Living with a Narcissist

Life with a narcissist, the beginning of the loss of your independence and freethinking. She’s witty, she’ll do it slow. A small bit of poison every day. A frog would never know if you were boiling them alive if you did it one degree at a time.

When you create relationships around you you create escape hatches. These are windows of hope you never knew you needed until the darkness swells around you. You never knew you were claustrophobic until you were pinned in the corner. These windows are the first thing she begins to poison. Blocking out each glimmer of light so there’s nowhere for you to run. She infects the minds of your guardian angels. Her face is calm, able to mimic every small detail of every emotion she should be feeling. She’s sad, she’s angry, but you’ve been trained better. Behind the Maroge in her eyes you see the dull emptiness. She’s not sad and she’s not angry, she’s winning. This is her drive, this is her motivation. You know this because you have seen small bits of that dullness when she slips and falls into it, just to quickly bring herself back out because the act is all she has.

She tries her very best to attach her strings to you. You fight it knowing it will make her vicious, but being shown the consequence of losing your agency is so much worse than anything she can do to you. She wants your mind, she wants your thoughts, she wants you as a puppet on the shelf ready to bend to her will. You’re stronger than that, she knows that. Behind her façade she’s sheep in wolves clothing. Her mask insights chaos, this is where she thrives. The sheep on the other side is terrified that you might speak up.

She covers the last glimmer of light in the dark room, this was her mistake. Leaving a victim with nothing you unlock their ability to do anything. You claw and climb, you pull yourself out of the sinking pit. A small part of you believes she wants to come with you, but you’ve tried before. She wasn’t made for the light, she was made to rot.

In her lifetime she will convince many to climb into the pit. She will hold them for months, even years. She’ll slowly cover up the holes I’ve light without them even knowing. She’ll convince them that she is the only light they need or want. When they try to leave her she’ll drag them back into the hole. She dug the hole deeper with every gift or favor you thought was an active human kindness. This was not human kindness, this was a bucket of dirt she told you to toss out the hole and you listened to her. She will remind you that while she ties your strings.

You will try to warn these sailors, but she is a siren and her song is too sweet. You will be there to pull them out once they have climbed over the lip of the pit. You would’ve liked to run, you would’ve liked to move across the world and never see the pit again, but God tied you to it with blood. She knew you’d feel the weight of the responsibility you have been given and be the lighthouse for the sailors. You dug your anchor deep into the earth to ensure your hand would be steady for the survivors. Occasionally you dangle your feet in the pit with a false hope that something may have changed, but the snake is still there. Her fangs are clear to you even through the darkness now. Bright white hazards dripping with the soles of her victims. Her dance and song have no effect on you now. You’ve numbed yourself, it was the only way you were going to live this life. She wanted to pull you apart piece by piece until there was nothing left. Her mistake in doing this was that she gave you a bigger gift than anything you could’ve given her. She gave you strength. The strength can only come from hardship. Thank her for it, but bury the pit.