Vivienne Arcanum - The Blog of a Female Narcissist

A mysterious voice with a sharp pen, Vivienne Arcanum specialises in peeling back the layers of human behaviour to reveal the truths most would rather keep hidden.

Introduction:

A shadowy storyteller, Vivienne Arcanum crafts raw, insightful narratives that delve into the intricate webs of human emotion and manipulation, revealing truths often concealed in the darkest corners of relationships.

The Blog of a Female Narcissist: A Window into Her Manipulations

Educating Men on Recognizing Female Narcissistic Behavior

Your mind is occupied with thoughts of me on a daily basis. There's an eager anticipation brewing within you for those playful, provoking SMS that consistently find their way to your phone throughout the daylight hours—only to cease their teasing dance as the clock strikes 6 p.m. It's an unspoken truth between us; that's when I return to my domestic life with him. Yet occasionally, as the night deepens, you receive that elusive text message, slipping into your inbox with the news that he has retreated for a leisurely bath. It is then that I infuse my words with an extra dose of fondness, whispering to you through the digital ether: “I love you, I miss you, I despise the distance that parts us.” Accompanying those tender confessions, my instruction is clear - do not dare to send a response. And there you remain, transfixed by the illuminated display, desperate to touch the emotions hidden within the arrangement of pixels.

This is how I keep you hooked.

As the hands of the clock steadily march towards 5:30 p.m., a sense of anticipation builds within you—an eagerness that rivals the most heartfelt occasions. These moments are ours alone, a sliver of time when the outside world seemingly dims into obscurity, leaving us in our own private cosmos where you, without question, are my focal point. Dutifully, you rearrange the pieces of your day, all to ensure nothing obstructs our communication channel, reveling in the sanctuary where our aspirations intertwine seamlessly.

Engrossed in our conversations, you find yourself captivated, enticed by the enchanting prospect that our daily interlude might one day take a tangible form. You cherish the tantalizing idea that perhaps, when the day's light yields to evening hues, it will be my footsteps that grace your doorway, not merely the echo of our laughter across the phone line. Each of our meetings, as sacred as it is regular, brings a standstill to any other interaction—as if they're suspended in time—yielding to the allure of our exchanges. There is a tangible presence of your soul's deepest yearnings, fervently conveyed and felt across the expanse that separates us.

Lunch dates? They've become my speciality, an art form I've honed with meticulous care. Once every seven days, with the precision of a stealthy plan, we select a location shrouded in mystery, away from the curious gaze of the world. A cozy nook, perhaps, or a quiet corner of a lesser-known café, where we can exist in our own private bubble, immune to the scrutiny of others.

As we sit across from each other, there’s an electric charge in the air, a palpable tension that hums beneath the surface. It's there, under the veil of a discreet luncheon, that we engage in our silent ballet. Furtive glances are shared, hearts racing, as underneath the tablecloth, our fingers find each other, entwining in brief, but fervent displays of affection. Our lips dare to touch in whispered hush, exchanging not just fleeting kisses but solemn vows and hidden dreams.

I spin my narrative for you, carefully curated snapshots of my so-called "miserable" existence outside of these stolen hours. I'm selective with my confessions, doling out just the right amount of sorrow and dissatisfaction, ensuring you're continuously captivated. You become my confidant, my would-be hero in this narrative I've woven, your eyes always reflecting a mix of concern and a desire to be the one who rescues me from the mundane and the melancholic.

You're completely absorbed, hanging on every word I say, and in every story I fabricate. And in those moments, we are lost to the world, enveloped in our clandestine rendezvous that unfolds with the predictable rhythm of our secret weekly scheduled communion. It's there, in the shadows of our elusive haven, that you hang onto the illusion – the illusion that you're pulling me out of the depths, and into the promise of a better, more thrilling life.

How I Draw You In

I create a narrative of suffering—loneliness, neglect, a lack of intimacy with him.

“He lost interest in me years ago.”

“He criticizes everything I do.”

“We’re just not compatible anymore.”

I’m vague yet compelling, knowing your empathy will push you to comfort me. You gently suggest that maybe I deserve better, but you stop short of saying outright that I should leave him. I see the restraint in you. That’s part of why I chose you.

The Push-Pull Dynamic

When I call or text unexpectedly, your heart races. Whether it’s in the middle of the night or a random moment during the day, I know the excitement you feel. But my words always carry a bittersweet edge:

“I can’t stop thinking about you. Don’t reply—I’m with him.”

