The house of one

Let me tell you about a house I once knew.

It wasn’t the prettiest place, but it had character. And it was filled with a group of mates. All travelling together. With purpose.

Even if the purpose at that time was, largely, getting drunk.

The kitchen bustled with shared stories. The living room echoed with laughter. It was fun.

And then one day, he arrived.

He wasn’t supposed to stay long—just a visitor at first. But before anyone could blink, he'd unpacked, claimed a bedroom, and moved in.

Reality, But Different

From the beginning, things felt… off.

He had a talent for the spotlight. Every conversation—no matter how unrelated—somehow ended up with him at the centre.

You could be discussing your job, your plans, your bad day and suddenly, he’d interrupt: “You think that’s bad? Let me tell you about my day...”

Everything became a performance.

If he tripped over the rug, someone else must have placed it there. If the fridge was empty, it was because people were sabotaging him.

Nothing was ever his fault.

The Bruises You Couldn’t See

There was something else he brought into the house. A certain... edge.

It started subtly. A comment here, a smirk there. Sarcastic little jabs dressed up as banter.

You’d burn toast and he’d say, “Classic you. ”You’d forget to lock the door and hear, “Well, we can’t all be bright.”

You told yourself it was nothing. Just his sense of humour. Just the way he is. But slowly, the jokes started to sting.

He always punched down—never up. He never mocked people who could push back. Only the quieter ones. The kind ones. The ones who didn’t know how to weaponise their voice.

And when someone finally did push back? He'd play the wounded party. “Can’t take a joke?” “Wow. So sensitive.”

He bullied, and then gaslit the bruises he left behind.

And the worst part? Sometimes we laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was easier. Because if you were laughing with him, maybe you weren’t the next target.

Pretty soon, people stopped talking to each other. The house grew quiet.

Not peaceful. Quiet. Like a theatre just before the curtain raises.

The Exhaustion

Living with him was like constantly walking on a tightrope in a windstorm.

You never knew what mood he’d be in.

One day, he’d shower you with praise. The next, he’d kill you off with a look.

And it wasn’t just emotional whiplash—it was the sense that you were somehow always being watched. Judged. Used for effect.

He needed to be the hero.
He needed to be the victim.
He needed to be the genius.

Sometimes all in the same sentence.

Whenever something went well, it was because of him. But if it went wrong? Someone else had clearly dropped the ball.

He’d rewrite history over breakfast.

• "Remember how I saved that dinner party last month?" (He hadn’t.)
• "Remember how you begged me for help with your CV?" (You hadn’t.)

The Rules Are Optional

The house had rules. Reasonable ones. Don’t hog the bathroom. Clean up after yourself. Don't steal anyone else's food.

He broke every one. Openly. Proudly.

And when you pointed it out, he’d grin. “Relax. You’re being too sensitive.”

Or worse: “You’re just jealous.”

Eventually, some people left. They packed up quietly and slipped away. Others stayed, hoping he’d change. Some even began to believe him.

After all, when someone repeats a lie often enough, it starts to feel like the truth.

The Real Danger

He was exhausting—but we adapted. That’s the scary part.

We made ourselves smaller so he could shine. We second-guessed our instincts. We avoided confrontation. We laughed at jokes we didn’t find funny. We even defended him, sometimes, just to keep the peace.

The house became chaotic, but weirdly predictable.

You stopped expecting honesty. You lowered your standards. You normalised dysfunction.

Because when one person insists on being the centre of everything, the rest of us slowly forget we were ever meant to orbit anything else.

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And then imagine this man as President of the United States and one of the most powerful men on the planet.

Until next time,

Jon "not a MAGA fan" Kaye

P.S. My latest single "I Lose My Breath" is out now. It's my fastest selling single to date so please spread the word. I know your work colleagues need to hear it.