Narcissi

People are pleasant at the folk nights in my local pubs. There is a host who is kind and welcoming. 

A man recently started singing The Centurion, a long solo song about the long life of a man nearly a hundred years old.  He forgot the words, tried again, gave up and when it was next his turn, redid the whole thing again.

 

I choose this particular episode only as illustrative or something more general.  Most people want to be heard, whether that's singing or in some more general sense. Seen, heard, accepted. It is that recognition, that dignity that Fukuyama thinks is more enabled by liberal democracy than any other form of government, other forms, I suppose tending to lead to oppression. 

I don't know whether people need to be understood; that's another level again. 

The song, to this listener, is not loveable.  It's a bit trite, a bit clichéd, a bit forced, a bit shallow. But our tolerance for sentiment, mawkishness perhaps grows with age as we become more forgiving and changes anyway, between cultures. 

I am not sorry to have heard 'The Centurion' and  I admire more the good humour and tolerance of the group. Still, it causes me to wonder again where the balance is between going to listen and going to be heard (Mono v inter). 

Or going to join in - that old chestnut again.  In the Johnny Collins version (above), people join in the chorus.  In my pub nobody did, although there are six opportunities to do so and I wonder why.   There was no hostility, no obvious reason why.  Occasionally a singer or player seems to seek or find connection with listeners and it is usually found in the same people or maybe it is just that they do it more through playing than singing.  But the connection I notice is not always in the strongest singers and it may well be that while I connect with one person, someone else connects invisibly with another.  

The man I heard sings fine, plays well.  He is very quiet, one of the quietest there, seems unassuming. I suppose it was the contrast between the man and the choice of this long song, which which, again, nobody really joined in.  Many people do long solos.  It sets off my warnings signals.   Why? The human brain made to seek pattern and connection.

There are much stronger musical personalities even in local pubs, people not just who are acknowledged as good musicians, but who know it. It's not that the pubs are packed with narcissists but having come too close in recent years I keep that long distance at the slightest suggestion of ego. 

Ego often seems to be a barrier to connection.  Narcissism is what used to be called selfishness, not the occasional self-interested act but a consistent disregard for other people, a putting oneself first.  Before they were known as narcissists, they used to be identified as people who were self-centered, egotistical and attention-seeking, often in different balances.They say narcissism - the grandiose version - can be caused by neglect or erratic care in childhood.  The child develops a compensatory self, attracting attention with overblown claims. Or, it can be caused by overvaluation and excessive praise.  Either way, children grow up with an inflated sense of self.  

I wonder if the same can happen in adult life, if, say, people can get too used to respect, compliments, adulation, fawning and come to expect it.  Combine that with a familial or genetic tendency to assertiveness or dominance or a culture of individualism, self-promotion and celebrity and things look bleak for the personality.

Having been sucked into the destructive whirlpool of the narcissist more than once, I know that it can initially feel as though the narcissist seeks connection, particularly the vulnerable narcissist. It can be well-disguised. But they don't want connection, they want attention and they have a nose for, empathy and openness. They know the easiest people to manipulate. All narcissists seek attention. Their accomplishments rarely recognise the help they have had, unless it makes them look good, but rather be about those accomplishments.

There is much condemnation of narcissists because they are so manipulative and destructive. Anyone is wise to keep a long distance particularly as few narcissists seem able to change, but there are reasons often stemming from childhood for this personality problem. It seems to me they suffer a profound kind of disability. It must be incredibly lonely. There ought to be other stories about narcissism. It isn't just that they gaze into a pool because that implies self-sufficiency. But the narcissist never has enough. They are condemned to a permanent absence of genuine connection because for them connection is a one way street. They are not able to connect back. They can fake it, even believe it is connection, but it is only a sort of feedback pathway - a way to nourish themselves.

We think of people with disabilities as vulnerable and because of the harm they cause, the narcissist does not seem vulnerable yet those walls are constructed out of profound insecurity. But the personality may not be hiding behind the defence. Through long habit, the personality may have become the defense.

