A Little Note From The Empire: The Bloody Narcissistic Truth
- Darienne
- Aug 14
- 5 min read
Reader's Note:
I recently found this piece in my drafts from years ago.
I don't know exactly when it was originally written, but from the context clues in it, I'm thinking maybe around 2019 or so.
Honestly, as I read it, I have so many emotions. I feel my body tensing. It's a very raw account of my own experience with narcissistic abuse, and it's hard to go back there.
I know that past version of me wrote it wishing that she had felt safe enough or brave enough or even healed enough to post it. But she kept it hidden, like all her other pain.
Today, I know this version of me is brave enough. So I'm doing it for her.
Now her words can finally be heard.
"The Bloody Narcissistic Truth"
I'll admit, healing from narcissistic abuse has been one of, if not the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. So many things are being brought to the surface by triggers that he causes on a regular (sometimes even daily) basis. I know it's not him, but rather that he's playing this monstrous force that seems to be the culmination of every one of my fears from my treacherous past. Even still, I wish things were easier, and they're not. Not now, anyway. I wish I could say that I'm past this, that I've healed and I'm now using it to fuel my art and spread a powerful message, but right now I think the most powerful message that I can convey with any kind of honesty is that I'm human...and I'm down for the fucking count right now.
I feel alone. Isolated. Like I need someone to just burst into tears to—that will give me this beautiful, safe space to cry a painful cry that would last what would feel like an eternity until a tsunami poured out of me and I was finally all better. But I don't trust people anymore, so instead I hold it in, waiting for the appropriate time to quietly go off on my own and shed a little tear here and there to release what I can to manage through the rest of the day. It's not me, I know, but for now...it's where I am. Accepting that has been difficult, almost impossible for me.
I've been denying reality while being continuously exposed to what seems like all new and false realities. With a narcissist, you never know what's real and what's fake. Was any of that real? What I thought we built together? Our family? Did he lie about this? Did I really feel that? Was it really love, or do I not even really know what love is? How could I not see all of this? How could I be so blinded by lust or what I thought was love? So many conflicting realities happening at once.
He psychologically brainwashed me, that's for sure. But it was honestly no different than any of the psychological manipulation that I was so used to from many of my loved ones growing up. This is how addicts act, and frankly, a narcissist is just an addict himself. But I thought I knew people like this. I was convinced I knew exactly how to handle them and have a handle on them. Looking back, I feel like I'm watching myself in a horror movie, about to go into those dark woods that I know the killer is in, and I'm screaming at the television, "Nooo!! Don't go in there!! Turn around!! Run!!!" But I don't listen, and I'm definitely that girl who doesn't trust her own instinct and walks right into danger. I thought it was cute back then. Exciting, even. But in hindsight, it was an expression of my own lack of self-worth. I honestly didn't even know any better. I truly did not think I could find a love better than that. Of course, I knew I deserved to be treated better on an intellectual level, but my emotional being was desolate, and she thought she needed a man like this to fulfill her. That's hard to admit, but it's one of the many shadows I've had to uncover within myself to finally start to heal this.
I made a fucking mistake. One that I will never make again. I won't sacrifice myself for even a second, for even the slightest aroma of a toxic man. Honestly, I don't have any left of me to sacrifice. My narcissistic ex is still chewing on the last remnant of me—fattening up, enjoying his feast, licking his fingers clean. And all I can do is let him...for now. Until I build my strength, I have no moves to make. I've been lying here in the ring in a bloody haze, just trying to catch my breath. I can only just begin to hear the faintest sound of the crowd shouting & cheering in the distance. I'm half in a dreamland. This weird alternate reality, or a strange purgatory between my own lives. I'm talking to a tall, robed, aetheric figure, trying to decide if it's worth getting back into my body or just saying, "Fuck it," and calling it a loss. The jury is still out on that one.
Do you know what it's like to question everything, even the very reality you currently find yourself in? I know a new reality is simply one new perspective away. I know that I am a witch, that this is my game, and I could call it at any time. But how far do I want to go with this? Wipe this motherfucker off the face of the planet, or walk away, swallow my pride, focus on loving myself, and let God deal with him? What is the right thing to do? I contemplate as I lay in my K.O. stance on the floor. Body is lifeless, but mind is moving at a rapid speed. So many questions, so many quarrels within me, so much fury and so many fears dancing around like dragons in heaven, clouding up the Truth. Where... is... Truth?
I think I remember that place. I think I called it home. A faint bit of memory my amnesia allows me. I forgot me. I forgot everything good. That's the only thing that I am certain of: that I am certain I am lost. Where do we go from there? The thing I called love...not love at all? Like a wolf in sheep's clothes, this hate wore love's cloak. And all this time, while my blindfold was on, I bared myself naked, so trusting, wide open, each kiss like a dagger just cutting me deeper. And him...caught red-lipped, with my blood down his chin, sucking me dry and drunk off my power, fueling his false sense of self. This kind of power isn't made for fools like him.
But...I...loved...him.
Such a painful thing to admit, but a thing I can't hide. No more secrets. Out with it now. I don't want to be the other woman in his dark, horrific novel. I've become his little plaything, like the cat that's still batting at a limp little carcass. This game's become loveless. At least before he pretended, but now he's just careless.
And let that be my permission to leave.
*Reading this evokes so much in me that I have decided to write a second piece just processing this.
'Til next week.
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