I never put myself first and now I’m forced to pay for it
When my ex-wife expressed her disappointment with me, which was frequent, I could never figure out a way to respond. Generally:
1. I tried harder to please her. This failed because my way of pleasing only expanded the ways I displeased her.
2. I tried to make myself smaller to avoid confrontations. She took this as a sign that she could do whatever she wanted without fear of any retribution.
3. I complained and got angry. She used this to insult, denigrate and ignore me while she sought out others who would please her for a month or too.
I never clearly stated my needs or desires. In my defense, I was PTSD and did not have the experience to know what to do with a narcissist.
Now I'm damaged beyond recognition. I am barely functioning, have no friends and no family, and battle with periods of self-loathing. I lose every battle.
The high points of my life are my cat, and my therapy. I feel loved in both cases, which is what I hoped for all along and never had. The rest is loneliness. Emptiness. Nervous anxiety that prevents me from doing anything else besides writing here—reporting to myself on my own decay and fall. Hopefully sleeping. That's my favorite time. Disappearing beneath the warm sheets. Preparing to arise again tomorrow. Hoping for anything I can grasp onto.
1. I tried harder to please her. This failed because my way of pleasing only expanded the ways I displeased her.
2. I tried to make myself smaller to avoid confrontations. She took this as a sign that she could do whatever she wanted without fear of any retribution.
3. I complained and got angry. She used this to insult, denigrate and ignore me while she sought out others who would please her for a month or too.
I never clearly stated my needs or desires. In my defense, I was PTSD and did not have the experience to know what to do with a narcissist.
Now I'm damaged beyond recognition. I am barely functioning, have no friends and no family, and battle with periods of self-loathing. I lose every battle.
The high points of my life are my cat, and my therapy. I feel loved in both cases, which is what I hoped for all along and never had. The rest is loneliness. Emptiness. Nervous anxiety that prevents me from doing anything else besides writing here—reporting to myself on my own decay and fall. Hopefully sleeping. That's my favorite time. Disappearing beneath the warm sheets. Preparing to arise again tomorrow. Hoping for anything I can grasp onto.
The last personal thing I heard about my faux partner was that she was riding her mountain bike a lot and once used a harder gear. She hasn’t evolved. And so clear confirmation of what I always said: help will never arrive from her quarter. When the shit hit the fan, she was licking pussy elsewhere. Absent. Hostile. Superior. Failing yet again, as with everything she’s ever done except hurting others.
Comments
Post a Comment