It isn't clear why Narcissus, the youth who fell in love with his own reflection and turned into the eponymous flower is so-called.   They do grow by river banks but their habitat is wide ranging. Some think the bent over flower head resembles the youth gazing at himself in the water. There is an interesting etymological connection with numbness.  Because the narcissist is primarily concerned with themselves, they have to be largely numb to the emotions of others more commonly characterised as a lacking empathy, a key trait of psychopathy. Another warning sign of the psychopath is cynicism. The narcissist also uses cynicism as a way of fading out attention on other things and fading up attention on themselves.  Because the psychopath is clever, both are commonly masked by charm.  The key tool of both psychopath and narcissist is manipulation. Manipulation is a form of exploitation.  Both involve deceit which itself commonly requires a lack of empathy and  manipulation in order to get attention.  

Thus these traits feed off, require and complement each other in a diabolical ecosystem. In the last twenty years, narcissism, psychopathy and machiavellianism are known as the 'dark triad' in psychology theory.  Since these traits are not uncommon in the world and cause so much harm, I for one have become alert to their signs.

Mono v inter

One of the legacies of the patriarchy is that the guy still speaks more: in life, in business, in politics, in committees, in dance. They impose, everywhere. We even talk about an imposing guy as though that is admirable, virile. Men often speak to other men, ignoring women. I would hazard a guess that 100% of women in western societies have been patronised and talked down to by a guy because they are a woman, probably many times.

We see it too in those vexed English terms in dance: leader and follower. The idea is that this is supposed to be more inclusive, because women can now “lead”. But the fact is, men still mostly lead, so it just entrenches the idea that the person who makes most of the decisions, who decides the direction, initiates, who does most of the “talking”, is the guy, the “leader”, the boss.

Nearly all women in the “leading” role do “lead”. They are rough and forceful, especially when they have been to class and impose their moves on you. Tragically, this is true even of women who are lovely to dance with in the traditional woman’s role.

Sometimes some people engage in monologues because they think a societal norm, like “leading” in dance, endorses it. Some on the autistic spectrum, aware their personality does not conform with societal norms, sometimes confess, with a heart-breaking embarrassment, that they know they are talking too much. People can do it when they angry or hurt. Egotists and narcissists do it. They are easily identified because they also show next to no interest in their so-called interlocutor, ask no questions unless they pertain to their own interests.

How many of us have sat silently stuck in interminable “conversations” saying next to nothing because that’s how the other person likes it, has patently loved it when you bite your tongue. If you are trapped, setting a timer to see for how long the other speaks is a distracting game, distances yourself from the situation and at least allows you some autonomy in what can be an abusive situation. That’s when you decide never again or start that painful negotiation with yourself about trade-offs. On such days, I have seen my Fitbit stress management levels drop by a whole 10 points. Voiceless, you may not be doing much, but it clearly has a psychological and consequent physiological effect.

Do guys do this do to other guys? I think they see women differently and know we are more likely to tolerate it. They know the more fragile among us may even think the problem must be us.

What is a great conversationalist? Someone who asks questions and not just questions to which they know the answers, because that is just another form of talking down to you. They are genuinely interested in the other. Great conversationalists answer questions, and not at too much length. Most of all, they make space for the other person. When there is space, there is room for interplay. That is when fun and interesting things happen between people: Interesting:  inter "between" + esse "to be".

Imposition

Johnny Hughes

Freedom was the title of the first post in this blog back in 2014. Agreement and consent are the social friends of freedom. I have written often about its antithesis e.g. Obligation.

Grown up milongas (as opposed to the kindergarten version) are, above all, places of choice. Dancers come and go when they like, nobody probes for full names or even real names, or into personal circumstances.   Women don’t mug guys for dances and guys don't do walk-up, hand-proferring invitations.  Neither “begs” for dances through conversation.  Most of all, they are places where no-one imposes themselves on anyone else.  There is no use of force. 

When one person forces themselves on another, physically, psychologically, socially, any way at all, it is hard to think of more grotesque, dangerous or sickening behaviour, even more so when it is thinly disguised within a civilized setting.

The absolute cornerstone of milonga culture is freedom of discreet invitation and equally discreet acceptance or refusal. This all happens by look (the inviter's cabeceo, the accepter's mirada). It is also one of the most obvious codes (accepted milonga behaviours).

