This is a long, personal post. I do not expect any of the forum to have the time to read it in entirety. However I hope you will forgive me for publishing as I think that unless I write this out of myself and seek to expel it, to acknowledge it in writing publically, I will suffer its effects long term. By expressing this personal experience on this forum my way I hope to take full ownership of it. Thank you for your understanding and forbearance.
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This is going to be very hard to write but I think it fitting as my 100th post that I open up and share with the forum concerning a personally costly 18 year professional relationship I’ve endured with a white collar psychopath. I am not sure what will come of this thread in terms of value to the reader but I feel it is important for me that I do so. Moreover I hope by sharing, (along with any feedback or mirroring I receive), it might prove of benefit for others in a similar plight or forewarn against the kind of turmoil and psychological destruction these creatures generate. I feel very alone with this experience (although I am already grateful for the fact that this forum is the one place I could raise this subject and be in some way understood) and unless I get it out of me and move on it has the potential to further the harm that has already occurred.
It is a long and messy tale so and I apologise in advance for that fact and will do my best to be concise. I must start by warning my fellow forum members, however, that I am only just emerging from the signs of PTSD and the turbulent professional ramifications of the recent and final (I trust) break down in this ‘relationship’ which may make me less than coherent, and so I ask your forbearance as I try to make sense of what this experience/lesson offers and my responsibility for allowing it to go on for so long.
Anyway, here goes.
My work is as a freelance director of theatre/opera, with most of my employment taking place in Ireland. I regard myself as a creative person but not an artist, a self aggrandising title claimed by many and achieved by few. I have been wholly financially responsible for my partner and two children for twelve years now meaning (because of the depressingly low fees in the so called arts) I have had to take whatever work is offered to me, irrespective of the circumstances; I simply don’t have the luxury to pick and choose. That is one of the main reasons why, despite ample previous negative first hand knowledge of the kind of creature I was dealing with, I chose to return recently to the crucible of punishment and continue an interaction that I would by conscious choice have long ago retreated from. I suspect, however, that there are other issues at stake here relating to an unhealthy symbiotic relationship that have drawn me back, which at some level I obviously was attracted to or perhaps thought I could master. Therefore there are issues of ego, of predators mind and of Identification that I need to look at to gain a full understanding of this ‘lesson’.
I will not mention any names for obvious reasons. The person in question heads one of the very few front line theatre organisations in the country and as such holds considerable power over the fortunes of others. As has been shown by the work of this forum and by Laura in particular, white-collar psychopaths emerge as the elite in many urbane arenas including the so called arts. The figure in question is notorious in my field to say the least; his narcissism is public and acute (he has a habit of merging his persona and that of the theatre he runs as being one and the same thing), his total lack of care and interest in anyone but himself, his disregard for loyalty, for talent, for anything other than his own world view and agenda, his viciousness when crossed or critiqued, his lack of moral code, his dog-eat-dog-and-I-am-the-king-dog philosophy, his promiscuity and sexual abuse of the opposite sex, his obsession with power at all costs, etc, etc, have always singled him out as a unique force in the sector. Everyone in the field talks about him with a perverse mixture of shock, awe, fascination, obsession and distaste. Everyone marvels and horrifies at his longevity in the role and his ability to maintain a grasp on the handles of power despite all his obvious defects, yet he commands enormous loyalty and dedication from a wide range of staff members, public figures, partners etc, all of whom seem to be caught in the flood light glare of his persona. His temper, his rudeness, his impatience, his ability to delight in abusing others is legendary. His unwillingness to listen to any other point of view once it conflicts with his is implacable. Everything, I mean everything, is about him. But rather than producing disgust these traits only seem to add to his mystic.
In any line of work this would be a highly septic cocktail but in a field such as the creative arts it is doubly detrimental as you tend to find the sector populated by idealistic and overly sensitive personalities – wishful thinking experts - who experience a sense of perpetual vulnerability and powerlessness as a matter of course. It is a perfect feeding ground for predators as the emotional energy is by definition high and exposing. He is expert at exuding the superficial traits of being one of us – being an ostentatious supporter of cutting edge artists, possessing a highly disciplined memory and an ability to imitate the language of the creative individual – but he meerly specialises in feeding and absorbing influences and energies that are not his own (he admits to having no feel or interest for the creative process). He blows hot and cold with individuals purely on a need to use basis and I know of many who have invested their hopes in this fake relationship only to find themselves dumped out in the cold when it no longer suits his needs. On the whole he affects a bombastic comradery with those he engages whose talents he drains to create the work only to move on to the next feeding park once he’s got what he wants from them.
