“I told all my friends in Toronto about you and some of the things you had done to me. Based on just the one time that you hacked into my gmail account and sent email to my contacts, my friends said I should run away from you as quickly as I can..” – The Narcissist
#1. Narcissists don’t have friends. They have people around them who serve a purpose, eg. can lend them money or give them sex.
#2. The Narcissist always ‘has things done to them’. Eternal, blameless victims.
#3. Aarrgh. Liar!
Here’s what really happened…
David knew he was going to be evicted at the end of February 2013. His ex-wife had stopped sending the court-ordered spousal support (aka. alimony). It seemed that she thought she could do that because he was in Israel and she was in Toronto. Stupid bitch. All she achieved was to guarantee that David would have to return to Toronto to sue her – which he did. The ordeal almost killed him a dozen times, but he has no ordinary will. Back in Tzfat, David bought himself a month by giving his brand new refrigerator to his landlord; but eviction day was still approaching. Understandably, he started to despair and tried to cut his radial arteries open with a huge hunting knife. I wrote a great fiction about that knife, maybe I will post it on this blog. I tried to warn David that it wouldn’t work. Hashem alone decides when we die and He was not going to allow David to take his own life. David ignored my advice, went down to Al Wadi, and tried to cut himself. He returned home, despondent and defeated, because his skin would not allow itself to be cut deeply. It happens. It’s Hashem. I’m not going to explain this yet. David didn’t have anywhere to turn for solace except to me, so I supported him as a good friend who loves him. It was a very hard time for both of us. He wanted to die because he thought Hashem was ejecting him from the Holy Land. I wanted to save him. He was so emotional. His Crohn’s pain was unbearable. Words cannot summarize how crappy the month of February was for us.
The landlord gave David until the fifth of March. Of course, David was in the hospital for at least three days that week. I offered to start cleaning up his apartment, and he was so beaten down that he let me. He gave me his key, I gathered my cleaning supplies in a large bucket, and I went to clean his home. I found that his depression had overtaken him. The kitchen was covered with spilled and crusty food. The bedroom had dishes strewn around the bed. The front room had garbage on the floor. Was this the same man who had hosted me for Shabbat and taught me Koheles? I worked my butt off cleaning that apartment. I didn’t just clean it, I exorcised the negative energy, and brought in positive energy by reciting Tehillim while I cleaned. I wanted David to come home from the hospital and feel safe. It was stupid, really, because he was getting evicted any day. I thought that maybe the landlord would have a change of heart if I could make the apartment nice again. I used to be such an optimist.
David came home from the hospital limping and exhausted. I wanted a pat on the head like a ‘good, little girl’. I tried to be adult and remind myself that this was no time for ego-centrism. David wanted hot tea and sleep, and I went home to my dira. (Writing about this is giving me stomach cramps.)
About a week later, the day came for him to move. I had somehow convinced him to come by me. Hashem had given me a two bedroom apartment so that I could do mitzvot with it, and David needed shelter. It made perfect sense to me. Perhaps I will write about that in the future. The day he needed to move, David was in the ER again because of his bleeding abscess, so I moved his stuff myself. I took five trips of stuff in my grocery cart. With each load, I walked from his dira on the 3rd floor, down the stairs (there is only one elevator in Tzfat), down Rehov Hertzl to my building, and then UP three flights of stairs to my dira. Then back down three flights of stairs, then UP Rehov Hertzl, and then UP three more flights of stairs to his dira – and then four more trips. It was hellish. I had one box left when I quit for the day. I had done as much as I could. The rest would just have to wait until the morrow.
The next day, while I was at work, mopping the coffee factory, David returned from the hospital. He saw there was only one large box left to move, so he took it himself. He was weak with sickness and collapsed in the street. Awesome. That’s when he lost his Canadian passport. I have to record that story, too. When I got out of work at 1500 hours, I walked past David’s apartment and saw his belongings on the street. I thought maybe the landlord had just tossed them out the window. Two Ethiopian Jewish young men were going through his things. I told them that they belonged ‘to my brother’ and they helped me gather what was left. I went home to find David at my house, a broken, sweaty mess and so sad. I begged him to rest and he complied. That was a bad sign. I knew he must be in severe physical pain. That was day one and this story goes on for two more days before we get to the part where I hacked into David’s email.
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