How I Married a Violent Narcissist

It’s all new…💁

Just imagine Buzz light year, convinced he can fly…launches himself in all positivity only to collide with the nearest wall.

Splat

This wall looked deceitfully enticing. Why else would One launch themselves into a relationship (or wall in case you cant follow my chaotic mind pattern of thinking) if they did not believe it would be wonderful.

But this episode in my story is not for the faint hearted. It’s hard to know where to start…there was no real beginning. There was only an insidious creep, a pop up charmer, the cheeky sparkle in the eye, flirting with his sisters best friend. Easily beguiling me from one to another. The process was slow and as such over the years a trust was built.

There are two interesting points to explore in my oversimplification of the past decade…or so…

◦ Gullibility

◦ Need to please

Let’s start with Gullibility

I asked him one day, while walking the dog round the lake pushing baby in the pram, his baby….”what do you like most about me?”

(Secretly seeking some reassurance that he loved me. Things had been tough since we were married and he had been on various occasions remote; abusive ; violent and cruel…all things I was starting to believe I deserved of course….hindsight is a wonderful thing)

Him “You are gullible”

Oh 😳 …..”So do you love me?”

Him “No”

“So .. why did you marry me?”

Him “Because I needed someone to DO for me”

He never actually punched me in the stomach. He did punch, slap, kick, strangle, pull hair or launch objects at me. But On this occasion he may as well have punched me in the stomach.

I look back and wonder is this when the successful subjugation started? The anxiety in my stomach, the killer butterflies that never rest, the elephant sitting, on my chest. Blotting out all rational thoughts replacing with constant physical and emotional mind numbing pain.

I did not flinch at his words and continued as if they were unsaid, as if I could just carry on with this charade of a cruel marriage without incurring any damage.

Of course the idea did occur to me that ….if I worked hard enough to please him, become a better wife, a better mother, a gourmet chef, a top earner, lose weight, get fitter, sculpt my body, be better in bed, change my hair, change my personality….erase me and be more like his sister.

(That was the big one…”why can’t you be more like my sister” was spat at me at regular intervals throughout most days”)

If only I could do all these things eventually he would see me and value me and then finally…..yes! ..he would love me.

You see? …..gullible…… you gotta laugh at my sad stupidity.

Need to please

For four long years there was daily trauma. Physical and verbal. My constant need to please him became more frantic and more elusive. There were more babies too but neither made it to term. And, Dear reader, do not be fooled. Just because I make bland simple statements of fact, do not presume there was no paralysing physical and emotional pain attached to each of these statements. To even attempt to describe the voracity of grief I felt in those days would be futile.

It’s an odd thing…when you see stuff like this happening to other people you say, huh! Not me …I would just leave him” or your gut reacts, and you are moved with pity and possibly a rush of sadness for the victim washes over you…briefly.

But when you are the victim, there is a numbness, a vegetative state that sets in early on in the proceedings. A certain acceptance of things as they are and a feeling of powerlessness to change the situation. You accept the pain. All of it.

You stop playing your guitar, you stop playing your flute. Of course the desire is gone but even if it were not the instruments had long since been smashed and mangled on your face as punishment for being too smart.

You stop seeing your friends for no shame or embarrassment can compare to the realisation that you are unlovable.

There comes a shift in your perception of the world an acceptance of brutality as normal…almost deserved.

The pain of the attempts to choke you and strangle you move subtly to relief when he lets go. In that moment the pain shifting to gratitude…just grateful to be alive.

The excruciating blows that result in bruises that the doctor describes as only seen in car crashes or skiing accidents become scars that never heal but at least your legs aren’t broken. A bit mangled looking but only noticeable in shorts. That’s ok right? Your fingers still work. Your baby boy survived the beatings and was born healthy so that’s a blessing. Isn’t it? Your daughter survived the fall, she will be ok won’t she?Your son still talks sometimes….he will be ok, won’t he? And ..so on…it goes ….the internal justification of a brutal existence. A normalisation attempting to dilute the harsh reality.

Even gaining new skills, you become quite skilled at various crafts because every evening you are shut in the bedroom so that he can watch TV alone. So despite all the pain there were plusses…. Yeah?….lol ……You gullible too?

No…it was terrifying. The longest Years of my life. I thought every day that I would die. That he would strangle me. Burn me in my bed (he used that one a lot) burn the house down, push me off a cliff or worse leave me…yes I realise it’s nonsensical but I was afraid he would leave me…..I just wanted him to love me so much.

I never had the courage to leave…. But a wonderful friend, and sister, who died at a relatively young age from cancer, rescued me. Turned up at my house one day and said..” pack whatever you want and need you are coming with me”.

But that wasn’t the end…….you see… narcissists never let you go….I will always be property.

When he died, after 14 years of separation, my overwhelming and extremely confusing emotional response was……

Fucking bastard, controlled me alive and now has more control dead because now! Now he will never love me…go figure?