A Good Marriage Counselor Should Be a Trained Exorcist

Narcissists love couples’ counseling. Oh, God, how they love it. It’s a GAME to them. They LOVE it. Narcissists play marriage counselors like fiddles. They dance circles around them, flick them in the backs of their heads without them even knowing, laugh at them, dance hellish jigs of mockery on their shoulders and tops of their skulls; inwardly, secretly, covertly laughing their asses off in mockery of just about all marriage counselors on earth.

Seated next to their long-suffering and earnestly-trying-to-make-things-work codependent every-spouse, what goes through the head of a narcissist while she or he looks right into the face of the also-earnest marriage counselor is something like this: “You think I’m here to make things BETTER between myself and this piss-ant SLAVE I’ve lassoed? Ha-HAA! Not a chance! But this is WONDERFUL ATTENTION I’m getting from the BOTH of you along the way! I’m LOVING this! How long can we keep this going?? This is DELICIOUS ATTENTION!!”

And I’m sorry to report, much to the chagrin of the modern radical feminists out there, that nowadays there is TREMENDOUS advantage to being a FEMALE narcissist. It’s not just me saying that—during my dark abyss of cumulative CPTSD, when the narc had very nearly driven me to death—but when I hit rock bottom and—praise to God—bounced and began my recovery from codependency—I paid some of the most well-spent money I’ve ever spent to a female narcissistic-abuse-recovery life coach, and even though “her narc” had been a demon-possessed male, she too stated her belief that nowadays, in our current political climate, female narcs can get away with forms of abuse that, had a male narc did that, then society would have been on to them.

Going to couples’ counseling with that demon-possessed narcissistic witch that had initially parasitized me was far worse than doing no counseling at all. Far worse. For the witch mirrored and shmoozed every single counselor from the get-go: She charmed them with cajoleries and by demonically, hypnotically mirroring their own words and body language back on them. The demon inhabiting “my narc” could “get on the good side” of just about anybody in seconds, unless it was somebody who was very well versed in the facts of narcissistic personality disorder and very probably demonic possession, as well, and it turns out that most marriage counselors THINK that they know a thing or two about NPD, because they’ve probably been introduced to it for a couple or three measly weeks while getting their psych degree, but as probably ALL narcissistic-abuse survivors know: Unless you have lived it yourself, you don’t know jack shit about NPD abuse.

But the thing that makes it so advantageous to be a FEMALE narc in today’s modern, crumbling, gynocentric society is that BOTH idiot sides of the political spectrum will rush to the defense of a female who claims to be a victim nowadays—BOTH—and narcs, as all survivors of narc abuse know—are the undisputed MASTERS at playing the victim. And so today, any therapist who is inherently “left-leaning” will jump to the defense of a female narc who is feigning victimhood by claiming that “Oh, whoa is me: He’s oppressing me!”; and any therapist who is “right-leaning” will jump to the defense of a female narc who is feigning victimhood by claiming that “Oh, whoa is me: I’m a poor damsel in distress!”

The narc could read these fools in an instant, whichever side of the political spectrum upon which they fell, by asking a few strategic, probing questions (which is how she initially fooled this fool before you now), then she would simply put on an act, becoming that likeminded left-leaning or right-leaning sympathetic, simpatico person, and she would find out the likes and values of that particular counselor and she would adopt them for her own, and she would then also begin mimicking the actual physical mannerisms of each counselor from across his or her desk, and it was just like that hypnotic python hypnotizing Mowgli in THE JUNGLE BOOK. Except the one being squeezed was me.

Squeezed and triangulated: Narcs are also virtuosos at triangulating people: getting others to line up with the narc, to agree with them, and to team up with the narc against their isolated-and-psych-abused victim, the codependent primary supply of any narc.

She did this to me each and every time we ever went to marriage counseling.

And stupid me: I was so damnably codependent, I was so housebroken, and just BROKEN by the demon in the fleshly hull of that parasitized woman’s body, that I was practically crying out to counselors to get it into that witch’s head: that if this marriage was going to WORK, then I actually needed some kind of nano-particularate of INTIMACY and affection from her (it). I choke and cough now as I type that; I am horrified and ashamed; I was actually wanting to get closer to a demon!

And the counselor, whichever counselor, would always have some new gimmick, some new trick up his or her sleeve, some new couples’ game that we should play that next week that would act as a magical catalyst to beget intimacy between the narc and myself. And the narc would always play along and feign earnestness (and inwardly laugh her ass off and smirk her narcissistic smirk) and then, later that week, when I tried to play the stupid game and prayerfully initiate some kind of intimacy with the narc, then the narc would vanish, would disappear, would suddenly have have something super-compelling that she just had to do in the other room, and if I went to help her in the other room then her sudden all-compelling thing to do had shifted to another room, and another room, and another house, or better still, another community do-gooder activity in the community (my ex-wife was a lousy, rotten COMMUNAL narc). And when we’d meet again the next weekend and the counselor would say, “How did it go, you two?” and I would try to plead for help, try to explain that she refused to play the magical intimacy-initiating game, that she had REFUSED to play, then the counselor would ask for an explanation from the narc, and the narc would….wait for it….vomit out the WORD SALAD.

Every narcissistic-abuse survivor knows about the Word Salad. Word Salad is a bit like when a squid shits out INK to confuse a predatory assailant, to obstruct the assailant’s vision, and thereby to give the squid time to get away. A Word-Salad “answer” is when you ask a narcissist a question that might put the narcissist on the spot, and the narcissist gives an answer that has many, many words in it, but strangely, bafflingly, there is no actual answer in it. It’s squid’s ink. Like everything else a narcissist does, giving a Word-Salad answer to an earnest, probing, uncomfortable question requires a great deal of demonic subtlety. A Word-Salad answer is ultimately a non-sequiter, but it needs to skirt close enough to the topic of the question so as to not be a complete non-sequiter, and it must consist of many, many more words than necessary in order to wear down the listener who posed the question, as well as to confuse him or her and thereby make them go away or make them change the subject.

And so the narc would shit the Word-Salad answer out of her subtle mouth, and it would work its subtle, demonic magic upon the inquiring counselor: It would stun and confuse him or her and would get them to drop the subject and to move on to something else that didn’t suddenly render them so confused.

And in this way I never had any intimacy or affection from my wife in all those nightmarish years of NPD marital abuse. Which is ultimately a blessing, because once, when I later saw her eyes go all black again—but for a full eight or nine seconds THAT time—and when I SAW the fucking demon manifest in her face as well THAT time, then yeah, I’m pretty much glad I did not kiss that fucking creature too much or too often after the initial, fleeting narcissistic-lovebombing phase was over.