C4C had an amazing year. There were 149 different visitors just on the day, with 1,635 comments. Last year we had 335 comments, which means we had over 500% more chat this year!
Partly I think the new system made it easier to manage, and easier for visitors to navigate. Of course, the sprawling readership of Rara helped, as did the numerous people who posted badges. My thanks to everyone.
There was talk about doing C4C for other times of year. Perhaps I’d need to change the blog name for that? And not to Company for Valentines Day which unlikelyexplanations pointed out would be C4VD! Ick! We will see.
Meanwhile, this next bit might be easier, and also a bizarre experiment of a kind.
Company For New Year?
I can’t help but think that watching the new year traverse the planet through the window of C4C comments…
I haven’t written about narcissism for quite a while now. Yesterday, however, it was brought to my attention again in a most direct way.
M was organizing the garage and came across two packages that I’d left on a shelf out there after the divorce. I had forgotten about them. M brought them in so that I could decide what to do with them. Both of them were from the ex-narcissist and I had put them in the garage because I didn’t want them in the house. I felt that I needed to hang on to them for a while in case there was more legal stuff from him, but I also felt that if I had them in the house, they might somehow contaminate the air.
Sound odd? I have to say that I don’t completely understand it myself. At the time, I still had furniture belonging to him in the house. But somehow, these parcels needed to be outside.
Perhaps it was because they were attempts to engage me, to ensnare me, to get me back.
One contained a book, a biography, and I’m fond of reading those, as Harry, the ex-narcissist, is aware. Inside the front cover was a letter. Yesterday I read it again and had it really brought home once more why he is such a dangerous person.
It was highly manipulative. It began by saying that he had read the book and thought I would like to, as well. He went on to claim that he was in therapy. Then it segued into a highly angry and very factually inaccurate lecture about what I had done to him: how I had abandoned him, betrayed him, and mislead him. That on our last evening together I had berated him and thrown a tantrum. That I had driven him to despair and suicide. That I had colluded with my counsellor to bring him to his knees.
Want to know what really happened?
Here is how it went: while we were in a restaurant in another city, he started berating me for eating too much – this happened a lot – and also started loudly commenting on the eating habits and sizes (they were completely normal) of the family seated across from us – also something that was happening more frequently.
When we left the restaurant and returned to the vehicle, he continued to harangue me about my weight until we stopped for gas. I went inside to pay – of course it was me paying – and when I came back out, he started shouting and swearing at me about how I had slammed the vehicle door and that no one had ever done that to him before. I went around to the other side of the vehicle, picked up my suitcase and started walking away. At that point, a police officer who had witnessed Harry’s tirade stopped and asked me about what I was going to do and if I needed assistance. He left his number with me.
I found a hotel for the night and flew home the next day. The day after that, I informed Harry that I was divorcing him. This incident was the catalyst, the final straw, so to speak. That minuscule amount that just does you in. He had shouted at me for the last time.
Grounds for Divorce (song) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
But, back to the letter. After the lecture he went on about how we had had some good times together before Christmas. Reality: he came by in November to pick up some of his furniture; a good friend of mine did most of the interacting with him and another accompanied me when I went with him to his storage locker a couple of days later to pick up some things that he had “accidentally” taken from the house. I was never alone with him and never gave him one iota of encouragement, but according to him, we had had “good times” and I was sending positive signals for a reconciliation.
He then ended the letter by saying that he still loved me and wanted to get back together.
Its construction was interesting: get me to buy in by beginning with a subject of interest – biographies. The book was intended as a present. How can a present be bad? He followed this up by stating that he was in therapy. Great, right? Wrong. This was the thin edge of the wedge; he tried to take me off my guard and soften me up before going in for the kill.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
He then attempted to elicit a response from me by writing a series of exaggerations and falsehoods couched in the emotional language of the pseudo- victim. He was betting that I would respond on several levels – that I would feel called to defend myself about his inaccuracies and falsehoods, that I would feel sorry for him, that I would feel guilty, that I would consider taking him back. His intent was to engage me in some sort of discourse and then make use of further manipulation – twist my thinking so that I could no longer tell the difference between reality and his fictional accounts.
The other parcel contained ceramics that do not belong to me; again, they were designed as an entry to further contact.
I have destroyed the letter. I am giving away the book and the ceramics.
If nothing else, this shows how careful one has to be when eliminating a narcissist from one’s life. It’s extremely important not to respond to their manipulative attempts at communication, even if it appears to be completely harmless. Tough to do, but completely necessary.
If you have been in a “relationship” with a narcissist, it is paramount that you cut the contact as soon as possible.
Appearances can be deceiving, and Harry is very, very good at keeping his up. After all, that’s how I got involved with him in the first place.
We stayed at the Post Hotel at Lake Louise, which is my favourite hotel in the world and features the most wonderful menu and wine list. (Sorry, I wasn’t able to upload a photo of the Post Hotel – arrrgg – the following picture shows Lake Louise and the Chateau Lake Louise Hotel where we had dinner.)
Lake Louise (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A great day was had at the nearby Emerald Lake, including lunch at the Emerald Lake Lodge followed by some walking around the lake. Two of our sons thought that it would be a good idea to jump into it – pretty cold, even in August!
Emerald Lake (Photo credit: K J L)
Emerald Lake really is a very distinctive green; this is caused by minerals in the water from glacial run-off. All of the lakes in this region are impressive and varying shades of green and greenish-blue.
We had a fabulous dinner at the Chateau Lake Louise Hotel; M used to work there many years ago. He had fun taking a nostalgic walk around, remembering all the stuff he used to get up to and telling his sons about his life there on the hotel staff.
