When Abuse Follows You

I was groomed to hide abuse.

That’s what I’m learning about myself now.

My darling friend said I should write a book on it, because of all the firsthand trauma I’ve experienced from narcissism in my life. And more and more folks are starting to share their stories all over social media. More and more folks are not hiding their abuse.

Those of us who grew up around abuse can unfortunately hold a higher tolerance for disrespectful behavior because it was so prevalent in our childhood. I’d lay on a mattress by the front door with my best friend as we snacked on pasta and scribbled in activity books with headphones, trying to block out the shouts and crashes in her parents’ bedroom. Summer vacations spent with my extended family, I’d wake up to my aunt wailing at me and my cousin to flee next door and call the cops on her husband as he assaulted her, only to get the “nevermind” call at the neighbors. On other occasions, cousins and family friends pinned me down, ripped my shirt open; their hands wandered my body, their bodies on top of mine, their mouths sought my private places, they directed me to do the same to them.

I never told my mom any of those things until recently, as a full-grown adult. Because there was an unspoken rule not to talk about these things that we caught, even as children. And when it’s the people you love and trust in these situations, well…it becomes “normal”. Not that big of a deal. Everyone has to deal with something like this in the real world, right?

So you bring that “resilience” to the real world, accustomed to dysfunction. You’re so comfortable with it, you’ve always navigated it…that you don’t even realize…you’re always navigating it. It’s become second nature. You don’t think to run away from your “normal”. You’re just used to it.

In college, when my ex put me in a chokehold, I didn’t tell anyone. I just gave him another chance. When he did it a second time and started punching me when I wouldn’t submit to him, I left him, but I didn’t report anything. I told a couple of my closest friends and kept it moving. Oh, and I told some frenemies who claimed to care about me, but then they spread rumors that I was still seeing him, knowing what had transpired. I was never afraid though, because he was a little bitch. Only little bitches hit women.

We’re groomed to hide mistreatment.

We’re also so used to abuse only being physical, outright yelling or nasty belittling. A benefit of social media is that it’s opening our eyes collectively to the different types of emotional abuse that are so insidious. That we weren’t taught classified as abuse growing up. When I recounted different childhood experiences with my mom, my therapist said “Let’s stop dancing around the word we should be calling it, which is abuse.”

Abuse. Full stop. Because it’s so hard to connect that word with those you love. Because my mom’s intentions were good most of the time. But neglect and abuse are not always intentional. And accidental doesn’t mean it’s not there.

I wasn’t allowed to show “negative” emotion as a child. If I reacted with sadness or anger at anything my mom did, I was told I had an attitude or punished. I could not show any disapproval at her actions, no matter how ridiculous or illogical they were. That’s a key narcissistic trait though. One of my narcissistic exes once told me himself he needed to be around happy people only, because he was not capable of producing happiness himself. Also code for, “You cannot respond negatively to any of my abuse“. Narcs cannot regulate their own emotions, which is why they cannot handle yours, and will call you “emotional”. They flee from any emotion that is not “happy” or “anger” rather than dealing with it like an adult (because remember, they are emotionally immature). Which is why they need to constantly be surrounded by others hyping them up and giving them pats on the back and telling them “Good job”. They crave external validation because they cannot give it to themselves. That same ex needed me to celebrate every time he made a “sale” at his job, even though, that was literally his job every day: to make sales. So I had to celebrate him doing his basic job correctly, the way you clap for a toddler during potty-training. My last ex got mad that I didn’t automatically high-five him after a gym session. I have been with some bodybuilding-looking motherfuckers, and not once did they expect any sort of validation for completing their routine gym workouts. Because internal confidence does not breed the need to beg for recognition. But I wasn’t “supportive” enough because of this.

My individuality was not valued as a child, because my mom saw me as an extension of herself, as did my narc exes. In my last relationship, I constantly felt misunderstood, not heard, and not seen as my own person. Because I wasn’t. Things that were important to me were overlooked or easily forgotten. I was seen for how “good” I made my partner look (because I was attractive, fit, had home-making skills and participated in his hobbies), same as when I was young and my awards and educational accomplishments therefore made my mom look special in her parenting. But my unique quirks were not appreciated (they were usually laughed at), and if I had a differing opinion, or did something they thought made them look bad by association (because with narcs, it’s all about their projected image), it was all over. My personal feelings, thoughts or beliefs did not matter. If anything, they expected me to change my mind for them. I was expected to be uncomfortable so that they could look good or have their way at all times, and fake happiness even when I was miserable. If I didn’t, then I was “ruining the mood”, and the one thing a narc hates is if you ruin their good time because you’re upset by something inconsiderate that they did. But because they don’t want to be seen as a bad person in any capacity (and in their heads if they’ve done a bad thing then they’re automatically a bad person and they can’t process the shame involved), they just keep doing bad things and not taking accountability for them.