Some people don't truly understand this code. They can't cope with it, but are alert enough to have learned its importance. These types look for stratagems to get round it. This is manipulation: they will manipulate people to get what they want. People who are deaf and blind to the many freedoms that make a good milonga are those who impose themselves on others, who try to oblige others to attend to them, who use others to satisfy their needs. 

Why don't these people adhere to the code like everyone else? Because perhaps they are impatient to dance or ambitious in dance, because they are not at peace, because they are insecure. They need attention, all the time. Consider: what happens to these people if they do adhere to the code but don't manage to dance? They will not have a perhaps understandably disappointing evening, they won't, more resourcefully, instead of dancing, enjoy the music, or the spectacle or the company, or the conversation because that is too objective - it wouldn't be about them. No, this person will have a calamitously bad time because they are not getting that attention. This is a classic narcissistic personality. Their reaction? Probably histrionic, moody, emotional.

How do they get round the code? Both men and women will show off, in their dance, or their clothes or their behaviour. They will demand attention. Until recently while I recognised (except when, catastrophically, I didn't) the danger signs of these types I never really understood why - because I didn't need to. I just avoided them.

So what happens if they don't get dances? Instead of just shrugging, accepting it, not taking it personally, moving on, they will be hostile and resentful, especially if they have been turned down. This is another sign of the immature personality.

Young and pretty female versions might do the indoor equivalent of standing on a street corner. They flirt and chat not for the pleasure of that but as a stratagem to pick up dances because they can't truly relax, find peace in the milonga. They feel awkward unless they are dancing all the time. They don't realise how transparent they are to experienced dancers and so they pick up the dregs they deserve.

To get round the code, men just walk up which fulfils this pathological need for attention in the most obvious way. They aren't patient enough or able to get a dance the accepted way. They get the praise they need simply by getting a woman to accept their proffered hand while the rest of us cringe. The guy who walks up isn't simply a bad dancer, he is sending a warning about his personality.

I have written often about that diabolical triad that motivates so many:  money or power or status.  They are found in these controlling, demanding narcissistic types. Such people are constitutionally unsuited to good milongas.  They will never fit because these traits seem to be hardwired into them.   The focus on money and power are both types of ambition but both of these are really about status.  Attention seekers are just childish versions of adult status seekers.  And status seekers are essentially, profoundly insecure.

What are the characteristics of people who invite by look, who don't use stratagems, who don't impose themselves on others? Respectful and empathetic certainly. Altruistic? Undemanding? Understanding? Calm? Quiet? Patient? Grounded? Observant? Take your pick. They are all excellent models of behaviour. These are signs of listeners, people with an outward focus that is not on themselves, good partners in conversation, in dance and in life.

Harm

Secreto
I learned today that someone I knew, not well, but over many years, someone I appreciated, who was always cheery, who always asked about my boys, who seemed absolutely fine, recently took their own life.  They had retired and I hadn’t seen them for a few years.  I asked after them and that’s when I heard. You just don’t know what is going on with people, what burdens they bear, what secrets they are trying to manage. How does it come to that?  Is it a turning-in on the self, a retreat from people? There is no doubt it is the darkest of secrets.

Walking home, with this on my mind, the lovely tango Secreto began playing through my headphones.  In the story about this song, the man nearly kills himself but is saved by a friend. The song is about a happily married man, living  a straightforward, family life. His secret is that he falls hopelessly in love with another woman.

Quien sos, que no puedo salvarme
muñeca maldita, castigo de Dios…
Ventarrón que desgaja en su furia un ayer de ternuras, de hogar y de fe…
Por vos se ha cambiado mi vida - sagrada y sencilla como una oración - 
en un bárbaro horror de problemas
que atora mis venas y enturbia mi honor.

Who are you that I cannot save myself
cursed doll, punishment from God…
A storm that in its fury tears apart a past of tenderness, home and faith.
Because of you, my life—sacred and simple as a prayer—
has turned into a barbaric abomination of trouble
that clogs my veins and clouds my honour.

That phrase, 'Muñeca maldita' has a particular ring, in Spanish.