The one position of engagement that reveals his true nature and inherent fault line is that of director. Actors, designers, administrators, etc come and go with the odd scar but on the whole they pose little threat to his dominant authority. Directors however, are the front line where power is shared and disputed. He sees them as an necessary evil, a craft and skill he knows he cannot do without (possessing none of the ability himself which he will readily admit – putting it down to a lack of patience and a low boredom threshold), and he has evolved ways and means of dealing with them. But when they actually bring the finished work into his domain – his building, his stage – to be paraded before the public, his personal mirror, then the battle commences. He transforms into a confrontational, bullying advocate for his sole opinion as arbiter of taste, likes and dislikes. If a director fails to bend to his whims they are rapidly assaulted with an intense level of psychological pressure and if they do not give way they are isolated and eventually expelled from further work, most often for good. This power of professional life and death is something he clearly relishes and always emerges victorious, at least in his world view.
I withstood this experience for, as I said, 18 years. Apparently he saw me as a threat from the very beginning. He knew I was good at what I do so reluctantly he took me in under the pressure of his number two who was a great advocate of mine. But it was always an uneasy choice on his part and one that has repeatedly flared up. He once said to this other person ‘why wont he(me) just pretend?’, meaning why wouldn’t I just pay full lip service to his dominance. This person has told me since she left the organisation that the biggest rows she had with him were over me. At the time in those early days I had no idea what I was dealing with – I mistakenly thought it was all about the work. If my work was good – which it was – he would then naturally be pleased and supportive, even grateful. Fool! For it never worked out like that. He much preferred conflict with me, something I was then particularly bad at (having grown up with a highly domineering, narcissistic father who had used intellectual ridicule as his way of maintaining his dominance over his children) and would repeatedly turn to abusive ends to get his way. I realise now just how vulnerable I was. I so much wanted to be accepted, even admired for my work. This chink of vulnerability – a combination of needy worthlessness, an emotionally sensitive nature plus a strange stubborn bloody mindedness – made me susceptible to his brand of dysfunctional pressure. During the course of our dealings there were 3 gaps of 2-3 years each where he would banish me from the building, only to summon me once more when his need was there (having run out of other options) and we would begin our dance again leading to the inevitable conflict and breakdown.
This is where I must look at my role more clearly. I clearly had an unfulfilled longing to be accepted, to be acknowledged. I always felt that my calling to the theatre was a spiritual one – that the work was about transformation, growth, revelation, renewal. It took me an age to realise that this was a yearning that few shared, least of all my nemesis. This overt identification clearly left me exposed to this kind of a destructive engagement – on the one hand a psychopath wanting it all to be about him, on the other a creative person with a fragile centre looking to be healed and renewed through a form of public exposure. A bad mix!
It took me a long time to work this strange dance out, both sides of which being highly uncomfortable to acknowledge. I finally came to know my own weakness over the many blows and turmoils of my career, not only in relationship to him but to other experiences beyond his reach which confirmed my own sorry state. I finally recognised him for what he was after reading and digesting Laura’s work on the subject and a final clue he gave me one day over a rather tense lunch late on in our journey (I had by then developed a way of being with him and indeed had taken up pretending some of the attributes of subservience and fake loyalty that he demanded). We were basking in the huge success of a show I had just directed for him, playfully (if dangerously) bantering each other about our differences, when he leant forward and said ‘you know what your problem is, you suffer from an empathy issue.’ And there it was; loud and clear. Even though in the moment I laughed out loud and gleefully remonstrated with him for not grasping that was the essence of what our work in the theatre was meant to be about – empathy – I felt a deep chill run through me. Out of the psychopaths mouth; for I knew what he meant. That empathy was a weakness and there to be ridiculed.