Chateau Lake Louise reflecting in the water (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
After our sons returned to their various parts of Canada – Ontario, British Columbia and Saskatchewan – (when the wait staff asked us where we were from, we were happy to say, “all over Canada!”) M and I spent some time on our own, as all newly married couples should do :).
So, I’m going to be away for a few days and will miss some of your posts, but I will be neglecting them for a good reason – M and I are tying the knot!
We will be staying at Lake Louise in Banff National Park with our boys (read adult men) where we will be enjoying great food, great scenery and, and, and.
A Crabeater Seal graces an ice floe in the Penola Strait, Antarctica. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The dreams of adventure consumed her every night before sleep claimed her. Wrapped in the thick comforter as the heat from the downstairs fireplace lent the last vestiges of warmth before cooling, the ticking of the contracting timbers further lulled her entry.
The hero charging the menace and saving the town. The crowd cheering in grateful abandon.
The rescue of hundreds from a dense jungle.
The rush to save the boy trapped on an ice floe.
She had done it all.
And always, the gratitude, the beaming congratulations, the modest thanks.
Hard work in the morning. Helping her father with the hay, the sheep, the cows, running, hauling, pulling, sweating in the sun.
And, staying out of her mother’s grasp. The tight, hot kitchen with its endless jobs repulsed her. The real work was outside. But somehow, her mother’s company appealed to her, even as she hated it and fought it and forced herself to help her father.
Outside was important. There were many possibilities there. But you had to prove yourself. Prove your strength. Prove your mettle. Prove your unemotional goodness.
Inside was different and to be avoided at all costs. It wasn’t important. It was … it was … it was less.
But there anyway. Forced into it. Dragged into it. Her father ordering her back to the kitchen and telling her that her mother needed her.
Listening to her mother’s stories of long-ago dances when she was pretty and admired, the dream shifted. She became concerned about what she might wear to the jungle. How would she look? What would she do about her hair?
And later … she was the one being rescued from the jungle.
But still … but still. The desire for more!
To be able to choose. To choose to accept.
No. You’re a girl.
But working outside … yes.
No. You’re a girl.
She didn’t know when the crying started. Why are you crying, her father asked.
She couldn’t answer. Inarticulacy choked her. Shut off the air. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Women, her father muttered before stomping off.
Later, she dreamed that she was trapped on an ice floe.
As I write this my partner, M, is busy in the kitchen making muffins. He is using an old recipe book, one of those great little gems that isn’t at all fancy but completely useful and built around the notion of good nutritious food that is also meant to be comforting and filling.
Old fashioned concepts, perhaps. For many of us, living our lives of plenty, we worry about comfort foods that fill us up. At best, they are starting to become guilty treats and at worst, calorie bombs to be decried and banned.
Sadly, they have lost their position as foods to be honoured and enjoyed after a long day of hard work.
I have good memories of such foods. Walking home from school on a cold rainy day to the yeasty, thick warmth of my mother’s kitchen as she pulled new bread from the oven. My cheeks warming up as sitting on the yellow stool, she served a thick slice, butter melting into the white softness.
We talked softly, too. About school. About my plans. About my friends’ plans. Dreaming about life to the accompaniment of pure edible bliss.
Much was discussed in that kitchen with the yellow stool while a drift of gratifying comfort foods was being prepared and consumed.
The Canadian men’s ice hockey team celebrates winning the gold medal in overtime over the United States during the 2010 Winter Olympics (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
It’s official – I have a new blog name! My particular thanks to Project Southsea for his suggestion which I then altered slightly. In his football obsessed (soccer) nation, the term “back of the net” is a reference to scoring a goal, but in Canada, a hockey obsessed nation, that term would mean that the puck is “behind” the net.
My puck is definitely in the net.
Two little words, big difference, so I made a couple of changes. I am, therefore, now officially called “In the Net! – Stories of Life and Narcissistic Survival.”
My original title, “Narcissism – One Woman’s True Story of Marriage to a Narcissist” is now a category title, and I still want to post about that topic and stick to my original intention of warning others about getting into relationships with these people. But as I indicated in my last post, there are many other things that I want to write about, too.
I will still have to closely guard my privacy by altering anything that could personally identify me or the people in my life, but there’s much that I can share.
Thanks to all of you who have supported me with your follows, your comments or just by clicking “like.” You are all very much appreciated.
So, if you’re interested, ask what you would like – and with your permission, I may turn your question into a post!
When I first started this project, all I wanted to do was throw my voice into the growing chorus of warning about narcissists and the damage they can do to the rest of us. And I intend to keep posting about that topic.
But I also find that more and more, I want to post about other things – as you’ve probably noticed.
It’s interesting how this blog has changed since I started it – it has almost taken on a life of its own, something that I think is a good sign of growth and moving on – a very suitable notion for spring.
And I have moved on. I no longer feel the intense urgency to write about narcissism that I did in the beginning. I have crossed a Rubicon of sorts – I’m no longer inside the box but outside, having a peek, grateful that I’m no longer trapped in there. In the light – a much better place to be.
In tandem with this is the fact that I have a wonderful relationship with M, that we’re making plans together, that despite the crap, one can have a perfectly ordinary, perfectly good life again.
Yes, I was married to a narcissist. And I lived through it, even though there were days when I seriously thought I was losing my mind. It’s not an exaggeration to say that I felt like I was in hell.
I’m still cleaning up the financial mess that he left me with and I will be doing that for a while, but M is also helping me.
There are times when I still wish that I had never laid eyes on him, but then I remember how much I have learned, and I would never want to give that up, in spite of how much it cost me.
In the Net! - Pictures and Stories of Life 