She pulls up every day at about 11:30 in the morning. She parks her new car next to the park across the street from our house. She gets out and immediately lights up a cigarette. Her clothes have a kind of urban style. Maybe she’s a professional of some sort — lawyer, doctor, counselor, accountant or banker. I imagine she might be between appointments or on her way to lunch. She usually dresses in dark colors, a leather car coat and delicate, black framed glasses. She’s tall and thin with dark brown hair. She never stands still. Most of the time she’s talking on her cell, walking back and forth, beside the length of her car. She’s trying to quit smoking. She doesn’t want to smoke inside her car.
She promised her partner that she had quit, and she fools herself into believing that he won’t smell it on her, or the car.
When she talks on her cell, she seems excited and happy. She acts like someone who has something wonderful to look forward to. She barely pays any attention to the cigarette in her hand. She’s one of those interesting people who can’t seem to talk without moving their hands. I half expect her to send either her phone or the cigarette flying. Every time she makes a point in the conversation, I see her emphasize with her hand, or look up at the sky and let out a laugh, or sometimes she does all three at once.
She appears to be energized by the conversation.
The mornings when she’s not talking on her phone, she seems like a completely different person. She smokes one cigarette after another. She paces beside her car, head down, with her other hand in her pocket. It’s as if she’s waiting for the phone to ring, or contemplating her next appointment, or mentally ticking off her to-do list.
She hangs out longer on the days that she’s not talking on her phone. She can’t bring herself to get back in her car. She lights one more cigarette, thinking that for sure the phone will ring.
She’s avoiding the next appointment, and the long list of things to do, that is laying on the passenger seat.
If I were the type of person who could read auras, I’d probably find that she has two completely different ones. When she’s on the phone, she’s animated, and her aura twinkles with sparks of silver and turquoise. It radiates from her.
On the days when she’s not on her phone, and she’s pacing with her head down, her aura is all brown and charcoal and close to her body, almost suffocating her.
But in both cases, she is agitated and restless. Even when she’s excited while talking on the phone, she can’t quit moving. She hasn’t been allowed to quit moving. The restlessness makes it impossible for her to quit smoking. The restlessness also makes it impossible for her to meld her two personalities.
She would like to always be the energetic, enthusiastic person on the phone, who barely notices the cigarette in her hand. But her insecurities and doubts make her pace back and forth and chain smoke. She’s good at pretending that everything is fine when she’s on the phone. But when she’s not on the phone, the weight of her inability to please, and the pressure to continually fill the emotional back account are taking a toll.
I can identify with her restlessness.
I used to be there.
Tomorrow I’ll bring her a steaming mug of coffee.
Tags: divorce, humor, life, narcissism, narcissistic behavior, proactive, survive
I am in awe of your power with words. Instead of smoking, I am trying to fill the emptiness with food. Who knows, maybe a large percentage of the obese women are in a relationship with a narcissist. And the food isn’t mean or critical. Just a thought.
Jesse’s words, I cling to, I savor.
Phyllis you are not alone. The food helps for awhile, it is comforting, soothing, it doesn’t give you the evil eye, no nasty comments, I am right along with you. Over the years I have gained the weight that I never thought I would. I have lived in a loveless, narcissistic marriage for too many years, but am still here. I take one step forward and seven miles backward. I used to be strong and now I am old, tired and sad. I don’t know what the answer is, but there are others of us in your shoes.
Hang in there.
phyllis and Annie,
I can’t stop thinking about both of you. And yes, I am an accommodator and a fixer, so I won’t sleep unless I offer something. I am the type who can’t eat if I’m stressed. I could have been a smoker, and have smoked at certain points, but now cigarettes scare me. I could have been a drinker. But, I hate feeling ill the next morning. I don’t think I use a substance for filling that hole. I think I depend on relationships for filling that hole. That puts a hell of a lot of pressure on the people that I have relationships with. (And here I will apologize to all of you for that. You know who you are.)
But here is something that is cathartic, healing, fun, productive and (if you let it be so) guilt-free. Express all those emotions through something creative. Don’t think it has to be painting or drawing. It can be anything that expresses who you are that adds beauty to the world. Here is a short, and by-no-means comprehensive list of suggestions: decorating your house, writing in a journal, listening to music, viewing art, reading, gardening, cooking (make a chocolate cake and share it!), doodling, knitting, sewing, scrapbooking ….. You don’t have to make the art or the music or the book — the simple act of enjoying those created by others expresses who you are; and your reaction and appreciation adds beauty to the world.
Creating something uses those energies and channels that restlessness, turning it into something good.
Best wishes,
Jess
p.s. Let me warn you, though. None of these creative ventures will benefit you if you are constantly beating yourself up while you perform them. That means … tell yourself how lovely your garden looks when you are done; remind yourself that nobody else can decorate a house like you can; no one can create a scrapbook page exactly like yours, and no one has tasted a killer brownie like the one you bake. (Just don’t eat the whole pan. I’m saying that with love!)
Dear Annie and Jesse Thank you both for your comments. Jesse your suggestions are really good. I am going to try to choose one and DO IT. Annie my heart goes out to you also. I have been in a loveless narcissistic marriage for years. I am old tired and sad too. But I finally had the courage to leave him 10 months ago. It is the most difficult thing I have ever done. And it is not over yet. But it is a little better. He begged me to come back many times. He said that he had “changed”, and I wouldn’t know for sure unless I gave our marriage “one more chance”. But I didn’t go back. And I am 68 years old! He has a new “friend” now. I should be divorced before too long. I care about you both very much and all others who are dealing with this pain — and painful it is. Keep your chins up. You are loved.
Phyllis,
The first thought that popped into my head when reading your comment was this…
We must have found each other here for a reason. Phyllis, maybe you will find support and kinship with us. Annie, maybe Phyllis will show you that it’s never too late to start over. And I benefit from having others to connect with who know so well how difficult this journey can be.
Thank you.
Maybe sneak her a decaff? Sounds all too familiar.
Jenny,
Good call on the decaf…