After that our paths separated for a while and I swore that I would not work with him again, despite the relative calm following the success of this production. Indeed, true to form he didn’t come looking for me again for another three years despite it being the greatest box office triumph in the history of his tenure. Part of me was relieved and determined that this time it would be permanent. But I also know that part of me just couldn’t let go. You see, hardly a day would go by without him coming into my mind. The many, many moments of slight, conflict, unfair and cynical treatment had left a terrible scar upon me. I hungered to ‘win’ in the end. I wanted to come out triumphant, in some way perhaps transform his view and make him need me! The on going silence hurt. It fed my pride and sense of shame with equal measure. My peace of mind, which has never been the same ever since I started working for him, failed to return. So when the call came once more, despite my protestations and declarations, I secretly delighted that here again was a chance for me to return to the table, to prove my worth, to be able to hold my head up and deliver whilst withstanding the storm. This is my shame; that knowing what he is I still allowed myself to go back. Sure the financial need was acute – the offer came at a moment when we were very low in funds and needing the injection badly. I gave this to myself as the excuse for going back on my word ‘never again’. Clearly though the psychopath had his claws deep within me and the lure was too great. I find this fascinating; that I knowingly re-entered the Medusa’s den, knowing what lay within and what the experience there would most likely be, believing that like Theseus I could somehow lop off his head and emerge victorious! No golden thread, no reflective shield for protection. Or rather foolishly believing that I now possessed such tools and the wisdom to deal with whatever my adversary could throw at me. Foolish boy! The beast has many shifts and tactics and one is always ready for the fall just when one makes the mistake of thinking one ‘knows oneself’!
I won’t go into the tedious details. Suffice to say I committed too much of my personal energy to the project at a time when my thinning personal resources had been much depleted by an extremely stressful and draining three year period, the end of which coincided with a full move of country back to Ireland and starting this project fulltime the day I landed. By the time we came to bring the work into the building I was both over confident and underprepared to take on the experience ahead. Elements beyond my control failed to deliver and I found myself in a storm whipped up by him that led to day in, day out confrontation and debilitation that lasted over a week. Doesn’t sound much but time seemed to stand still and it felt an eternity. A director is in many ways alone, and at this time I truly felt it.
It soon appeared that I was to take the blame for others failings; as it mostly emanated from within his own staff, and thus reflected badly on him, it was important to create a fake narrative that set me as the fall guy, especially as I was the only one willing to stand up and take responsibility. But instead of supporting me as the only one able and ready to solve the problem, he took this as an opportunity to isolate and destabilise me. And upon reflection I can see that I eventually succumbed to this pressure and gave him the ‘evidence’ he was seeking. I should have seen it coming. The real mistake I made was in believing I could weather the storm and manage the beast – and indeed it looked as if that were the case. But just at the point where it appeared I had won the situation back around, when ‘victory’ was in sight, he turned up the gas again and went for full out dismantling of my credibility and position. I had fallen for my own trap – I had arrogantly held onto the belief that I could withstand the pressure and out run him. I had not taken into account his hunger for the feeding frenzy, his delight in chaos, his desire to always complete the kill in the end. I was so shocked by this that I retreated, backing away and effectively walking right at the death, giving him all the ammunition he then needed to blame everything on me, inventing a false narrative of what had happened and relishing in tarnishing my reputation with all and sundry.
The experience at the time – albeit totally unphysical – was extraordinarily stressful. My sleep became fitful, haunted by disturbing dreams for weeks after. My sense of balance was gone. I felt completely numb and all at sea. I found myself cold all over – literally – as if drained of life force; dead man walking. I took repeated boiling hot baths in an effort to wash it out of me. I understood what it must feel like to be raped; the powerlessness, the abuse, the injustice, the absolute aloneness of it all. My mood became suicidal and utterly depressed. I went through huge downward swings and days of blackness. The first thing I thought of upon waking and the last before bed was the turmoil of it all. No blood had been spilled. No one had died. But I had. I was gone.
