are your response to awkward questions…..

Honey, I have to pop out to the shops, talk later?

2 hours later

Insert picture message – a painting” Honey, heres the painting I’ve been working on.

Looks like a great start. Nice movement.

Oh thank you honey, so do you like it honey?

As I said, yes. It looks like a great start (head in hands).

Denial

Dun

Sudoku, faut cu

Thats really all I can write.

Police phares calling

My mind is falling

Failing.

Gaslights burning

Stomach churning.

How to explain

The pain.

I talk about reflecting

But I’m dun with it.

Sista’s fecked it.

Im tired of this confusion.

Dun with your pollution.

This ain’t love.

Scrabble you say?

F*ing take it away.

Take your fake sudoku intellectualism

And stick it up your twisted chism.

Bonne nuit.

Bonne vie.

Dun.

Narcissus

Bloodsucker.
Inhaling the energy from my core,
Diverting my focus to your war,
Against honesty and care.
Fuck your rancid morals.
Lie alone in your self-serving lair.
But you won’t, will you….
Unmasked, but not startled,
Prince charming will simply resurrect,
Cast his ravenous eye to the next page,
Waltz his chosen victim into the golden cage,
Liposuction her very persona,
Entrap her with mirrored desires.
Its bile.
Parasite.
Ive wasted years feeding your empty soul,
Thinking my care could somehow lift you from the cold,
Believing your momentary lapses of verity,
Belied a tortured faith in sincerity,
Where there is none.
Nada, nothing, rien.

Disjointed Love

We’re on a roll
We’re on a high
Re-laying the foundations of this fragile unity
Lie upon sunshine fuelled lie.
Delicious fried niblets
Rosé on tap
En-sconsed in the moment
Content in the trap.
We lie aside each other, blissful
Amid the lamentable crowd
Of pimps and their charges
Barely disguised and proud.
The door is not open
Its not even ajar
But the mesmerising, twinkly ocean
Shifts all doubt to obscurity afar
And the rosé turns to red
As the conscious goes to bed
But the subconscious is still breathing
Listless resentment heaving.
With the inevitably devine sunset
Comes the onset of a crude awakening
Of desperately desired oneness
My heart is truly aching.
I am in a relationship with only me
My psychobabble support
Is just fabricating a fake he
Stop the clocks.
Disjointed
Forty-Eight months of talking in tongues
Time to shed the snake-skin of tolerance
And run

Fay’s Story

There was once a little girl named Fay
She was gracious and kind in every way
With her flaming red hair
She attracted more than one stare
As she quick-stepped through the passage of childhood.
As she blossomed through school and beyond
Fay struggled at times with le Monde
Her sweet nature betrayed her
And fed her bounty to that charismatic stranger
Blind to the mask, she strode on.
When she awoke to the truth, Fay was thirty-one
Browbeaten, confused and a mum
Despite a decade of devaluation
She kept schtum for fear of humiliation
And crawled into a private pit of ‘make-do’.
Submission, Fay learned, did not curry favour
It just fuelled verbal aggression and sulky behaviour
In the interests of the kids, she could take it
Until the day she understood they wouldn’t make it
She knew.
So she ran, that young woman named Fay
Still gracious and kind in every way
She began her new life
With no-one calling her ‘shitty wife’
She’s dancing again, is flame-haired Fay.