A recent post was about people finding refuge from class in a practica. Another early track is the sweet Mi Refugio, by Orquesta Adolfo Carabelli, a piece full of wonders, previously mentioned here. It was covered in another danceable version by  Carlos Di Sarli. I have particular affection for the sensitive piano accompaniment in the Carabelli even though the instrument sounds as though it's on its last legs.  

Refuge
The práctica I run is my refuge of sorts, from tango dance class, from industrialised tango, particularly from the kind of second rate music I don't like to dance to and that is played too much here in Europe.  Also, I suppose from controlling types, from sign-in lists on the door, from chilly, sink or swim atmospheres.  I have written about difficult times in the milongas, times, alone, where doubt creeps in and self-confidence fails you. But it was in my own refuge that I came to harm. 

Contrary to my generation’s stiff upper lip inheritance from our wartime parents’ generation, even while I find the self-obsession of Gen Z toe-curlingly revolting, it is time to say I am not that fine, not since 12 February when I ran my second practica of the year.  It is time to let in some light and fresh air on my own secret about being harassed. I harboured it for weeks from New Year because I didn’t want to burden my dancing friends or cause discord in our nascent tango community.  But the harassment increased and ultimately put me in hospital. My health has been damaged and I have had to give up the new career that was going to finance the hole in my pension since I stopped work to raise my children and focus on my family.

I have felt a need to tell this story, not particularly to the police or friends or family (though I have had to) because it is stressful reliving that harassment each time I have to tell it. Perhaps if I write it, not just write it down, but speak out, even in some limited way it will unlock the prison I have been in since this harassment began.  I need to move on and until I tell the story, it feels as though I can’t. But this person has proven themselves dangerous so this is not so much about those six weeks of harassment and how it came about. It is mostly about the aftermath.

Someone who had learned the dance from me, at my practica, and from the people I introduced them to and in the places I took them to, became fixated with me. They used a different word.

There was no charge.  I helped them freely because I love when people learn the dance from other social dancers and because I would like there to be a local tango dance scene.  But after a few months their behaviour turned unsavoury and downright alarming.  I withdrew contact and when that didn’t work, blocked them.  That didn’t work either.  I told them my reasons, thinking that would give them the “closure” they demanded but that still didn’t work.  In the end, over six weeks, they tried contacting me via at least eight different channels. 

I contorted my life to avoid them, initially cancelling my events, avoiding places I knew they would be, believing their reassurances that they were going to leave tango and leave me alone but they kept trying to contact me and turning up at my events. 

The next time I ran a practica, 12 February, this individual turned up again, more than half an hour early when they knew I would be setting up.  That date will henceforth be metaphorically bordered in black for me edged with the words:  control, manipulation, egotism, lies, ambition, narcissism, disguise: warnings of harm and a rejoinder to myself not to have to learn that lesson again.

I said: What do you think you are doing?  How can I make it any clearer?  I don't want to see you, or hear from you and I certainly don't want you at my events.  I don't want you, your friends, your music, your anonymous comments on my blog, your food.  I want nothing to do with you and I want you to leave me alone. I told them to leave immediately.  

But they refused, even after I put their bags outside the door.  I asked, increasingly distraught: Have I been unclear? Do I look like I want you here?  Do I look like I will ever change my mind? I felt totally trapped.  My horror, shock and disbelief and the stress of the situation clouded my judgement which would have been to call security.

They later said in another message from yet another channel, that they would never "corner" anyone again. But even that message talked in chillingly controlling language that they were "not going to allow another miscommunication" - as if, after everything, there was still some future. How could anyone be so blind, so deaf, so insanely intent?   

I had told myself that weeks of blocking them repeatedly, as they found new channels of harassment, was not bothering me much but that constant pressure must have been having an effect.  As I asked and then begged them to go and they insistently refused I felt a stabbing pain in my chest. My Fitbit showed my heart rate had doubled from 70 to 140bpm.  I was scared and in pain.  My hand sought my chest.  My face burned and I felt my cheeks.  Look at my face, I said.  You must leave. I wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like.

