The narcissist spends incalculable hours bragging about his genius and the cesspool of stupidity in which the rest of us exist. He once explained to me that if he told himself something enough times, it would become true. I can still picture him sitting there telling himself he is a genius, an innocent victim, and an excellent father, but that doesn’t make it true. Sucks for who?
How I long to forget all the painful and traumatic experiences. In truth, it really is all in my head, filed away in excruciating detail waiting for the perfect trigger to bring it all flooding back. Getting over it is a beautiful dream I work towards every day. Do you honestly think I haven’t already told myself to get over it thousands of times? If it were that simple, don’t you think I would have done it long before now? If only my brain came with a delete button, I could slip into blissful amnesia.
The Death Stare is the look in his eyes when you can see straight into his dark soul. I don’t remember when he started doing it to me, but I remember seeing it whenever I was about to say or do something that would give a glimpse of his true nature to others. The Death Stare was a familiar look during the divorce, even when we were in court. He knew precisely when to give it to me so the lawyers and judge could not see. It sent a chill down my spine every time, and I learned to keep my eyes focused on the floor, only looking up when the judge addressed me directly. The most disturbing and devastating thing about the Death Stare is hearing my children talk about it. They too were on the receiving end of this chilling look, and they are the ones who gave it a name.
Once the Good Doctor was unmasked, he showed his true self in all his rage and fury. Still able to wear the mask in public, he pretended to be the homeless, impoverished victim while making me out to be the villain. I wasn’t the only one who saw you with the mask off, and they remember who you are indeed. The gig is up, and you still pretend to be the Good Doctor.
I’ve learned to do it myself and not because I don’t want help but because I know better. Too many times help is disguised as something else. Instead, help is offered as a sort of down payment for future servitude. Fulfillment of this servitude is expected immediately upon request, regardless of the circumstances. This is a concept I’ve come to understand as an adult, and quite frankly, I’d rather do it myself than be in debt to a selfish soul. In return, when help is genuine and truly selfless, it is seen as the truly beautiful thing that it is.
The Narcissist has no shame. To have shame is to feel bad about doing something wrong. To have shame is to regret hurting others. Instead of feeling shame, the Narcissist lies, deflects blame, or claims amnesia, all while looking you straight in the eye.