24/7

I’m beginning to share, in apology, about narcissistic abuse. I tell them that I am getting over my mental issues but still chained to the drink. I could say that a satanic narcissist dedicated to nail-gunning my ballbag to a tree finally got around to doing it over the weekend, and they would only be interested in me reducing my overall consumption of alcoholic units. It’s not seeming to go down very well. Must be quite a rare thing, having your brain pulverised daily by a narcissist.

I didn’t tell them that my oppressors are falling over each other like bashed skittles in order to chip away at me. They remind me of rabid scavengers. I’ve truly adopted it into my heart now that they are nothing much more than oppressed themselves, even if only by their complete inability to see anything further over the horizon apart from their odd and startling obsession with me, which is mad as f**king anything and takes some believing.

I thought I had an infatuation with Canadian Alexandra (less said the better). I wrote my best novel all about her, which took four years, plus many many hours watching her onscreen. In the end I grew out of her and moved onto other women. No matter how beautiful someone is, there is always another equal or improved model around the corner on Life's Highroad. I’ve never hoped my perps would find another ‘victim’ because that would be passing the buck. They might settle for a school girl with no lived experiences to help her cope with the bizarre attention. At least I am a grown ass ugly bloke. That’s why I have a hard time comprehending their twisted voyeurism. If I was a pretty woman, I’d understand it.

I couldn’t stare at another fella all day. Not even Elvis Presley or Christian Slater or Dwayne Johnson. Not even if they had piglet roasters (large penises) buried inside every individual of Little Mix.

I don’t fancy these dudes by the way, they’re the first three geezers I could think of.

If the entire universe, in its mammoth breadth of limitless entertainment options, is not enough to distract my voyeurs from removing their concentration span away from me for more than two seconds, then you might ask yourself then what possibly can? I wish I could tell you the answer.

Even God The Creator himself is not as interesting as me to them. They are utterly immersed and absorbed with every single individual thought in my napper. For years I thought I was getting head-fucked, as they call menticide around here these days, but now I understand that they are simply making a show out of lifeform by revealing how hopelessly inadequate they are at fending for themselves. Why feel the need to eavesdrop on me and follow me around like spaced-out lemmings all day long?

The worse they can do of late is give me dream manipulations, which no doubt cheers them up a bit. Gone are the days of old when they would drive me out of town or into a secure ward. I bet they still weren’t happy when I thought they were demoniac activity, much less now, when I know they are cowards and retards.

That’s the difference.

If their silly little pathetic games had gone according to plan, they would have had me in their clutches by now (with no skin on, as they say, locked in a cupboard somewhere, with some prick sticking drawing pins in me) sincerely believing that they were powerful supernatural entities from a different planet. And guess what? I would sincerely believe it. If someone is physically hurting you and you are cuffed to a chair in their soundproofed utility room, you tend to agree with whatever bullshit they are offloading your way.