I had recently been divorced and detoxed from a decade of sameness, and was feeling sad and vulnerable. Through learning how to get over a breakup and heal, I found myself dating a narcissist.
He picked up on my weakness and my broken heart like a predator with keen but unnatural instincts. The kind that preys on sport, rather than survival.
I didn’t know, but he had been following me online for over a year, long enough to highlight my weaknesses and insecurities. Then came my divorce and with it the big prize.
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His study and analysis made the next step incredibly easy. He knew every affirmation I longed to hear, and from the moment he started turning, he said these affirmations daily, word for word, in the same order.
you are the most beautiful. You are the smartest. You are the most attractive woman I have ever seen. You are the best mother. You are the most ridiculous. You are kinder. You are the skinniest. You are cute. How am I so lucky that you like me so much? You like me so much! No one has ever made me this happy. We are basically the same person. You like me so much!
The first few times I read the script, I was mesmerized and completely swept off my feet. In fact, my fainting was so intense that my pupils were soon replaced by bright dilated hearts.
By about the tenth reading, I was still wagging my tail and eagerly accepting its rewards, even though I was secretly beginning to long for something less predictable. At the very least, for him to mix it up a bit, perhaps upend the order. Maybe he might get a little crazy, and come up with something new and unexpected, like, “You have the best white girl ass I’ve ever seen.”
But flattery is flattery, and my self-esteem was so low that I wouldn’t need more than an occasional chest brush from the man who was bagging my groceries to brighten my day.
Moreover, he was sincere, with a big heart to match his smile. So what if it’s not the most authentic? He adored me and showered me with endless attention. This in turn made me shower again. Shaving, even.
We would talk for hours on the phone at night like teenagers. Only, we didn’t have to hide under the covers with our emergency backup phone. Not long after, we agreed to meet up, as we both needed to be sure that the physical attraction was on par with the emotional attraction.
Before I knew it, I was at the airport, waiting for his plane to arrive. When I first saw it, it was a little thinner than I expected, but overall it wasn’t too shabby. Then it happened: the first kiss. Well, it wasn’t the best, but kissing is an art – an art that can be learned with the right trainer, right?
Our weekend was great, and in the end, his kisses were more like those of a seasoned gentleman than those of a nerdy teenager. Soon after, it was my turn to visit him. While we were driving his dilapidated car, we had the following conversation:
Him: I know it’s too early to say I love you, but I feel it.
Me: (sigh) Same here.
Him: I love you.
Me: (double sigh) I love you too.
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Every weekend together was better and more intense. It was almost too good to be true. Sure, our conversations were more like Groundhog Day, but that certainly wasn’t a deal breaker.
Thinking back, there were other little things that attracted me. He never waited for me when we were together. If you stop to take a picture or look at something, he will keep walking. He never opened the doors.
And the way he often talked about his success and generosity. Or how he was constantly insinuating that other girls wanted him – even some of his married friends – something he put down to his age and simply demonstrated it. But of course I ignored them, chalking them up to me being dramatic or him not having the best manners.
We have taken trips to Bayeux and wine country. We arrived in Vegas and saw a comedy show, followed by a cheeseburger from McDonald’s. We joked about being the perfect match. As he said, we were kindred spirits – soulmates.
During our last night together, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “No one will ever love you like I do.” Of course, I had no idea it was our last weekend together. But despite his declarations of love and constant planning for our future, he knew.
When I got home, I was camping on cloud 9. It was a wonderful, exhilarating feeling. This near-perfect man was in love with me…until he didn’t. Until I felt sad because of a narcissist.
I was home again when he called me and asked if he could fly out to visit. “Sure!” I replied, screaming like a teenage girl. Then, the next day, with a flawed keystroke, he announced that his feelings had changed and that this was not working at all.
In a maddened attempt to understand how and why, I pressed on, begging for an explanation as to how someone could go from 1,000 to -5 in one day. Angry that I interrupted him, he hung up mid-sentence.
After four months of talking and texting every day, he hasn’t spoken to me since he hung up that day. Although he did send some dreamy texts.
“I just wanted to love someone. Thank you for being there.”
“Actually, my feelings went from 1000 to -5, not in one day, but in one moment. I don’t know why, and it doesn’t even matter.”
In my entire life, nothing has left me more confused and reeling. My days are filled with feelings of self-blame and doubt, and my nights are filled with the darkest sadness.
The man who loved me reached into my chest, pulled out my heart, and meticulously mended everything that was broken. Then, without warning, he threw the ball with the speed of a professional pitcher. As he wore the same smile that had gained my trust, I watched him slowly slide down the wall, until he reached the ground more broken than before. Content, he walked away whistling.
I’ve always thought of myself as a sharp girl, with a sass to match. How could I let this man feed me, give me a love bomb, and then put me on the sidewalk when the garbage truck stopped?
My feelings in war are a mixture of anger, sadness and utter stupidity. Anger, as he turned the wheel, saw the confused soul, and said: “You. I choose you.” Sadness, because I sorely miss the happiness and ecstasy I felt when we were together. Stupidity, because I don’t know what I should have known.
When he repeated this scenario every day, I should have known.
Lying next to him in bed, while he so carefully edited our photos, I should have known.
When he pinned and recommented the photos, asking me a million times if I was smart enough to post them, I should have known.
When he counted the likes on those photos of us, the perfect couple, because his selfie meant so much to him, I should have known.
