Narcissistic Rage, aka “wah wah wah”

Here’s another little link to a post which I found quite interesting, which discusses Narcissists and Emotional Accountability.

Narcissists are emotionally stunted. Almost without exception, they are developmentally stuck at around the age of “I wanna sweetie” and have zero emotional intelligence or insight. Narcissistic rage is absolutely a thing, where they’ll throw a toddleresque strop if you challenge them or pull them up on something.

One example I have of this with James took place on Friday the 21st of October.

At that time I was quite ill. It was around the period where I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome, and I was getting virtually zero support from the great and mighty “Bear”. I’d struggled a great deal that morning and was lacking in energy – symptomatic of the two conditions – so I was running late. James decided that he wanted to go to the shop right that minute, but he also wanted to walk out of the house together – which was quite deliberate on his part and designed to stress me out even further. This meant that I had to be responsible for making sure the windows and doors were all secure before leaving. Instead of helping, James literally just stood there at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me.

We walked out of the house, and he didn’t lock the door behind him, saying it didn’t need to be locked as he was only going to be gone for a short time. I said the door needed to be locked, even if he’s only going out for a few minutes. Not an unreasonable request, especially as my dog was in the house, and if anything if happened to her for which he was to blame, I’d have made a purse out of his balls.

James pulled a massive teenage style strop and stomped off to the shop. It was utterly pathetic, but at the time succeeded in fucking me off and upsetting me to the nth degree. The following texts were the arguments which followed. Note, the blame is shifted onto me immediately and the douchecanoe accused me of using him as an emotional punchbag. Note too the use of repetition and assertation of his status as victim in order to try and get his ridiculous, childish and vacuous point across. I actually look back at this and laugh – of course it’s only funny now that I am away from him, and now that he has no power over me.

Edit: to be clear, this wasn’t the first time we’d had an argument about locking the front door. He insisted there was no problem with leaving it unlocked. Locking a door ain’t hard, is it? He would always insist that there was no problem. Same with open windows – he just wouldn’t close them, and we had that discussion on several occasions, to the point that I didn’t trust him to lock up properly. He has no regard for my proper at all, and reacted badly to any perceived criticism. It’s been pointed out that the message I want was condescending – after spending a year with a narc, you’re in pretty much permanent fight or flight mode, and you’re aware that the most reasonable of requests will be rebuffed and will turn into a row of some description.

I probably come across like an arse in these messages too – I was in pain, I was exhausted, and the snappiness came from being constantly on edge in case I was verbally or emotionally attacked by James. Let’s quickly touch on James’s statement about how little he claimed he moans about his leg or back.


Every day. At every available opportunity, he would remind me that his back and/or leg hurt by either telling me directly, or rubbing his leg, or wincing in pain. If I didn’t ask him how he’s leg was, he’d punish me emotionally. If I didn’t intuit from his behaviour that he was in pain, again, emotional punishment, in the form of flipping something to be my fault, tormenting me by causing an argument which would leave me dejected and depressed, or something similar. He literally wanted me to be a fucking mind reader so that I always knew whether or not he was in pain. And he did literally nothing to help himself. He didn’t do the exercises his physio gave him. He didn’t eat well – he ate like a teenager – noodles, bread, all the brown stuff – yes claimed to have a highly developed palate (he claimed to have worked as a chef for his dad, who owned a hotel. He told a previous girlfriend that he worked in a fast food joint. Mmmm – which one was it? I’m guessing neither). He also lived like a filthy teenager. He’d leave wrappers on the floor. Used toothpicks around the house. Dirty tissues. Food containers. Guess who had to clean that up? Yup – muggins here. When he moved in, there was a sudden switch. He would wait for me to cook for him every night. When he did cook, it was either convenience food, or something more involved which he’d then use as a single example of how he “helped” me. When he lived alone he was perfectly capable of doing the laundry, but as soon as he moved in I became his drudge.

He even suggested once, with a smirk on his smarmy face, when he’d blame shifted onto me and I ended up promising to be nicer, that it would be a nice gesture for me to clean his boots.

How about fuck off?

Anyway. There’s my rant for the morning. The lesson here is – if it looks like a twat and acts like a twat, then it’s definitely a twat. So walk away and don’t accept bad behaviour from lowlifes who seek to destroy you in order to mitigate their own feelings of inadequacy and emptiness.


Author: Tracy

Streaky bacon for the soul. Comforting, sometimes salty. Arty. Obtuse. Taker of photographs. Contradictory.

Have something to share?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s