My mom is the first one to bend over backwards for someone and perform a favor that may greatly inconvenience her, if it will make her look like a savior. It’s generally a great production so that everyone knows, “Look what I did.” My narc exes were exactly the same, because it made them look like good people. But you’ll notice, they’d never do something like that for the people closest to them, like their partners or family members. Like, they’ll jump out of bed at 3am because their drunk friend called and needs a ride in the next town over, but complain about having to pause their game and drive their girlfriend home from the doctor 7 minutes away. It’s telling.

Heavy criticism is another marker. My mom never thought twice to publicly shame me for little things that didn’t match up to her standards, making spectacles of beating me or announcing my gifts were wrong, then proudly proclaiming her disciplinary actions to others. My aunt has witnessed her being incredibly cruel to me vocally on more than one occasion, and giving zero fucks about my feelings despite my being obviously visibly hurt. My two worst relationships with the biggest narcs were rife with criticism. And it was never constructive. I kid you not, my last ex brought up a work trip from 3 years prior, before we were even together, where I snuck a man into our company Airbnb late into the night for some “fun times”, so I barely got any sleep. The next morning, our group activity involved taking a yacht to a private island. I discreetly asked the captain if there was a room I could catch up on a few Zzzs in. He gladly obliged, I conked out for like 2 hours and awoke refreshed, ready to party with my team, feast, take pics, and swim in the river. But my ex made the biggest fuss about this years later for some reason. HOW DARE YOU DISAPPEAR FOR A NAP BECAUSE YOU DID DIRTY THINGS WITH A MAN BEFORE WE WERE TOGETHER. I DON’T THINK THIS WILL WORK OUT. Keep in mind I caught him going on Tinder while we were together “for validation” (narcs have ridiculous double-standards galore). There was absolutely nothing I could correct about that situation; it just happened and he wouldn’t let it go and angrily shoved it in my face for hours/days as this somehow lowered my worth in his eyes. The guy who also patronized sex workers and happy-ending massage parlors.

He told me he sometimes saw me as “his friend’s leftovers”, since I had dated his narc friend as well, and somehow thought he’d be different because of how hard he pursued me and earnest he was with his feelings (beware of love-bombing ya’ll). Another something I could do nothing about, but he held it over my head as if I’d now been demoted to a clearance rack item. Another instance he wouldn’t let go of for months, was a gaming session with friends, where a player I barely knew profanely roared at me when I beat him, which made me feel extremely unsettled. I ended up leaving because I couldn’t shake it off, and he once again claimed that my removing myself “ruined the mood”. The fact that he was well aware of my past trauma with abusive men yelling and getting physical didn’t matter. Because your feelings never matter to a narc, your discomfort doesn’t matter, your trauma does not matter. All that matters is what they want in that moment and how they think they look, at your expense. You live to serve them.

Have you ever had someone you loved callously watch you cry, turn their back on you and leave or like, pet the cat instead? Almost sociopathic, right? Normal people don’t like to see their loved ones hurt, but to narcissistic people, our tears inconvenience them. It’s literally, “Shit, they’re crying, now I gotta console them, ugh, I don’t wanna.” And yet, I’ve literally had them earnestly look deep into my eyes and say, “This anime is very important to me, I need you to pay attention and watch it seriously,” because I was looking at my phone. Double standards. Lack of empathy. Hallmark narcissistic traits.

