Him

This is a horror story.

This is a story about violence, manipulation, monsters, reality, fear, pain, and love.

The horror is only in part on my end, manifesting in the PTSD I suffer. The true tragedy of this story is him. His story doesn't end as well as mine. He may never realize what they problem is. That's one of the things about Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and one of the things that makes it an incredibly hard disorder to diagnose; they are not self aware. They don't know anything is wrong with them. He doesn't know anything is wrong with him.

That's the part that gets me the most. How can somebody be so utterly abusive and cruel, apologize and acknowledge those abuses, only with the agenda of roping their victim back in, but not actually realize that what they're doing is so very wrong and sick, that HE is the problem and not everybody else? How can they be the way the are without ever feeling fed up enough to reach out for help and change things? I guess it's one of those things you really have to experience to understand, and nobody chooses to be a narcissist.

I know his dad raped him. Multiple times over the course of multiple years. I know at some point he was obese. I know he was home-schooled in an unhealthy family environment ruled more like a cult than the religion it pretended to be. When I met him, I appreciated the spirituality we shared, though we shared it under different names. He promised it didn't matter if I identified as the same religion as him, so long as I believed in something higher. That was a lie.

(I want to add really quick that I do not have hard feelings toward Christianity, I only resent the gross misinterpretation that HE had about what God is, and he called himself a Christian. Please take no offense towards real Christianity from this article.)

He'd spend the next few months slowly working his "Christian" ideas into my head, convincing me that if I didn't believe what he did and follow his practices and listen to his guidance, horrible things would befall me. I was young, not even 21, and I was vulnerable. My history lead me time and again through different beliefs and philosophies. My main priority was that of many others, finding somebody to be with romantically, finding "the one." I would have convinced myself of anything if I thought I'd found the one. And so I did. I fell into trying to believe some twisted ideas about life, about the end times, about heaven and hell and family dynamics and relationships. I just wanted to be on the same page as him. I just wanted to be seen as equal, as his best friend, as his partner. I would have believed anything, and I did.

He started being sketchy with his phone. I got that gut instinct he was hiding something, and as many suspicious, somewhat insecure young girls do, I went through his phone. He was talking to his wife, whom he was separated from, supposedly because of me. He told me at first that he'd made a mistake with her, he'd taken the wrong path. She was controlling and jealous. She was a little insane, she self-harmed to keep him around. She did so many bad things to him and then I came along and he saw the Light in my eyes, and he knew I was actually the one he was meant to be with. God blessed his broken road that lead him straight to me, right?

Wrong.

What this situation actually translated to was this: His wife was his narcissistic supply before I came along. He abused her and drove her mad until she did what most NPD victims do, and what I would later also do, she broke. He, naturally, made her out to be his psycho ex. I still, to this day, feel so much pain for his wife before me. I hope she's since learned what she was a part of and has taken steps towards healing.

I found his texts to her pretty early on. He was telling her how much he loved her, how sorry he was, how he felt as though he'd broken a sacred vow to God by being with me and separating from her. I was confused, but when I confronted him, he cried into my arms and explained to me all of his insecurities and lead me to believe that he was facing such a hard time, divorce is brutal, and he needed me now more than ever to show him my unconditional love and compassion, because that is what a soul mate should do. I believed him and I did that.

Eventually all of the hidden texts, the unexplained absences, being stood up and continually finding evidence of infidelity, all of it slowly became my fault. I expected too much from him. I didn't love him enough. I didn't love him at all. If I did I would prove it. If I did I wouldn't be constantly doubting him and questioning his whereabouts. Before long, he started accusing me of cheating. He would explode if he found me chatting with another male, even at my work, where I was a server. I live in a small southern town and I know everybody, and everybody knows me. It's impossible to be a waitress and not be friends with every local. He didn't see it that way. He wanted me to be cold to everyone but him. He was furious that I didn't love him enough to stop giving my affections to others. It was my job as a soul mate to "compromise" relationships that made him uncomfortable, though he was still meeting with his wife.

He introduced me to heroin and meth. I'd played with pills and smoked weed regularly, but I never saw myself going harder. I would have believed anything for him. I would have convinced myself of anything to prove myself as his "the one." He wanted me to understand what he had figured out about these drugs. They were not actually bad for you. If you reacted badly to them, that was your own fault. You must have been mentally weak, physically unhealthy, etc, if heroin and meth affected you poorly. Plenty of people in the world use these drugs and are perfectly functioning members of society, but the media likes to keep us fearful, the media likes to keep secrets. I would have believed anything for him, and I did. I didn't want to be like his controlling, psycho wife, who forced him to stop doing drugs.

As you can imagine, once drugs were involved, it was no longer minor, subtle abuses. The monster was unleashed. The quiet insecurities and co-dependencies he had been putting in place the last months were secure. He had successfully isolated me from my family, convincing me they hated me because they didn't support the madness that was manifesting in our relationship's wake. I no longer talked to my friends. They didn't fear Jesus and were therefore a danger to my soul, and, of course, my relationship with him. I quit job after job, because he would come to my work and start problems, or keep my car from me and promise rides, but never come through, so I was late or couldn't come frequently. He needed the car, though, to find himself a job, because that's the family dynamic.

When we met he did have a job. He had an awesome job at a vape store, he wanted to help me quit smoking cigarettes, he hooked me up with all the newest tech and the best juices. He sold weed and always had more than enough, and different kinds, for me to dip into. He liked it when I was drugged enough to be compliant. It started with weed and mushrooms and molly, but like everything else with him, it started amazing and fun and ended transitioning into horror and addiction.

After only so long it became physical, on both ends. I was officially becoming the psycho that he had described his wife to me as. He was breaking me, too. The lies, the manipulations, the gas lighting, all having started with that delicious love bombing that felt so good, it was all starting to crash and burn.

I tried to get out many times. He wouldn't let me. He probably still wouldn't if he wasn't in prison in Africa or somewhere. He had a gun. I almost died at his hands.

I'm over 2 years clean now. I met a wonderful man and we have an incredible daughter together.

My story ends beautifully. I hate yelling, and insincerity seems to be an end-all for any of my relationships, but overall, I'm happy. I grow every day.

What of him? He was put back into his parent's hands by authorities... They got to chose what to do with him. Does he ever get help? Does anybody ever even try to diagnose and treat him? He doesn't know something is wrong with him. Will anyone where he is recognize NPD?

His story doesn't have a happy ending, as it goes in horror. I don't fear monsters in the closet anymore. Now I fear my sweet daughter might grow to encounter a Narcissist or other form of psychopath.

NPD awareness is something we need to be teaching everyone. Maybe awareness could help put an end to the horror stories.

Thanks for reading my story.