Last night, I arrived at my narcissist’s house after a very late shift at work. I had told my older son that I wouldn’t be home that night, sacrificing my time with him to give it to my boyfriend. I was already feeling guilty about this.
As I arrived at his house, I heard his loud voice on the porch, and my heart sank. It was 7:45 p.m., and I had previously spoken to him about how I respected the time I sacrificed for him and how love is reciprocated in relationships.
Of course, having lived with my boyfriend for over three years, I realize that none of this “conversation” truly piqued my interest, made him want to appease me, or show courtesy and respect. I took the time to call my son and talk to him about his experience the night before at college orientation. Twenty minutes later, I hung up, and my narcissist was still chatting with his friend about politics and finances.
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Now I approached him and asked, “What should we do?” He waved me over and said, “Wait inside and order some of the wings I made if you’re hungry. I’ll be back in five minutes.” I sat there for a moment, looking at him in frustration. Although my mind knew from past experience that yelling or even arguing with him was rude and inconsiderate of my time, I lost my temper.
“My time is as valuable as yours. It’s late. Can you hang up so we can spend some time together? It’s already late.”
His response, like an angry, dissenting child, was, “I’ll hang up whenever I want. I won’t have to hang up with you standing next to me.” I replied, “That’s because you only see yourself.” Five minutes later, his friend ended the call.
I told him that if he was going to wait until I came in at 7:30 PM for a long phone call, he should tell me in the future because I’d given up time with my son to come here and sit alone.
“If you had just walked in and not made a fuss, you could have done this, much faster.” Jesus, so I’m to blame for his failure to be courteous and present when I walked in. He only had four hours to make phone calls when he left work, but he only made one when I rushed off the job to spend time with him.
As things escalated, he said, “Okay, that’s it for the night.” I said angrily, “Do you want me to leave while you sit here, not talking to me, and play the TV loudly?” (Again, his childish behavior prompted a threat that a narcissist would never accept, because it’s a challenge, and they always thrive on dominance and control.)
“Yeah, maybe you’d better leave.” I immediately went into panic mode. My trauma response was the perfect trigger: “Does this mean we’re breaking up?”
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Oh my God, I could hear myself and I felt so sad. Why was I so anxious? This man treated me like an afterthought—indifferent, uninvolved, and unemotional—and I was terrified he’d break up with me.
“I don’t understand why you’re writing me these love letters, and your actions are the exact opposite…” He suddenly jumped up as I nearly fell off the couch. “That’s it!!! You have to go!”
He walked over to the door and opened it. I thought, “I would never do that to him… How could he be so emotionless and uncaring?” I couldn’t cry, but worse, I couldn’t leave.
I went into the bedroom and sat down and watched some videos for a while. After about an hour, he came in and, like a five-year-old, put a pillow between us and started making loud noises, pulling the covers toward him. Then he played his phone loudly. It had an audiobook on “How to Spot Fake People.”
I said, “It’s funny how you’re always worried about what other people are doing to you, but never once thinking about what you’re doing to someone else. How you’re hurting someone else, how they feel.”
After that comment, he lowered his head and laughed. I wished I had a pacifier to put in his mouth and a diaper to change. Or maybe he just needed to be tucked in with a bedtime story.
In reality, it’s impossible to talk to a child who doesn’t yet have the mental, emotional, or verbal capacity to respond. And that’s what I strive for: a child I can live with forever.