Any normal person would have got help and made themselves scarce, seeing the effect they were having but, extraordinarily, they still refused to go.  You are bringing this on yourself was all they said.  What I most remember is the total lack of emotion in that bloodless face.  Later came the realisation this wasn’t about an obsession with me, about care for me, whatever they might say.  It seemed a vampiric need to get what they wanted, needed, could take for themselves. 

I had to stop setting up the event and, since they refused to leave, I was forced to leave to sit in another room to try to calm my heart. I went back to get my phone.  To my astonishment I found them setting up their food at my event.  What do you think you are doing?  I said again.  Leave! But again they refused.  I felt too unwell to argue and again I had to leave the room and the music I should have been preparing. 

I returned at 3PM when people were expected.  That individual were still there, lingering by that martyred offering of food.  It was obvious I would be too busy welcoming my guests to be able to get rid of it. The thought of that food sickened me.  Shortly after the event started, that individual did leave, to my enormous relief. They had been there for about forty minutes.

But the damage was done.  I got through the event but my chest ached all afternoon.   Still I still said nothing to friends, but they were concerned.  Are you Ok? You look overwhelmed, one said. 

At the end of the event, before people left, the harasser returned to pack up their things, knowing the questions it would raise:  Why wasn’t X here?  Did they provide all that food?

The next day I still had chest pain, and now crippling muscle pain in the left shoulder blade, neck, collarbone. I had had the same physical experience I had had last summer in Italy after being physically and psychologically trapped by a manipulative older woman, although I was in so much discomfort that I didn't remember until later.

To the same friend: 
Seems I have a powerful reaction when cornered  / trapped.  Similar thing happened in Italy last year when I got COVID. My millionaire employer tried to trap me in her property, surrounded by a fence, locked gates and roaming rottweilers and to blackmail me.  Got chest pain (albeit not with the dangerous statistic they found this time).  Took about two months to get over that.  

Another friend: “You attract sociopaths, don’t you?” I hadn't prompted them with the descriptor but the same one had occurred to me.  Don’t you see though, that when you try to withdraw from their games, that’s when they get nasty, try to trap you?

I hadn’t. I had told the harasser the day before that they were ill, needed help, but in the end it was I who fell ill.

Danger
This time it was more serious.  By the evening of the day after the practica I was in A&E still with the chest pain.  The doctors were concerned the electricity going through my heart was too slowly.  The number  they measured was so high it led them to think I had had a heart attack, an overdose or a biochemical imbalance, none of which they could subsequently find evidence for.  The concern though was that my heart could tip into arrhythmia.  From there, the danger was cardiac arrest.  

They were concerned about stress and recommended I call the police for help with the harasser so I did, there and then in the A&E cubicle while I waited for test results.  It didn’t look like I was going to get out of hospital.  I cancelled work the next day and decided to tell some friends what had been going on.  Once I did these things, I felt relief. 

Hours passed.  The doctor decided to repeat the test that had given the worrying results.  To their surprise, the number came down to within acceptable limits, but far above what it had been in the summer.  I was desperate to go home and they let me go, with a recommendation to repeat an ECG in a week. 

Aftermath
The chest and intense muscle pain continued through the week.  I had to stay off work and lived very quietly over the next week but when I repeated the story to the police, to friends and family I felt worse, reliving it.  Unsure whether I could take prescription painkillers I turned to alcohol, not much, but something, every day. Towards the end of the week I had trouble getting a full breath. I knew this was probably anxiety, maybe due to the continued chest pain. Why wasn’t it going away? Was I going to get that high number again?  How would I know?  Aware how hard it was to get a GP appointment I decided to wait til the next ECG scheduled for a week after the first attack.

I took walks, could bear no music stronger than the soft, reassuring voice of Argentina's national folk hero, Atahualpa Yupanqui, whose songs and solo guitar were like balm to the soul.   

The next ECG came back satisfactory but, contrary to initial advice, no one was available to discuss the results.   I had to make a decision that day about what to do regarding my course because you can  only miss so many days of placement.  I still felt terribly unwell and had questions about the worrying number from A&E.  I paid £50 to see a private GP for 10 minutes to understand the ECG results but all they could say was that the number was within normal limits. They said I should be examined by my own GP . I still couldn’t get an appointment. 

