Narcissists are usually smart. They’re charismatic and popular. They seem to have it all. But deep down, wayyyy down inside of them, there’s insecurity.
I wasn’t allowed to look better than him. I couldn’t wear a dress if he didn’t want to wear something dressy. I definitely wasn’t allowed to be more fashionable or bold than he was- red lipstick was a no. Meanwhile, he stood in front of the mirror every day so that he could figure out if his v-neck shirt showed enough of his chest. He doused himself in cologne before going anywhere and fixed his hair for a bit. If I asked why he wanted to put on such a big show for everyone but me, he would somehow turn it around on me being self-conscious. It was always my problem and my fault. The more he denied that he had a need for attention, the more anxious I would become when we went places.
Once, his friend sat too close to me at a game night. We went outside and he yelled at me until I cried on the stairs of the apartment building. I couldn’t move because I was crying so hard. He was angry because I was embarrassing him.
The more I displeased him, the more I wanted to somehow make it up to him. I would do little things for him everyday. I would clean his apartment when he would blatantly leave messes. I took care of him: did his laundry, cooked, woke him up in the mornings, made sure he was on time to his appointments, organized his things, took out his trash and would leave little surprises around like filling the apartment with sticky notes saying “I love you more than *insert name of object upon which the sticky note was resting*.” Did he acknowledge any of the things I did? No. Did he expect these things to happen anyways? Yes.
Sure, he sometimes did some nice things for me. He picked me up from work oftentimes and took me to get coffee. He helped me look into my eye condition. He introduced me to his friends. I clung to every small tiny thing that he did that could even remotely seem like it was nice or kind or loving. The smallest things he did like pick me up ever meant the world to me and the biggest things I did for him meant nothing.
For valentine’s day, I got him a super nice pair of gaming headphones (ya, he gamed.). He took me to CVS and said “pick something out.”
The less he cared, the more I did care. One of my greatest fears is that people will leave me. If we had a disagreement, all he had to do was threaten to leave and I would shut-up and cry. So he did that. Over and over and over and over. He was my worst nightmare and he knew it- he wanted it. He made himself feel better by demolishing someone else. He made himself my whole world so that his need for attention could be filled, and as soon as it was, it was time to do the crazy-making and gas-lighting processes, which would make me the bad guy, and him the victim- as usual.
*Disclaimer* I am not writing this blog for myself- I don’t need to vent, I don’t need to express emotions and I don’t need to whine about some boy- writing these things triggers me and brings back PTSD symptoms- it doesn’t benefit me at all other than letting me help other survivors relate to someone and bring awareness to those who can’t relate. I am writing this blog solely to help others and raise awareness about mental health.