And then the manipulation. They don’t have a great sense of self, so they don’t respect yours either, hate your boundaries, and ignore your likes and dislikes. And so, they’ll insist you do things that you’ve made clear you don’t like, and then get mad at you for not visibly enjoying it. One ex got angry because I opted out of playing beer pong and sat on a stool to watch the game instead. Another threw a fit because I pulled myself out of a game of Never Have I Ever, when a coworker kept pressing me on a question I didn’t want to answer. If you’ve been with a narc yourself, you’ll know, the anger is always severely disproportionate to the actual “offense”, due to their terrible emotional dysregulation. My ex even admitted that though he’d been promising that he’d close the gap on our relationship by moving to my state since we got together, he’d hoped that we could do drugs together and I’d be enlightened to change my mind so he wouldn’t have to keep his promise. You’re not accepted for who you are, but rather, the ball of Play-Doh you become for them to mold into whatever they need at the moment.

But we’re trained…to stay…silent.

I remember the first time I broke the silence of keeping the chaos a secret in my last relationship. After my alcoholic ex getting into 3 vehicular accidents within the first year of our relationship, and the fear I felt one night wondering if I might become a victim in the passenger side of his reckless swerves and curb-jumping. I remember him being pissed that I’d told someone, but in no way concerned for my safety, just his image. I remembered thinking how horrified my family and friends back home would be if they found out I’d been hurt (or worse) in a completely preventable accident because I’d chosen to move states to be with a substance-abuser with heavy mental issues who hid liquor bottles in his cue-stick bag and constantly pushed me to leave but I stayed because I really wanted to help heal him but staying meant constantly enduring why can’t you just think how I think and act like I act and NOT be your own person and never disagree or dislike anything I say or do and excuse all of my bad behavior? Why can’t you ever be…good enough.

And you won’t be. Not for them. You will never be good enough for them. Because they move the goalpost every time you finally reach it. And because nothing is ever good enough for them. Because they aren’t actually happy with themselves, and that’s why they’re always chasing the next high, restlessly looking to fill the void and persistent emptiness inside of them with outside stuff. They are not at peace with themselves, so they’ll never be peaceful with you. And they don’t love you for the person you actually are. They love you for what you’re doing for them, how well you’re handling their projected emotions, how well you make them look. The second your real flaws and needs come into the picture as a person, and they have to cope with actual human sides of you, the “love” they say they have stops.

Ben Taylor of Raw Motivations, a self-aware narcissist who shares helpful content on narcissistic abuse, reminds us that narcissists’ words never line up with their actions. A glaring mark of dishonesty. And that you always need to be looking at what is being demonstrated over what is said.

So, let’s take this example. One of the biggest recurring issues in my last relationship was that my ex had an “internet friend” that he’s only met once in his life. Someone he’s never really shared his hopes and dreams or trauma with or who has never stood by him through some deep shit or helped him in any meaningful way. He repeatedly swore up and down they were just friends and there was nothing sexual or anything more going on between them. But women have intuition and know when something’s up. Despite my ex willing to die on the hill of his assertion that this was a run-of-the-mill friendship, the following happened during our relationship:

  1. He liked all of the pictures she posted and commented on how beautiful she was.
  2. He showed me old messages between them of him admitting his crush on her and getting upset whenever she mentioned her boyfriend (the literal definition of simping).
  3. He tried to hide the fact that he was watching her Twitch streams when I was around (because obviously he felt it was something that needed to be hidden).
  4. He bought her OnlyFans subscription in secret, “out of curiosity” he said (even though he supposedly had no sexual feelings for her) and then admitted to me he was looking for her pics to jack off to.
  5. He mentioned she once sent him a video of her having sex with her boyfriend.
  6. Despite MANY serious conversations and ensuing forgiveness, culminating in a giant boundary being set by me that I could not “happily” continue the relationship if he continued to reach out to her, he broke the agreement we made, did it anyway, then deleted the conversations between them. He then lied to me about how they got deleted, trying to convince me the phone must have deleted it, the social media platform must have malfunctioned (guys, THIS is textbook gaslighting) until he finally admitted to it, but claimed there wasn’t anything suspicious said (though he felt the need to delete the evidence). He then refused to unfriend her after breaking the promise, which caused our relationship to end (He also immediately confided in her directly after the breakup).
  7. He came back months later asking me for another chance, saying he confessed all of his shady behavior to her because she needed to know. I later found out this was also all a lie once I actually saw the messages. He basically just told her I was being ridiculous. He then told me that he lied to me to “make himself look better” so that I would take him back again.
  8. And then, after the subsequent breakup, he immediately unblocked and refollowed same girl AGAIN and began liking her stuff, even though he’d told me he “barely thinks about her anymore”. Even after we’d made a pact to try and be friends and help each other get through this breakup together, stay in one another’s lives, remain sensitive to each other’s emotions, a source of comfort, not post anything hurtful, you know, all that mature breakup jazz when you actually care about a person? Even though I was expected to “watch what I post” and make sure I didn’t accidentally post a guy’s arm anywhere on my social media. So I called him out on it, and he apologized saying “I had no idea it would upset you, I’ve unfollowed her”, (after 3 years of this being a recurrent problem, had no idea) only to find out he friended and still spoke to her on another platform.