The pain continued into the second week and wasn’t improving.  Eleven days after my practica, I was able to see my GP.  He explained this dangerous number was associated with stress but that the danger of arrhythmia was when this number was prolonged. The danger area is above 460.  In A&E my number was 520.  After I made my stress-reducing decisions while in the hospital it reduced to 430.  A week later it was about the same. The previous summer, it had been 300.   

He said while the ECG was reassuring, it would be reasonable to repeat it in time.  So what was causing the chest pain brought on by that confrontation? I asked.  Stress, he said again. Nevertheless, that clarity was helpful. I felt the pain in my chest lift a bit.  The sky was blue.  The spring flowers were everywhere, the heather was blooming.   It was a good day.  I put on salsa for the first time, fun, uplifting salsa. 

Future
But I have had to leave my teacher training course. I still feel too unwell and in any case have missed too many days of placement from chest pain and the attendant problems. I went in to A&E still planning my next day's lessons but came out profoundly sobered by the physical damage people can inflict. I put in six months of profound hard work.  The previous October, for the first time in 16 years, I put my work first instead of taking my son abroad for a formative cultural and linguistic experience because I had to submit an assignment. I submitted two of these at Masters level receiving a grade of First Class.  It has all been for nothing. Six months of work, my future career, my imminent financial independence, it has all gone.  But if that person had not come there that day, or even if they had left when asked I wouldn’t have got the chest pain, ended up in A&E and so on.

Twelve days after later the chest pain and severe muscle pain on my left side continued.  I still had trouble breathing.  I felt knocked for six, lost my appetite, got upset easily, tired easily, was anxious near people, even walking in to town.  I was anxious too if left in the house alone while I had the pain.  

Towards the end of the second week I decided to go to salsa, anyway, knowing with relief that person would not be there because they were away. I thought it might do me good, knowing it might be my last chance before they came back.  But sometimes when I found myself chatting to people my heart started racing and I had to leave to stand outside, stretching and breathing and lowering my heartbeat.  This had never happened before.

Nearly three weeks after that ill-fated day I now get chest pain mostly if I think about what happened. This is why I need to get this story out and draw a line under it.

But, aside from the pain, my heart still flutters about in my chest,  flighty as a bird only nothing like as romantic.  Since the pain has eased, it has been replaced by constant palpitations.  I ignore them, knowing only time will fix this but they haven't improved yet. I still have muscle pain on my left side in my back, neck and along my collarbone. I have had to turn down offers of contact or activities with people I don’t know well, not trusting them and am especially nervous around those I think may not be wholly stable.

A friend who knew about the two entrapments, last summer and this year remarked:
You must be giving out the wrong signals unintentionally?
...provoking the rejoinder:
It's my fault!!!!!???

But I know I shouldn’t have to defend myself.

In a letter regarding my course withdrawal, a course leader had talked about the "resilience" required for teaching.  I know he meant well, only that it would be in my best interests to be fully well before any return, but it could also sound like: "end up with heart problems and you're obviously not resilient". I can't imagine returning. I feel so fragile now. I had a really successful first placement and passed. I was one of the better student teachers my mentor said. I enjoyed the discussions about literature and social issues with colleagues and pupils, but since 12 February there is no way I could now handle that pressure or that of an assignment.

Yesterday, a teenager accosted me in the street, looking for trouble to impress his friends.  I ignored them and no harm done.  But even as I knew teens sometimes do this I remembered my friends' words and those of the course leader.  Is it really my fault?  Do I attract these people?  Do I give off "manipulate me" signals? Does heart trouble mean you're not resilient, not as good, worth less?  Thus self esteem crumbles away and the damage of abuse is compounded by ignorance and insensitivity.

I have worried for my safety and that of my family.  Upon my arrival in the harassar's town to run my event, even though I believed they were away, I feared they would appear around every corner. I walked into the bar in the building where I hold the event.  In a horrible reversal of the situation where the lover believes they see the beloved everywhere, I saw people sitting at tables wearing the same colour tops the harasser would wear. My startled gaze jumped doubletakes from table to table.  My nerves jangled warnings.  Good Christ! I thought, When will this end? As I set up the room last weekend, I kept watching the door, starting at shadows.