The extreme sensation of the aftermath lasted almost two months. I have hardly spoken of it to anyone (it’s too raw). My partner did her best but she had seen too much of it before and most of all, she couldn’t grasp the accute personal cost of it this time. As she said, ‘Its like it always is with you two. I’ve seen it all before’. She didn’t openly accuse me, but the feeling was there and one time she admitted she felt I was as responsible as he; I must have brought it upon myself. Blame the victim. Of course the absurdity of it was she is probably right; it must have been all my own choice. I let him and the experience into me. I should have laughed it off, but at the time it felt like death. Merely words and the physical presence, the pressure, the intimidation. Nothing like a violent attack. But in some ways it felt worse than had I been so assaulted. And yes it was different than before – the straw that breaks…
Now I feel some sense of recovery but I do not doubt it is a long road to healing. Further more it has finally killed my love for the theatre. I am over in that regard. He sits triumphant in his fake narrative of me, finally possessing his victory, able to present me as the problem and him as the hero. He remains fully in command of his resource (which provides him with an obscene revenue way out of proportion to the nature of the business he runs) and I struggle constantly with my low wage and with severely damaged reputation and work prospects. What a fool I was! And not once did I give myself the much needed satisfaction of calling him out face to face for what he is. Not once in 18 years! There was a moment this time when as I sat before him, a grown man, having to listen and accept his abuse and insane roarings, the desire - the cold, calm desire – arose in me to go for his throat and take him down! What stopped me other than a real fear that this would mean I would not get paid and I would no longer be able to pay the bills (in truth an actual impediment and a terror when you have sole responsibility for mouths to feed!)? I suppose it was a combination of my own pathetic attempt to hang onto my own sense of pride or self, a need not to give him what he feeds on – real reciprocated conflict. Should I have? Should I have called him out – would anyone have understood? I doubt it. He is surrounded by those who are enthral, whose livelihoods also depend on his largess. He is untouchable. We are the expendable. I feel great shame for not having the courage though. I think I feared my own breakdown – my own pain being exposed as ‘weakness’. That he would see he had me. The only thing I cling onto is the fact that he truly cannot know what I am – that whatever he has taken from me, what I have let him, he is still incapable of knowing anything of me because he is a psychopath and I am a human being.
Psychopaths rule our world at all levels. They do not need to command armies to do great harm. They rot everything they touch, everything sacred to the human condition. Intimacy, companionship, understanding, creativity, friendship, community, our ability to be in empathy, our ability to see ourselves enslaved. They isolate us by setting the narrative by which our world is understood, leaving the humans they prey on at odds with each other, unable to give voice to the menace within, believing that the narrative they set is the way of the world, the way things are meant to be. They create nothing; they feed on everything that vibrates. They are our destiny on this planet at this time, our Trojan horse – they are well inside the walls of the city and crow their victory over us from the wall tops. They care not what trail of destruction they leave behind delighting instead in the empty pleasure of victory over the rest of us. I know that at some level I am fortunate to have experienced first hand the complex inter relationship that exists between ourselves and our prime predator; the feeling of energy drain that is their tell-tell sign. But I am still left with an emptiness where once there was a real gift of light. How I get that back, if at all possible, is the next task in hand.
All is lessons. Knowledge protects; ignorance endangers.
Thank you. Bless you all.
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This is going to be very hard to write but I think it fitting as my 100th post that I open up and share with the forum concerning a personally costly 18 year professional relationship I’ve endured with a white collar psychopath. I am not sure what will come of this thread in terms of value to the reader but I feel it is important for me that I do so. Moreover I hope by sharing, (along with any feedback or mirroring I receive), it might prove of benefit for others in a similar plight or forewarn against the kind of turmoil and psychological destruction these creatures generate. I feel very alone with this experience (although I am already grateful for the fact that this forum is the one place I could raise this subject and be in some way understood) and unless I get it out of me and move on it has the potential to further the harm that has already occurred.
It is a long and messy tale so and I apologise in advance for that fact and will do my best to be concise. I must start by warning my fellow forum members, however, that I am only just emerging from the signs of PTSD and the turbulent professional ramifications of the recent and final (I trust) break down in this ‘relationship’ which may make me less than coherent, and so I ask your forbearance as I try to make sense of what this experience/lesson offers and my responsibility for allowing it to go on for so long.
Anyway, here goes.
My work is as a freelance director of theatre/opera, with most of my employment taking place in Ireland. I regard myself as a creative person but not an artist, a self aggrandising title claimed by many and achieved by few. I have been wholly financially responsible for my partner and two children for twelve years now meaning (because of the depressingly low fees in the so called arts) I have had to take whatever work is offered to me, irrespective of the circumstances; I simply don’t have the luxury to pick and choose. That is one of the main reasons why, despite ample previous negative first hand knowledge of the kind of creature I was dealing with, I chose to return recently to the crucible of punishment and continue an interaction that I would by conscious choice have long ago retreated from. I suspect, however, that there are other issues at stake here relating to an unhealthy symbiotic relationship that have drawn me back, which at some level I obviously was attracted to or perhaps thought I could master. Therefore there are issues of ego, of predators mind and of Identification that I need to look at to gain a full understanding of this ‘lesson’.