Believe the words? Or the actions? What is being demonstrated here? Trust, honesty, loyalty, and caring? Fuck no! If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it ain’t a cow, no matter how much a narc tries to gaslight you into believing you don’t understand farm animals. They will lie to your face. And they think their lying is justified because they have a faulty conscience that operates as a “What can I get away with?” meter. “Did those actions display love like his words did?” No Ben. They did not. Were those the regular friendly actions of a man who’s totally not into this girl and has no ulterior motive whatsoever? No. They are not. What is actually happening is what is factual. We are so hurt by the actions and so confused when they don’t line up with the words, that we’ll lie to ourselves just to soothe the pain of betrayal by someone we loved and would have done anything for. We’ll lie and say “He didn’t mean it,” or “This is how caring looks.”

But take away all the slick words and the silver tongue. Someone who directs his attention to talk to the dog while you’re breaking down and hurt doesn’t love you. Someone who tells you, after you have to physically remove yourself from the room because he won’t take your no to sex for an answer, “You should have said no more seriously,” does not love you. Someone who says “I understand that this hurt you,” and then proceeds to do the exact same thing over and over again…does not actually care. It’s all a deceptive facade.

My mom and I have been having a lot more talks recently because she genuinely wants to improve our adult relationship. And she finally used the word herself last week. She said she didn’t realize that what she was doing back then was emotional abuse. But she realizes it now. And perhaps finally calling it what it is, by name, is freedom.

And not hiding abuse anymore is freedom.

And having the courage to radically accept the painful truth that you loved those who never reciprocated meaningful love or caring in return despite their words?

Freedom from their lies.

And freedom from the lies we had to tell ourselves to be with them, that we actually meant something real to them; the worst pain of all.

Tell your story.

~Tael

Unlearning: Discomfort = Love

Not too long ago, I asked my crush about a past relationship and he informed me that he didn’t want to go into detail about it. My first reaction was hurt; I wanted to connect and grow closer by learning about this part of his past and I almost felt shut out by it. But the logical part of my brain reasoned with me: why was I making this about myself? It had nothing to do with me. He just felt uncomfortable sharing it.

Boundaries.

Some time ago, my therapist (AND my boss haha) brought some very valuable information to light concerning my tenuous relationship with my mother; that our relationship lacked boundaries, which then translated into boundary-trampling in my other relationships. I put aside what made me uncomfortable in romantic relationships, and suffocated my partners’ limits, because my upbringing had taught me that discomfort equals love.

I want to say “in my family,” but maybe this wasn’t the case. Maybe it was just my mom in particular, who never took my personal mental comfort seriously. Sure, the normal PHYSICAL comforts were taken care of. But never my psyche.

She’d buy clog-shoes that felt uncomfortable on my feet, but insist I wear them because they were “fashionable.” She’d force me to wear a graduation dress that exposed far too much side-boob than my 13-year-old self was comfortable with. She’d demand that I hug so-and-so, despite my visible uneasiness, and call out that uneasiness as problematic because she didn’t understand it (or care to ask), putting me at war with my internal feelings.

We weren’t allowed to have boundaries as children, it seemed…because adults knew better what we should properly feel.

She’d drag me to the forefront of an audience to recite a pleasantry (knowing full well I hated being the center of attention) and stand idly by as her shadow as they asked me questions and she answered for me, until I had permission to flee. Or she’d shove me into a group of children at a gathering against my pleas and demand I make friends, where anxiety got the better of me and I’d break down and sob.

Once I reached adulthood, moved out and got my own job, apartment, and self-sufficiency, those habits never ended. She continued to pull me into the spotlight to show me off, cut me off to answer questions directed at me, and automatically make plans for me assuming it was a given I’d go along with them. Any time I expressed discomfort as an adult, manipulation tactics, guilt trips and gaslighting were used to coerce my submission.