Life is circumscribed now.  No outside work. I am too jittery to drive much. I don't feel ready to start from scratch again and seek private clients for language work. Even my social life, which was around dance, has been curtailed. The thought of going to any tango or salsa event fills me with dread in case the harasser is there. Even if they were not, that dread and worry embitters the experience. My heart jumps about just thinking of it.  I still worry the harasser will turn up at my own events because I know they don't take no for an answer.  I have seen that they don't know when to stop.

A:  I've developed an avoidant personality of late, especially regarding folk I don't know.
B:  That's not like you from what I've seen!
A:  Indeed, no. 

My trust in people, never too robust, hangs by a thread. Saddest is the impact on helping others. I will never again do that so freely, nor enjoy someone's development in the same way because I have seen how they can take that gift, twist into something ugly and damaging.  It will always be at the back of my mind.  Might they...? How unstable are they? How dangerous? It staggers me that all this harm was caused by a mere chit, albeit with the energy of someone three decades younger. I am a shadow of the self I was.

In the play “An Inspector Calls”, a family, separately, all interact, in negative ways, with someone who, under the cumulative assaults of these disparate individuals, commits suicide.  The family members try to absolve themselves to each other.  The Scots novel, "Scabby Queen", also portrays the characters who interacted with each other and with a woman, who, at the start of the book, we discover has killed herself. She seemed to turn in on herself. 

Therefore, it is important to speak out. I am not sure how important it is to whom you speak.  But it is important not to be left in the dark with abuse and harassment and bullying. It is important to let in the light and the air.

Many people still think: You are not responsible for your effect on other people.  What they think, do, feel, has nothing to do with you or what you do to them or say to them.  Somehow, our society, for the most part, believes you cannot harm someone in any significant way unless you touch them.  Or unless it is in clearly defined categories like domestic abuse or sexual harassment, both of which can be verbal. What a bizarre and foolish misapprehension it is, for this same damage of one person by another clearly extends more widely.

I had read not long before that anger is a punishment you give yourself for someone else’s bad behaviour. I am sure there is much in this.   Yes, I was profoundly and irreversibly disappointed but more than that, I could not fathom how someone would force themselves, psychologically, on someone else, still less turn up where they knew they were not wanted.  In physical terms we call that rape, or assault.  Outside domestic abuse situations, or in rare, difficult-to-prove cases, at work, we don’t yet fully accept the physical damage someone’s words or actions can do without actually beating you.  Would that in the future the psychological and the corresponding physical harm someone causes another is treated with the gravity that today is accorded to physical attacks. 

This could have happened anywhere I suppose, at work, at some other club. But it happened in the world of tango, where I go to meet people, connect, enjoy their company and to help them if they look for that.  It happened in the room I use for my practica, that is now tainted with that memory.  People I have told since have been supportive.  I realise I am not alone in seeing how certain individuals use all their wiles to get what they want.  I have people who will help me if they try to turn up again.  There is security in the building.  The police have said I can phone. There are at least three layers of defence, plus now more people know and just that helps.  It is extraordinary to me that I now need to think this way.

A:  I have realised that when it comes to bullish undesirables, no matter how fine the packaging, what you actually need is bouncers or security - ideally several levels of it in case one doesn't work in case one doesn't work.
B: I found that out a looooong time ago.

I wonder though, how might things have been different had I told someone in my local community, earlier?  What if I had asked someone to be with me that day, in case they turned up, if I hadn’t tried to cope through six weeks of harassment on my own, if I hadn’t held on to this dirty secret alone in the metaphorical dark?  There would have been no confrontation.  I wouldn’t have got chest pains nor ended up laid up for weeks with a fear of people that leaves me shaky and unable to cope with situations I won’t be able to walk away from.

If there are two main conceptual preoccupations in my life, these have long been freedom and death. Freedom starts with 'freedom from', before it becomes 'freedom to'. That includes freedom from harassment.  Confronted with the deliberate infringement and circumscription of that freedom by someone else, it has thrown the fragility of life and good health into sharp relief.