To the Narcissist Who Never Really Existed

I feel like I’m left with the realization I loved a made up person. It’s sad, but the version of yourself in your head doesn’t exist. You love bombed me. You bought me things I could never afford, knowing it would mean the world to me. You called me your wife, flaunted me around, took me places, and made me feel alive. But I realize now, it was all about you. It was all about you looking awesome with an attractive woman you objectified behind the scenes. And when you bought me clothes, it was because you didn’t like my funky style. You wanted me to dress like a banana republic commercial. Before my surgery, it was all about you being able to play video games ten hours a day, without helping me with anything. And when I had surgery, you left me alone more than ever before when I needed you the most. But no one would think so, because you played the savior role so well. I called myself ungrateful a lot of the time, but I knew you never truly cared, and that’s what hurt the most. You were incapable of love. It wasn’t my fault. It is just the painful truth.

When you realized I started treating you differently to protect myself: you resented me more. You ignored my needs, belittled me often, would get drunk, and always try to push my buttons. I would always accept the blame for everything, but you said I never did. You also told me I lie about everything, when I had been more honest than you. You lied about past flings calling them friends, lied about them knowing about my existence, and lied about the dumbest crap until every word out of your mouth was empty. You painted me as jealous to other women and even embarrassed me by sending them texts about me. Rather than hearing me out, you let your own past experiences, paint me in an ugly manner. I couldn’t combat it all. I felt betrayed. And the more I caught wind of why the women in your past acted the way they did, I realized: you had no respect and empathy for women. You wanted to do as you pleased, while having a loyal woman at home. It doesn’t work that way. Sorry.

But I beat myself up for you, tried so hard to get my love back, as I was living with a ghost. You died inside my mind as I would drink to forget I was fooled. You fooled everyone too. At the concert we went to, you whispered for me to hold my urine when I was in a wheelchair. You wanted to go “mingle.” I felt sick after that and so alone. I felt like a replacable burden. I felt like an animal getting ready to sit in my own pee, because no one cared. You cared so much until you had to put effort back, right? I was so sad, and you didn’t even notice. All everyone saw was me looking “crazy,” just like you intended.

For months before surgery, I cleaned and cooked, trying to bring normalcy to a toxic environment. But you pulled me down with you. I played cheerleader until I was so drained I didn’t even want to see the sun.  So congratulations! You “won.” I couldn’t fight anymore at some point, nor should I of had to that much.

I remember the night I had enough. I remember seeing all these admirers I didn’t know. They were in awe of my courage and it gave me hope. Finally, I had hope. Hope was something you couldn’t embrace. And that’s when it hit me: hope was all that mattered to me. Having someone around to tell me to keep going, that I will walk again, better than ever. Having someone tell me I will be loved even if I needed surgery. Having someone who protected me from those who wanted to hurt me in my vulnerable state. I hope you will never know how I felt in such an emotionally and physically vulnerable state. I don’t wish it upon you. Even though I feel such anger for my unnecessary suffering, no human being deserves to be conditionally loved. We all will face health issues at some point, so I hope you find someone who will love you so much, that no obstacle could ever get inbetween the bond you have. I hope you learn how to love someday before it’s too late. ❤️

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