Eventually, I resorted to ignoring her phone calls and texts most of the time, or preparing ironclad defenses like a lawyer as to why I couldn’t attend an event, simply because I was afraid to say “no” and the drama that would ensue as a result. But as an adult, why did I still need to live with this fear? Why couldn’t I ever say “Actually, I don’t feel like it,” or “I think that request is unfair, so no,” or “I feel uncomfortable,” without getting the 3rd degree for it and made to feel that my emotions were insubstantial somehow?

Always made to feel like a selfish person to choose yourself first, guilt became interweaved with the concept of “no,” and responsibility for everyone else’s feelings paramount to your own. And discomfort became a way of life; normal even. And boundaries ceased to exist between those who love each other and the more uncomfortable you feel, the stronger your bond and the higher your love must reach. Until distress spills over everywhere because you don’t even know what boundaries are anymore, or the source of your unhappiness.

But…you do know a state of constant discomfort doesn’t feel good, so you wonder…why would someone who loves me continue to put me in situations I don’t feel comfortable in, for their own satisfaction?

I don’t want to continue that cycle.

Unlearn that love.

~Tael

The Silent Abuse Of A Narcissistic Partner

I used to think the term “narcissist” only applied to conceited, attractive (or those that think very highly of themselves) individuals who couldn’t stop looking in the mirror like the mythical Greek hunter who drowned in his own reflection. But during the healing phases of my last breakup, I researched how it has a highly toxic way of entering the relationship realm. And I realized, oh shit, it’s happened before. My family probably doesn’t even know about it, because I never really told them the story. Does physical or emotional abuse weigh more? For me, the physical abuse I experienced long ago was far more forgettable.

Back in college I dated your typical urban pretty-boy, obsessed with his image and having a girl on his arm who enhanced that. He was your textbook narcissist, so self-centered, his own sister once told me how much it bothered her. He spent more time in front of the mirror than I did, making sure his outfits were immaculate, the designer logos showing, the sneakers uncreased (I believe he even shoved MetroCards down the front of them to keep the wrinkles out) and that his du-rag was perfectly centered and aligned with his forehead.

He’d insist that I step up my swag, rock the latest sneakers, he’d take credit for sexy heels I’d wear, saying he bought them for me when he hadn’t, and constantly comment on how well-dressed and attractive he was. Lord only knows what his Instagram would look like now if he has one.

The stream of abuse trickled in slowly at first. He’d insinuate that I might be sleeping around on him, demand to check my phone (although he’d make sure to first delete anything off his in front of me before handing over his) and threaten to fuck both me and the mysterious man up if he ever found out. Then he’d use intimidation tactics, like invading my personal space, slowly getting face to face with me, and punching the wall next to my head. I have a certain sort of stupid fearlessness sometimes, so I never actually felt threatened. One night, after a party, one of my good friends observed him yanking me around in a parking lot during an argument and stepped in to intervene. He told him to get lost (my friend was a tank, so my ex couldn’t take him) and walked me home that night, saying he didn’t like the kid’s antics, and that I should rethink the relationship. Still, I thought it would all be fine.

The first night he put me in a headlock during a heated exchange, I forgave him. I knew he wouldn’t REALLY hurt me. But then it happened a second night, and this time the blows came with it. I don’t remember any pain. I just remember my spirit ascending from my body and looking down at my physical body, shaking its head that a smart girl like me had ended up there. When my spirt re-entered my body, I recovered my wits and grabbed an iron from under the bed, prepared to bash his face in. Before I could make impact, he released me and fled. I ended it the next morning.

Since then, I’d never even thought about the other kind of abuse; the emotional kind. The kind that comes from a Nice Guy Narcissist. They put their best mask on up front. The same one they show to everyone else on the outside, saving the Mr. Hyde underneath exclusively for you. With my last ex, it started small. I asked to please not continuously ask to borrow money from me, as it’s a certain thing I’m uncomfortable with, especially in relationships. My requests went ignored. Every paycheck he asked to borrow money from me, and eventually got abrasive when I’d remind him how much I didn’t like it. Eventually I relented and gave in every time because I wanted to make him happy. Maybe that’s where I went wrong, setting aside my deeply uncomfortable feelings in the name of love.

