FAQ – Does the Narcissist Miss You After No Contact?

Let Me Reach with Kim Saeed

Sad Woman

A large percentage of people who’ve implemented No Contact with their Narcissistic partner will inevitably ask this question.  Why?  Because they are often consumed with missing the Narcissist, and they wonder if he or she has the same feelings of loss and sorrow…perhaps wondering if there’s a chance to rekindle the relationship.

The short answer is no.  When we wonder if the Narcissist misses us, we are projecting our feelings onto them.  The important thing to remember is that Narcissists do not think the way we do, nor experience the same emotions.  They operate solely from ego, so the usual emotions of missing someone or feelings of sadness and regret typically don’t affect them.  Below are the most common stages (emotional and physical) a Narcissist goes through when one has implemented No Contact (**These are not listed in order of rank.   These stages are for reference and can manifest in any…

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Winnie’s Wise Words

 

Zero to Hero (Blogging 101) Day Nineteen: Try a New Posting Style
Today’s assignment: build your storyteller’s toolbox by publishing a post in another format or a style you’ve never used before.


If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you. 

Winnie The Pooh, A.A. Milne

I don’t subscribe to the belief that the perfect fairytale relationship exists but beneath a façade of stone, I secretly want to feel this and say it one day.

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photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pensiero/142820570/ via http://photopin.com

Good sounds, bad sounds and Mike Patton.

The pallid beauty of the recital hall was revealed as the masses fled to the bar after the first act. Caroline and I resumed our conversation discussing the atmospheric wonderful-ness we’d just seen.

Our chat was overshadowed by a loud voice behind us.

“I liiike, haven’t smoked pot for aaages now. But I was liiike in Byron man and had some really good hydro a few months baaack,” he said. He was a short, hairy guy who’s deep voice was a great misrepresentation of his physicality.

You, me and Caroline, we’ve all met this guy –– talks nonsensically at full volume on a train, plane or bus and has a queue of people wanting to punch him in the face by the end of the conversation.

And he continued. “Nahhhh… I don’t really think of myself as a connoisseur of marijuana, but liiiike I know where to get good produce”.

Caroline and I stopped talking altogether. She eavesdropped then gave me an eye roll. We were in agreement, he was another narcissistic, drug-loving cool-hunter, complete with perfectly torn band shirt and lazy phonetics. Just another character in the beautiful mess of suits, trendies, music aficionados or Sonic Youth and Mike Patton lovers assembled at the recital hall that night.

The lights dimmed and the orchestra and singers came on stage and Mr Narcissus stopped talking. Wild shrieks and applause filled the space as a bespectacled Mike Patton walked out and waited for his cue to start.

The long-haired chatterbox behind us was silent as mesmerised as we all were by the performance unfolding on stage. A bizarre composition of words, noises, instruments and shapes splashed on-screen. Patton began to play his part, assuming his Italian alter ego rolling his r’s like a happy feline.

“Hot”. That’s what the lady up front said when the hall fell silent and Patton had finished arousing the crowd. Yes, hot indeed. Scan the faces in the crowd and you could pick the ladies with flushed cheeks and naughty thoughts.

The rest of the performance was a blur. Lots of wolf whistles, appreciative commentary and standing ovations at the end. Caroline and I waited for our row to clear so we could make our way out.

“Oh hey maaan yeah cool nice to meet you, where you from? I’m Ricky so whaddya think? Yeahh man I loved it. Well yeah like me and the baaand, we dabbled..”

Wonderful, I thought. Here we go again…

*Photo courtesy of http://www.sydneyfestival.org.au/

Sydney Festival

 

 

 

Song of the Week #1

One of the pleasures of being between jobs is spending time researching new music. And in compiling a list of Australian bands for a friend’s playlist, I came across this gem.

It makes me think of hazy summers drinking with friends, against a backdrop of the sun setting over the ocean.

Who, Why, Where.

It’s been over six months since the last blog post. The original reason I started blogging was to document my adventures in Europe, predominantly London, where I’d been living for the last 18 months. The need to write soon subsided given I knew my Visa was up in a few months so rather than write about my experiences I just lived them, then locked them away in my memory.

Now that I’m back in Australia, my homeland, it’s been a struggle trying to settle back in and so the time seems fitting for blogging again. I considered keeping a journal  but I feel like putting pen to paper is more difficult and there is no ‘Undo’ button to hit. So, I’m hoping sharing my thoughts through here serves as a form of therapy, a place to share thoughts, ideas and opinions,  and possibly gives me the confidence to start writing more often.

And connecting with like-minded people – well that’d be pretty amazing.

 

Part of the ZERO TO HERO: 30 DAYS TO A BETTER BLOG challenge.