The Intricacies of Intimacy: Unraveled

Embark on a narrative odyssey through the delicate fibers of my world, where each stitch in the tapestry narrates a heartrending saga of forsaken love, the agony of feeling invisible—adrift in the icy grasp of emotional solitude.

"He beholds my spirit with eyes that glaze over."

"His words, a scathing critique of my every utterance."

"Two souls, once fused, now travel on splintering trajectories."

My language is meticulously curated—evoke emotion without excess, sparking your intrigue while feeding your innate desire to comfort. Your voice, soft and soothing, whispers of love that I'm worthy of—something beyond this current entanglement—yet you never compel me to sever these bonds. Your hesitance speaks volumes; it's why you resonate with me—an oasis in a desert of apathy.

The Allure of Chance Encounters

When my name suddenly ignites your screen, it's as if I can sense the rush of excitement coursing through you. It's this thrill—the serendipity of my messages, whether in the quiet twilight of evening or the frenetic buzz of day—that makes my existence a delightful surprise. But there's a bittersweet tang to our covert chats:

"Ponder me, even as you read this. Reply not—his shadow looms near."

You find yourself exquisitely torn, drawn to the depth of our secret dialogue while starkly aware of my affections claimed elsewhere. It's this intricate ballet of intimacy and distance—the gravitational pull of our unique orbit.

You’re elated I thought of you, but you’re reminded of where I am—and who I’m with.

Weekends arrive and with them, the struggle intensifies for you, that much is clear. The confession has passed your lips more than once during our conversations—I’ve seen it in the depths of your eyes. Every Saturday and Sunday seems to stretch into infinity, a gaping span of time that weighs heavily on your heart. To mitigate this, I aim to offer you morsels of solace: perhaps it's just a brief message hastily typed and sent your way, or those secret, whispered calls made while hiding in a nondescript restroom, or tucked away in a corner of a bustling department store's dressing area. These small gestures are your lifeline, pieces of hope you grasp at fervently, painting mental pictures of a future where our shared dreams of spending weekends wrapped up in one another’s company become the reality we both yearn for.

You cope with the periods of silence, with the absence of my presence, because you anticipate these crumbs of my affection I scatter for you to find. Each quick text message, each time I quietly steal away to whisper your name on the other end of the line, it keeps you anchored. In the back of a dimly lit bathroom stall or amidst the soft rustle of clothing where I cocoon myself within a department store changing room, there lies the sacred space from which I reach out to you. And in those fleeting interactions, you find strength. You cling to these intervals of connection with a tenacity that moves me, your heart brimming with the images of our possible tomorrow. You hold onto the promise that one day, not so far away, the weekends will no longer mean parting for us, but instead, will be the time when we are finally able to come together, uninterrupted and free to foster the bond we've delicately built.

The Promises

I keep you on a leash with promises:

“Once the kids are older, I’ll leave him.”

“It’s just not the right time yet.”

“There’s a family holiday soon—I can’t disrupt things now.”

The excuses flow as easily as the words of affection. You’re patient because you believe me. I tell you I love you, and you don’t doubt it.

Why This Matters

Men often overlook female narcissistic behavior because it’s cloaked in charm, vulnerability, and subtle manipulation. Here’s what you need to recognize:

The Illusion of Suffering

A female narcissist creates a narrative of victimhood. She portrays herself as trapped in an unhappy relationship, making you believe you’re her escape.

Breadcrumbing

She gives you just enough attention to keep you invested. Sporadic texts, fleeting moments of intimacy, and vague promises all serve to maintain control over your emotions.

Control Through Empathy

A narcissist preys on your good nature. Your kindness and understanding become tools for her manipulation. She knows you’ll stick around because you care too much to abandon her.

Compartmentalization

She lives multiple lives seamlessly. You believe you’re special, but in reality, you’re one piece of her puzzle. She ensures you never see the full picture.

A Warning

When she’s with him, you’re an afterthought. When she’s with you, he’s just a convenient excuse. Neither of you truly knows her. She thrives on this duality.

The truth? She doesn’t love either of you. She loves control, admiration, and the validation of knowing you’re hooked.

Final Thoughts

Men, if any of this feels familiar, step back and evaluate the situation. Female narcissists are just as capable of emotional manipulation and deceit as their male counterparts. Recognizing the patterns is the first step to breaking free. You deserve more than being a pawn in someone else’s game.

Remember: Real love doesn’t come with secrecy, half-truths, and endless excuses. Don’t let your empathy become your weakness.