I will not mention any names for obvious reasons. The person in question heads one of the very few front line theatre organisations in the country and as such holds considerable power over the fortunes of others. As has been shown by the work of this forum and by Laura in particular, white-collar psychopaths emerge as the elite in many urbane arenas including the so called arts. The figure in question is notorious in my field to say the least; his narcissism is public and acute (he has a habit of merging his persona and that of the theatre he runs as being one and the same thing), his total lack of care and interest in anyone but himself, his disregard for loyalty, for talent, for anything other than his own world view and agenda, his viciousness when crossed or critiqued, his lack of moral code, his dog-eat-dog-and-I-am-the-king-dog philosophy, his promiscuity and sexual abuse of the opposite sex, his obsession with power at all costs, etc, etc, have always singled him out as a unique force in the sector. Everyone in the field talks about him with a perverse mixture of shock, awe, fascination, obsession and distaste. Everyone marvels and horrifies at his longevity in the role and his ability to maintain a grasp on the handles of power despite all his obvious defects, yet he commands enormous loyalty and dedication from a wide range of staff members, public figures, partners etc, all of whom seem to be caught in the flood light glare of his persona. His temper, his rudeness, his impatience, his ability to delight in abusing others is legendary. His unwillingness to listen to any other point of view once it conflicts with his is implacable. Everything, I mean everything, is about him. But rather than producing disgust these traits only seem to add to his mystic.
In any line of work this would be a highly septic cocktail but in a field such as the creative arts it is doubly detrimental as you tend to find the sector populated by idealistic and overly sensitive personalities – wishful thinking experts - who experience a sense of perpetual vulnerability and powerlessness as a matter of course. It is a perfect feeding ground for predators as the emotional energy is by definition high and exposing. He is expert at exuding the superficial traits of being one of us – being an ostentatious supporter of cutting edge artists, possessing a highly disciplined memory and an ability to imitate the language of the creative individual – but he meerly specialises in feeding and absorbing influences and energies that are not his own (he admits to having no feel or interest for the creative process). He blows hot and cold with individuals purely on a need to use basis and I know of many who have invested their hopes in this fake relationship only to find themselves dumped out in the cold when it no longer suits his needs. On the whole he affects a bombastic comradery with those he engages whose talents he drains to create the work only to move on to the next feeding park once he’s got what he wants from them.
The one position of engagement that reveals his true nature and inherent fault line is that of director. Actors, designers, administrators, etc come and go with the odd scar but on the whole they pose little threat to his dominant authority. Directors however, are the front line where power is shared and disputed. He sees them as an necessary evil, a craft and skill he knows he cannot do without (possessing none of the ability himself which he will readily admit – putting it down to a lack of patience and a low boredom threshold), and he has evolved ways and means of dealing with them. But when they actually bring the finished work into his domain – his building, his stage – to be paraded before the public, his personal mirror, then the battle commences. He transforms into a confrontational, bullying advocate for his sole opinion as arbiter of taste, likes and dislikes. If a director fails to bend to his whims they are rapidly assaulted with an intense level of psychological pressure and if they do not give way they are isolated and eventually expelled from further work, most often for good. This power of professional life and death is something he clearly relishes and always emerges victorious, at least in his world view.
I withstood this experience for, as I said, 18 years. Apparently he saw me as a threat from the very beginning. He knew I was good at what I do so reluctantly he took me in under the pressure of his number two who was a great advocate of mine. But it was always an uneasy choice on his part and one that has repeatedly flared up. He once said to this other person ‘why wont he(me) just pretend?’, meaning why wouldn’t I just pay full lip service to his dominance. This person has told me since she left the organisation that the biggest rows she had with him were over me. At the time in those early days I had no idea what I was dealing with – I mistakenly thought it was all about the work. If my work was good – which it was – he would then naturally be pleased and supportive, even grateful. Fool! For it never worked out like that. He much preferred conflict with me, something I was then particularly bad at (having grown up with a highly domineering, narcissistic father who had used intellectual ridicule as his way of maintaining his dominance over his children) and would repeatedly turn to abusive ends to get his way. I realise now just how vulnerable I was. I so much wanted to be accepted, even admired for my work. This chink of vulnerability – a combination of needy worthlessness, an emotionally sensitive nature plus a strange stubborn bloody mindedness – made me susceptible to his brand of dysfunctional pressure. During the course of our dealings there were 3 gaps of 2-3 years each where he would banish me from the building, only to summon me once more when his need was there (having run out of other options) and we would begin our dance again leading to the inevitable conflict and breakdown.