Eventually, I began to give in on more and more things that made me uncomfortable, convinced by him that I was wrong for feeling uncomfortable about it in the first place. Not only that, my discomfort BOTHERED him. It was no longer something for him to acknowledge; it became something I had to hide. And just like that, it was all turned around and the downward spiral began. I could no longer guess what about my normal self would randomly set him off and suddenly become a problem I had to take it upon myself to change.

On a trip to an amusement park, two girls cut the line in front of us and he flipped.

On me.

I took a laid back approach, because I was just happy to be on vacation with him, saying it would be alright, it happens sometimes and let’s let it go.

Triggered.

He said I wasn’t taking his side enough and proceeded to publicly lash out at me for the next hour, as passers-by looked on with concern and I gave them the reassuring eye-contact that said “I’m fine, I can handle this. I’m okay.”

This was after the night after I’d found myself hunched on a bench wondering why he was emotionally pissed because I’d asked, “Can we go to one haunted house first to kill time since the alcohol stand isn’t open yet?” No. We had to sit and wait until the stand opened and apparently, I hadn’t asked with the right attitude, so now he was upset at me. No compromise.

I could never call what would trigger his explosive reactions. If his friend did something I considered disrespectful and I got upset, he got mad at me for feeling and reacting disrespected. If I was too curious about a girl he’d hooked up with but was still friends with, he was resentful. If I got upset because I wanted his attention during an hours-long video game binge (unless I whipped out a vibrator and started pleasuring myself in front of him, that was the only proper way not to trigger it), he became incensed, then made it clear the game would come first before any tears or serious matters that needed immediate attention. If I was cleaning in the evening because it hadn’t been done yet, he’d feel guilty because he hadn’t done it, and demand that I stop and wait until he was ready. If I ran away from a bumblebee in fear, he’d get furious and say I would make it sting him, even though everyone (and the Internet) has told me bumblebees (yes, those giant furry, bear-looking things) are harmless and don’t sting. If he blew all his money on frivolous things and I didn’t want to bail him out when he suddenly needed an expedited passport or to book a cabin for his friends, it was my fault.

20180413_213120I couldn’t be sad. I couldn’t be pissed. I couldn’t ask one too many questions. I couldn’t bring up something that bothered me if 24 hours had elapsed already (although he could); it meant I was thinking about it for too long, which angered him. I couldn’t do what genuinely came naturally. I was only allowed to express happy emotions and say things that equaled praise in regards to him. If he had made me sad, it meant he had failed in all aspects and couldn’t handle it, which resulted in him lashing out at me or saying he may as well leave then. If I read a menu improperly in his mind, he had to devote time to explaining why I was wrong about it, until the food came exactly as I had depicted it would, then there was nothing more to say. He could do no wrong. The rules didn’t apply to him. He could be jealous but I couldn’t. He could announce when it was time to leave an event or outing, even if I wanted to stay, but we could never leave if I was ready to go before he was. I wasn’t allowed to point out any faults of his.

If I tried to say, “Here’s something that really bothered me and I need to talk about it,” instead of listening, he said “Well here’s something that bothered me a few weeks ago and we need to talk about THIS now and i’m angry!” Always overshadowing my needs. Always tossing what I needed to the side. If I tried to say, “Please, how do we stop this argument from happening,” I was accused of wanting things to end on my terms and being “over it”. If I remembered something differently than he did, I was crucified for not adopting his version of the memory. At times, he’d violently punch himself in the face or bash his head into the walls. I suggested a therapist, but he refused. I thought of secretly contacting his father on multiple occasions because of the fearful level of destructiveness he showed to himself. This was not normal. Once he knew that I was cautious about what I said to him, because I was afraid of the outbursts he might have in response, he grew angry at my fear.

One night, on a company trip, he locked me in our room and said he was going to go kill himself and that I had caused these feelings because I wanted to stay in a hotel that night. I had to escape by climbing over the wall of the outdoor bathroom. I was terrified to tell my boss. My friends later said it was better I hadn’t.