 

Ignorance

You still speak of your ex, her wealth and her greatness, while I simmer in my standardness, never able to be that wonderful.

You are not aware of your effect on me. When your instant message appears on my screen during work hours, I feel my stomach doing somersaults like it did when I was ten. I don’t get why, you are not someone I ever dream my life is complete with. Yet I can not say no.

I act like you are just a friend. An acquaintance I met at a place we work together but I feel like I know you more than you will ever know. Applying lipstick carefully when we are just meeting for after-work-drinks. Acting nonchalant I pretend it’s just a beer but I will gladly rearrange my life for you even though I should not because you won’t do the same. I’m just another girl to add to your list of friends.

You are no good for me. You want things my wage can not buy. You care for things that don’t save lives. You want things I do not want and know things I have never known. But you and I are made from a similar cloth that I wear everyday. I want to ignore you, be cool and tough but for some reason I just can’t.

Here

Grey cotton skies
fumble past the pane.

The Eye peeks through the horizon,
a bittersweet reminder
of distance.

I drink my coffee,
You embrace slumber.

But you should be here
dousing the candlelight.

And I, cutting you the first slice of cake.

The Things Happy People Know

Simply beautiful.

Thought Catalog

Happy people know that everything is fleeting. They know that the struggles they face will pass, but at the same time, they also know that the great things that are in their lives will pass as well. Happy people live in the moment.

Happy people don’t call themselves “happy people” or think of themselves that way. They define happiness as a sense of peacefulness and contentment mixed with pursuing their deepest passions. This is what happy people know.

They know that few things matter more than how much you love everyone, starting with yourself. They know that loving yourself means respecting yourself and doing for yourself what will make you the best you possible.

They know that nothing should be taken too seriously, and that all they give will be returned to them twofold. They know that there is a greater plan and a higher force. They live in awe…

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Daily Prompt : Unconventional Love.

He built useful things. Like kitchen benches. With his hands.

The appeal of someone who doesn’t require daily interaction with a computer or other technological beast was something I’d never thought twice about.

It could actually be, that for the first time in the longest time I’d met someone I was compelled to know.

He was leaning towards me the entire first few hours at the table as we drank. His confidence was mildly distracting. I was completely dumbfounded by his presence as I was having an ongoing internal argument about whether or not I even found him attractive. I don’t even like blondes.

On that date night, he took me on a journey to half of the most interesting pubs in my neighbourhood. Drinking bourbon to Johnny and June at places called Slim Jims. With every new pub, we got closer to my flat. He was not to know.

We walked in a tipsy state to the next pub. As he set off in front of me I noticed he walked like a cowboy. His leather jacket, so rock n roll. And that longish, unkept hair and scruffy beard. Don’t even get me started on that English accent.

Or the revelation he played guitar. In a band. Or two.

2am at the Lexington and I was ordering another round at the bar as Death from Above 1979 ‘Romantic Rights’ played. I thought the night had reached it’s peak.

But then he grabbed my hand and we danced through the smoke filled room like school kids at an underage disco. It’s about this time when I shamefully admitted to myself like a pathetic, lovesick teenager, I could have died happy. Six months of loneliness in London washed away by a guy like him, dancing to a song like that.

Arriving home at 4am my flatmate told me she watched a happy couple carrying on at the gate to the flat and wanted to be that girl. ‘They looked like they were having so much fun,’ she said. ‘And I realised it was you’.

But swiftly the promise of one perfect first date petered out to an average second date, followed by nothing.

He left me wondering what his favourite colour was, the foreign lands he’d travelled to, the albums he loved the most and the name of the girl who first broke his heart. He left me hanging on sentences, analysing conversational idiosyncrasies that meant something positive upon interpretation.

I started to create a fictional character based on filling in the blanks of who I thought he might be. A made up man I could have been falling in unconventional love with because the one I wanted, I would never actually know.

More unconventional love here>

Happiness This Very Second

Thought Catalog

When was the last time you felt like this little boy?

I’ve spent the past 20 years worrying about money. Worrying about what other people thought of me. Worrying about relationships, love, loss. Awkward about people, places, things, agendas Agendas. Thinking about the people who were angry at me. Obsessing on the people I was angry at. Scared to fail. Afraid to adventure. Thinking I had to achieve goals to alchemize unhappiness into happiness. Thinking I had to be the smartest person in the meeting, the room, the building, the city, thinking that the only way to I could ever be HAPPY was to get away far away far far away from HERE just so I could get THERE in the land of the “goals”. In the land of the “motivations”. In the land of “success”.

What a waste.

Now I hear the birds chirping, its not yet 5am. If…

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