Narcissistic Abuse Had Me Begging For More.
Searching for answers in all the wrong places led to me confusing my own healing for abuse.
Interesting; given time and distance and processing, like pressuring carbon into the jewel, my anger is eloquent and direct. My abuser will insist that he has apologised profusely for what he did to me. But, tell me, since when is feeling guilty for your own actions an acknowledgement of crimes that we commit against a unique individual?
Hint: It’s not. It’s purely self-pity. And that is not the same. To Him you could be anyone. To yourself, you are the world. When alone, it is you that must hold fast and steady; solid as the stone prometheus moulded you from. Those who commit physical, emotional and mental abuse take that from you. There may never be an apology… but know that one person refusing to acknowledge your beauty, your passion, your affection, your sincere love, the pieces of you that are uniquely you; that is not the measure of your beauty.
Toxic masculinity is a flawed diamond. You can cut and polish it but if the carbon is cracked to the core, there is no perfecting it. It is not precious or something to prize; it is worthless. The delicate art of channelling your sense of inferiority into powerful, strong, exceptional woman is one facet of it’s ability. Only diamond, flawed or no, can cut another diamond. And, in this case, that is a terrible truth. One that must be spoken about.
And so, without further adieu, I sent my abuser a message. Hopefully the last. And in the spirit of true honesty and integrity, I share it with you. Because the flawed diamond may cut…but an already flawless stone in the hands of an artist is simply made more beautiful. Tools at the ready, I am that artist, and had a stone to grind.
“You’re too scared…because it would make it real. For everyone. And then they would all know. -R- would know. -A- would know. Your mother would know. Your sister would know. The son of the feminist activist, brother of an abuse survivor, the prolific sensitive charmer of the female…is an abuser of women. All the little pockets of your self-esteem that you hide away inside the people in your wake…just don’t fill the void, do they? Hence the list. Hence the lies. Hence the secrecy. And then the constant pending implosion. But if you ignore it, it will go away, right? You can charm your way out.
You aren’t my secret to keep anymore. You were right, you were not my responsibility.
And so I handed it back to your mother. And if you managed to talk your way out of that one, more power to you.
After my father, then Chris, then the rape, then Claire, then you… I will no longer play party to the silent chapters. #metoo was too trite and short lived. So when R decides to shed herself of you and the protective sheild of victim blaming, I will hear her. When A realises you were the cheat and liar, twisting the memory of your relationship with her into a story of indignation towards you, I will hear her too. When your mother and sister finally find out the embarrassment their son, brother, respectively, is in the face of their tireless work for female rights, I will hear them also. And when I have the next woman contact me as I contacted the one before me, I will believe her.
When we met you always said how much you respected my ability to see the goodness in others…you don’t have the luxury of that. Cyprus is where the monster was born. With his guilt and his arrogance, his shame. And it will die there with everyone knowing what it was. I will be sure of it. And not out of malice. Out of faith in the truth.
Out of respect for the man I thought you could be. And the woman I have always been. And every single woman on your sick little list that was grappled, poisoned against herself, ignored, erased, abused by you before me and after me. The list I forced you to burn before because you refused to remove my name. That made you hate me more. No more record for the prodigal, arrogant cassanova with names and countries, listed in order of conquest; The collective harem.
It’s the wrong world for you to be what you are.
And my father taught me that no paradise Island, no drink, no pussy, no drug can slay that beast. Remorse. But painful, honest, unrelenting and all encompassing “dark night of the soul” shit as far as I remember you calling it. My father did 11 months in max security and spent 2 years in radio silence from his daughter to heal himself enough to face me. What will it take you to face your demons? Regardless, your name it out there now. And, wonderfully, as the word goes out around, and the abusive, sick men in the world get their just rewards, the “unhinged ramblings” of the woman driven “mad” speak far louder that you. And wasn’t it you that warned me that you wanted to be careful with me because women lie about abuse? None of them were lying Alex, where they? Because every true survivor of men like you never lie.
Thank you for every self involved message, for the two hour recording of your abuse, for the scars, for continuing to act out in Portsmouth after I left, for the written words of your own hand acknowledging the truth of what you are and what you did, for continuing your behaviour in Cyprus long after we broke up. Even so far as to lie about your family further to cover your own embarrassing foibles and indiscretions. Thank you for my leg to stand on.
You always said I could be a terrifying woman…in your own words “it takes two to tango”. I can only work with what you give me. And you gave me -alot- to dance with.
You were right. I’m pretty sure these were just the ramblings of a sad, desperate, drunken and druggged creature, wracked with misery and self loathing. And he was crawling through the dust, wasting lazily, waiting for another to suck dry…like a tick. I mean,…when the bottle is empty, what else is there but human emotion.
But credit where credit is due even to the emotional vampire; I am powerful. And graceful. But also disastrously graceless. And beautifully flawed. And insufferably inquisitive and intelligent. You tried to suck me dry of all of that.
And best of all, the real lesson you taught me. Never. Shut. Up. Talk over them, ask questions, get details, get in their head, learn everything you can… And in the right circumstance…a.k.a. a personality disorder that responds very badly to being completely abandoned/erased (which is cruelty in itself without BPD)…you really can exact your own justice.”
I would feel a sense of pity for releasing the skeletons from the closet, but the demons manifested on my behalf simply didn’t represent the true horror. I extend this power to you.
Never. Shut. Up. Talk over them, ask questions, get details, get in their head, learn everything you can. And in the right circumstance exact your own justice using the very thing they tried to take from you.