He blamed it all on anxiety. That was always the excuse for the lengthy, bitter reactions. He viciously battered me with harsh words as retaliation for bringing up my issues to him. Only in hindsight did I realize how ridiculous it was to pander to these temper tantrums time and again (God forbid I ever argued back that I felt I was right, it would have made the conflict last 48 hours instead of 24). I don’t believe anxiety should make you lash out at people. I have it sometimes, and it never makes me angry at someone, just scared. It never makes me want to attack someone. His anxiety made him interrupt my aunt while she was speaking to me one night, when she said she didn’t want us sleeping in the same bed at my grandparent’s house. I may reside on the social outskirts of polite normalcy, but I know better than to try and pull someone away from their mom or an elder family member because I feel my need to immediately speak to them is more urgent. Even I know that’s rude.

20180406_140443The amount of money he also borrowed from his father, in addition to me, showed me I might never get the the level of respect I craved. Because that’s someone who’s been there his entire life, and far nicer than myself, and I just popped up late in the game. The professions of marriage and kids seemed like the strangest thing coming from him, blurted in moments of drunkenness. He stormed away from me during every argument, even though he told me he hated when I did it (so I’d stopped, but he continued), multiple times, so the conflicts lasted even longer because a proper conversation couldn’t even be held. He’d admitted to me that whatever he didn’t like, he walked away from it. That was his M.O. in life. Which is exactly what he did to me. Straight into his ex’s arms the same night he left me. It was proof that whatever I had tried so desperately to protect, was flimsy and provisional. Why didn’t I see it before? Why don’t we ever see it? The abuse and manipulation runs so deep, you don’t even notice it hidden behind the emotion which equals passion which equals…meaning…? You don’t realize the bonds you thought were so strong were really transient cancers, and the longer cancer lasts the more it leaves you sick, ravaged and exhausted. After the breakup, I stumbled across posts asking “Were you dating a narcissist?” and the lightbulb flashed and grew in brightness. The selfishness, the need for instant gratification, the manipulative tactics when they don’t get their way, the sense of entitlement, the charming mask for outsiders, the table-turning.

Objects can hold energies, and with each one I threw out, I felt my heart cleansing. Only those who have been through an emotionally abusive relationship understand how tossing the articles that belonged to the abuser helps to purge the nightmares. So maybe that’s why my mom didn’t understand when I wanted to toss all the decorative pictures he’d put up, but she wanted me to save them “just in case” she might want them. I knew that she WOULDN’T, it was just a case of sticky-eyes at seeing something free, but if she wasn’t going to take it then and there, I couldn’t stand to have them in my house any longer emanating poison memories. “You’re a brat, you know that,” she said to me, in a cruel moment where I needed someone to think about me and my feelings the most.

I believe life wanted to remind me of my strength. I distinctly remember coming home from a night hanging out with friends towards the end of it all. He hadn’t wanted me to go. In fact, he had made plans with his father earlier in the week, so I had made plans after for the same night to avoid being depressed in the house alone. His father ended up canceling. Of course, my ex got pissed at me because I didn’t immediately cancel my plans. I told him this was unfair, as I really needed to talk to my girlfriends and I knew he would absolutely NEVER do the same thing in my position. Hell, he wouldn’t even drop the controller if I was distraught. He didn’t like me talking to my girlfriends about my relationship either. Well, he did in the beginning, when he still had the mask on.I came back that night with positive vibes, and he felt them, and said something very poignant. He said that he could tell after speaking with my friends that I had come back with a strong, black woman, no-nonsense mentality.

And I could tell it distressed him to say that.

Why wasn’t he proud of me? I had forgotten that’s exactly who I am, and I could never be ashamed of that or have someone, especially not a man, make me feel as if being a strong, black woman with a no-nonsense mentality is problematic. Do you want to know the hidden meaning behind my fifth tattoo? It’s not JUST my favorite Smash Bros. character on my leg. It’s a sign of strength. It is a reminder that I am strong, sexy, confident, regal, and a worthy soldier who holds her head high with a powerful stance for what she believes in. A narcissist will make you try and forget that. My head had been brought down so low, I almost didn’t recognize myself anymore. Now I have a permanent reminder when things get rough. Stand tall.

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The scars from the physical abuse over a decade ago were nothing compared to the mental wounds I was dealt as of late. But the beautiful thing about the mind is, while it can be cripplingly weak, it can be blazingly tenacious. We all may die a little sometimes, to be reborn from the ashes with renewed vigor, lessons learned and a vibrant healed wingspan, thirsty for flight.

~Tael