This is where I must look at my role more clearly. I clearly had an unfulfilled longing to be accepted, to be acknowledged. I always felt that my calling to the theatre was a spiritual one – that the work was about transformation, growth, revelation, renewal. It took me an age to realise that this was a yearning that few shared, least of all my nemesis. This overt identification clearly left me exposed to this kind of a destructive engagement – on the one hand a psychopath wanting it all to be about him, on the other a creative person with a fragile centre looking to be healed and renewed through a form of public exposure. A bad mix!
It took me a long time to work this strange dance out, both sides of which being highly uncomfortable to acknowledge. I finally came to know my own weakness over the many blows and turmoils of my career, not only in relationship to him but to other experiences beyond his reach which confirmed my own sorry state. I finally recognised him for what he was after reading and digesting Laura’s work on the subject and a final clue he gave me one day over a rather tense lunch late on in our journey (I had by then developed a way of being with him and indeed had taken up pretending some of the attributes of subservience and fake loyalty that he demanded). We were basking in the huge success of a show I had just directed for him, playfully (if dangerously) bantering each other about our differences, when he leant forward and said ‘you know what your problem is, you suffer from an empathy issue.’ And there it was; loud and clear. Even though in the moment I laughed out loud and gleefully remonstrated with him for not grasping that was the essence of what our work in the theatre was meant to be about – empathy – I felt a deep chill run through me. Out of the psychopaths mouth; for I knew what he meant. That empathy was a weakness and there to be ridiculed.
After that our paths separated for a while and I swore that I would not work with him again, despite the relative calm following the success of this production. Indeed, true to form he didn’t come looking for me again for another three years despite it being the greatest box office triumph in the history of his tenure. Part of me was relieved and determined that this time it would be permanent. But I also know that part of me just couldn’t let go. You see, hardly a day would go by without him coming into my mind. The many, many moments of slight, conflict, unfair and cynical treatment had left a terrible scar upon me. I hungered to ‘win’ in the end. I wanted to come out triumphant, in some way perhaps transform his view and make him need me! The on going silence hurt. It fed my pride and sense of shame with equal measure. My peace of mind, which has never been the same ever since I started working for him, failed to return. So when the call came once more, despite my protestations and declarations, I secretly delighted that here again was a chance for me to return to the table, to prove my worth, to be able to hold my head up and deliver whilst withstanding the storm. This is my shame; that knowing what he is I still allowed myself to go back. Sure the financial need was acute – the offer came at a moment when we were very low in funds and needing the injection badly. I gave this to myself as the excuse for going back on my word ‘never again’. Clearly though the psychopath had his claws deep within me and the lure was too great. I find this fascinating; that I knowingly re-entered the Medusa’s den, knowing what lay within and what the experience there would most likely be, believing that like Theseus I could somehow lop off his head and emerge victorious! No golden thread, no reflective shield for protection. Or rather foolishly believing that I now possessed such tools and the wisdom to deal with whatever my adversary could throw at me. Foolish boy! The beast has many shifts and tactics and one is always ready for the fall just when one makes the mistake of thinking one ‘knows oneself’!
I won’t go into the tedious details. Suffice to say I committed too much of my personal energy to the project at a time when my thinning personal resources had been much depleted by an extremely stressful and draining three year period, the end of which coincided with a full move of country back to Ireland and starting this project fulltime the day I landed. By the time we came to bring the work into the building I was both over confident and underprepared to take on the experience ahead. Elements beyond my control failed to deliver and I found myself in a storm whipped up by him that led to day in, day out confrontation and debilitation that lasted over a week. Doesn’t sound much but time seemed to stand still and it felt an eternity. A director is in many ways alone, and at this time I truly felt it.
It soon appeared that I was to take the blame for others failings; as it mostly emanated from within his own staff, and thus reflected badly on him, it was important to create a fake narrative that set me as the fall guy, especially as I was the only one willing to stand up and take responsibility. But instead of supporting me as the only one able and ready to solve the problem, he took this as an opportunity to isolate and destabilise me. And upon reflection I can see that I eventually succumbed to this pressure and gave him the ‘evidence’ he was seeking. I should have seen it coming. The real mistake I made was in believing I could weather the storm and manage the beast – and indeed it looked as if that were the case. But just at the point where it appeared I had won the situation back around, when ‘victory’ was in sight, he turned up the gas again and went for full out dismantling of my credibility and position. I had fallen for my own trap – I had arrogantly held onto the belief that I could withstand the pressure and out run him. I had not taken into account his hunger for the feeding frenzy, his delight in chaos, his desire to always complete the kill in the end. I was so shocked by this that I retreated, backing away and effectively walking right at the death, giving him all the ammunition he then needed to blame everything on me, inventing a false narrative of what had happened and relishing in tarnishing my reputation with all and sundry.
