She can feel it coming a mile away. A sideways glance, that look in his eye, or a single word. Her heart pounds, her stomach clenches, she waits for her life jacket, yet the ocean of abuse seems to overwhelm her hopes. Waves of disappointment shake her to her core, drowning her hopes that this time things will be different.
Perhaps one day, she will calmly call it for what it is, who he is. But for now, she only need know the signs. Narcissistic abuse is insidious, harmful. The manipulation, the invisible tool strikes sideways, or when her back is turned. Like a poison that seeps into her bloodstream, chipping away at her self-esteem until she becomes a shell of who she once was.
She knows. Somewhere in the depths of her soul, she knows. She sees him, drinking up the beauty of his own image. She is his toy, his fuel, prey to feed his own hunger for power and dominance. Truth is, he is hollow, and the one who must fill his emptiness. His unsuspecting victims lured with charm, unaware they wandered into the lion’s den, soon to know the depths of his untethered soul.
It is the trademark of a narcissist, to stop at nothing, keeping his control at all costs. The Narcissistic abuser cannot tolerate the tiniest of chinks in his armor created by any form of real or imagine laughter or lack of respect, and will resort to blame, accusations and always repercussions. When she is dancing with a narcissist, something will always come back to bite her. Always.
Unable to see the walls of her prison, even if she knows they are there, she continues dancing. She cannot feel the noose around her neck, the coldness of the loaded gun pointed at her unsuspecting heart, often blind to the fact that he pulls the trigger often, and without remorse. Strangely, there is no mark. At least that anyone else can see. But she is left grasping for air.
Like an energy vampire, all narcissists need victims, as much as they need a mirror to drink up their own image. Once bitten by a narcissist, she has been unknowingly been recruited for the toughest boot camp around. Her training has been intense, and she emerges as a ninja, able to sniff out the abuse from the most elaborate disguises. Or she becomes a victim, over and over. Unaware that she has a choice, that she can get away once and for all.
Yes, perhaps she has had enough.
As she begins piercing a hole in the narcissist’s costume, it will send him raging, scouring the dance floor to right what has been wronged – but it is only his fragile ego that teeters on the brink of destruction with each step. It is never too late to excuse herself from this dance.
Contempt emerges. Disbelief enrages. She has begun clearing the cobwebs. There is a way out, and that is to step aside. To know this truth within her heart, and unravel herself from the narcissist’s web, he was so crafty in designing.
She is now free to choose another partner, or better yet, exit the dance floor completely. For without engaging herself as a partner or victim, the narcissist cannot attack her. With time, she will be free to hand her dance card to someone else.
She used to take it, unknowingly blame herself. At times, her body still reacts like a well-trained prisoner of war. Her body remembers. And that is ok. For once she has clawed her way out, she will be aware. Once the red flags arise, right behind them the white ones will wave. It is then, she will hand in her dance card forever.
She is not crazy. She knows the truth. She can now follow her heart with each sunrise and sunset, releasing herself to feel the beauty of life. She is free.