ThisIsTheEnd's Story Part 2

2 posts / 0 new
Last post
#1 Apr 10 - 11AM
ThisIsTheEnd
ThisIsTheEnd's picture

ThisIsTheEnd's Story Part 2

(Broken Into Segments as Asked) The Day Evil, I Mean Evan Entered My LIfe Part 2

He was incredibly upset. After that point, he started acting differently towards me. In that same week I found out that not only had my program in Italy had been cancelled, but that my only remaining parent had cancer (the other one had died of the same type of cancer 5 years before). I panicked. Then, my old boyfriend called and told me he wanted to reconcile. After not talking to my narc for over a week, I decided to take a vacation to California with my boyfriend to try and work things out.

Once I was in California my narc finally called me. He acted like nothing was wrong and he told me his parents were coming in from Michigan, and reminded me that some time earlier in the summer I had agreed to meet them. His power over me was still strong, so I lied and left California to return home.

After I met his parents the narc stopped talking to me again. Being the weak coward that I was, I gave in to returning home to my boyfriend, even after leaving him in California, and reluctantly accepted my fate. School started again and I thought it was just going to be another year when my narc walked in the door to the classroom where we were both taking a class required to graduate. My heart fluttered and sank at the same time. I left to the bathroom to vomit. Later that night we hosted a party for my boyfriend’s birthday, when around 1 o’clock in the morning my narc walked in the door there too.

In a scene reminiscent only of “Cheaters” or the long-past Jerry Springer show, my narc confronted me in front of my boyfriend. The jig was up. And I was the (deserved) loser of the game. I added another stanza to the same poem:

Just as when Eve took the foreboding first bite of the apple, our world tumbled down around us with a sickening thud of a car door, as you stood in front of me, eyes emblazoned with anger, disbelief and despair, as the truth consumed you too with its hungry cruelty. “How could you do this to me?!?” You screamed. “I was going to marry you!!!”⎯ you twisted, as the imaginary dagger plunged further and further into my empty, black soul.

My boyfriend never came home that night. I stayed up all night debating whether or not to swallow the 30 or so pills of Percocet I had in my hand or ease myself into a hot bath with a razor blade between my thighs. Thankfully my fear of death took over, but when I woke up from my Ambien haze in the morning after “The Fall,” my car was covered in beer and urine.
It took me three days to move out of my house. A week later I got the call that my father was dying. I flew to TX three times in three weeks. The last night of my father’s life my narc called me for the first time since “The Fall.” It started with him sending me a picture of himself without a shirt on asking: “Do you miss this?”

“Every day.” I obliged.

We talked for five hours in the hallway of the hotel room. All we talked about was how horrible of a person I was and how much I had hurt him. I tried to own up to what I had done. I felt absolutely horrible about it, and it was during that conversation that I decided I would do whatever it took to win my narc’s love back⎯no matter how long it took. The decision was made. I never even told him my father had died that night until months afterward.
Then began the endless drama of him acting the part of victimized lover and I the horrid devil woman who had destroyed his life. For months all we would talk about was his depression, his broken heart, his new inability to ever love again and my betrayal, inadequacies, and failures as a human being. I would spend hours, days, weeks begging for him back. My explanations of my own inability to let anyone down and consequently, sacrifice my integrity because of my fear of abandonment and ending up alone fell on deaf ears. I knew that what I had done was horrible, and I began to hate myself more and more each day.
I told myself that I would let him grieve as long as he needed to. I was just so happy to have him back in my life at all. I surprised him with tickets and airfare to Austin City Limits for his birthday. He took me up on it and we had an amazing time. We would be so in love, but he would always remind me that he could never love or “be” with me again. Every conversation would eventually end in a barrage of my declarations of “mia culpas” and he would always counter with how sad he was that he would never heal. He threatened suicide almost daily.
Then some nights he would just stop texting me back. I would call him and no answer. I would call and text, begging for him not to be mad at me. Whenever I would muster the courage to confront him about it I would just collapse on the floor and cry. We went to therapy, where he told the therapist he needed some time to figure out what he wanted to do. We agreed to a “therapeutic separation” for a month. He broke it off and contacted me after two weeks. He insisted on three more breaks in this manner, always coming back earlier than promised, but then again returning to his insistence upon “space.” I understood. I had hurt him, and I wanted to give him everything it took to make it better. Every now and then he would throw me crumbs of a one night here, another night there, but after the sex always remain aloof. At night to coax him to sleep I would coo softly in his ear while stroking my fingers along his back; telling him to take as much time as he needed, because I would always be there for him whenever he was ready to go on.

Apr 10 - 11AM
Hunter
Hunter's picture

Welcome to Narcville