The experience at the time – albeit totally unphysical – was extraordinarily stressful. My sleep became fitful, haunted by disturbing dreams for weeks after. My sense of balance was gone. I felt completely numb and all at sea. I found myself cold all over – literally – as if drained of life force; dead man walking. I took repeated boiling hot baths in an effort to wash it out of me. I understood what it must feel like to be raped; the powerlessness, the abuse, the injustice, the absolute aloneness of it all. My mood became suicidal and utterly depressed. I went through huge downward swings and days of blackness. The first thing I thought of upon waking and the last before bed was the turmoil of it all. No blood had been spilled. No one had died. But I had. I was gone.
The extreme sensation of the aftermath lasted almost two months. I have hardly spoken of it to anyone (it’s too raw). My partner did her best but she had seen too much of it before and most of all, she couldn’t grasp the accute personal cost of it this time. As she said, ‘Its like it always is with you two. I’ve seen it all before’. She didn’t openly accuse me, but the feeling was there and one time she admitted she felt I was as responsible as he; I must have brought it upon myself. Blame the victim. Of course the absurdity of it was she is probably right; it must have been all my own choice. I let him and the experience into me. I should have laughed it off, but at the time it felt like death. Merely words and the physical presence, the pressure, the intimidation. Nothing like a violent attack. But in some ways it felt worse than had I been so assaulted. And yes it was different than before – the straw that breaks…
Now I feel some sense of recovery but I do not doubt it is a long road to healing. Further more it has finally killed my love for the theatre. I am over in that regard. He sits triumphant in his fake narrative of me, finally possessing his victory, able to present me as the problem and him as the hero. He remains fully in command of his resource (which provides him with an obscene revenue way out of proportion to the nature of the business he runs) and I struggle constantly with my low wage and with severely damaged reputation and work prospects. What a fool I was! And not once did I give myself the much needed satisfaction of calling him out face to face for what he is. Not once in 18 years! There was a moment this time when as I sat before him, a grown man, having to listen and accept his abuse and insane roarings, the desire - the cold, calm desire – arose in me to go for his throat and take him down! What stopped me other than a real fear that this would mean I would not get paid and I would no longer be able to pay the bills (in truth an actual impediment and a terror when you have sole responsibility for mouths to feed!)? I suppose it was a combination of my own pathetic attempt to hang onto my own sense of pride or self, a need not to give him what he feeds on – real reciprocated conflict. Should I have? Should I have called him out – would anyone have understood? I doubt it. He is surrounded by those who are enthral, whose livelihoods also depend on his largess. He is untouchable. We are the expendable. I feel great shame for not having the courage though. I think I feared my own breakdown – my own pain being exposed as ‘weakness’. That he would see he had me. The only thing I cling onto is the fact that he truly cannot know what I am – that whatever he has taken from me, what I have let him, he is still incapable of knowing anything of me because he is a psychopath and I am a human being.
Psychopaths rule our world at all levels. They do not need to command armies to do great harm. They rot everything they touch, everything sacred to the human condition. Intimacy, companionship, understanding, creativity, friendship, community, our ability to be in empathy, our ability to see ourselves enslaved. They isolate us by setting the narrative by which our world is understood, leaving the humans they prey on at odds with each other, unable to give voice to the menace within, believing that the narrative they set is the way of the world, the way things are meant to be. They create nothing; they feed on everything that vibrates. They are our destiny on this planet at this time, our Trojan horse – they are well inside the walls of the city and crow their victory over us from the wall tops. They care not what trail of destruction they leave behind delighting instead in the empty pleasure of victory over the rest of us. I know that at some level I am fortunate to have experienced first hand the complex inter relationship that exists between ourselves and our prime predator; the feeling of energy drain that is their tell-tell sign. But I am still left with an emptiness where once there was a real gift of light. How I get that back, if at all possible, is the next task in hand.
All is lessons. Knowledge protects; ignorance endangers.
Thank you. Bless you all.
