It’s a kind of insanity, you know, to be involved with a narcissist. You don’t realize what you’re doing to yourself when you’re involved with one, and if anything, you fight like hell to keep him in your life.
I never felt like I left him. I escaped.
But with what? Oh, it took strength, courage, resourcefulness to leave. I give myself that. But what did I lose?
Well, with children, a lot. Let’s say my relationship with them, while I was focusing all my energy on the N and being devoured – oh, like only a major portion of their childhood, as in most of it.
How about my sexuality? In our relationship, sex was a big thing. For me it was an expression of love, sacred. I adored him, and there was nothing wrong that we could do together as an expression of our love – two consenting adults giving freely and openly to each other.
Only, to him it wasn’t about love. It was about self pleasure, control, power, opportunities to feed his ego, to brag to friends and acquaintances and strangers, play by play.
It’s been almost 20 years since we first met, since that usury began, masquerading behind labels, like girlfriend and wife, but still the same careless, heartless usury. And only now, am I able to type it…first time…and it hurts still, deep inside the shame wells up. Well, it’s a start toward healing, I guess.
But I wonder, do we ever heal? Is there a place that is just so ravaged, that there’s no moving on? I don’t know.
I just know he took something from me, that while I do the best I can as a mother, and grow in that area as never before with greater strength and understanding, there is a part of me that is missing.
It is broken, and I fear there is a capacity to trust that I once had that will never return.
And that is sad.