by Anonymous

Warning: This article contains details of emotional abuse.

He walked up to me through a room full of people.

It was at a party, and he parted everyone like in that biblical Aronofsky film nobody saw. He introduced himself, made a witty joke, spoke for a minute, said he hoped to see me again, and left.

His face looked familiar and I’d suspected he’d been in films, but I couldn’t quite place him. My mind let out a resounding nope. I wasn’t interested in dating as I was working extremely long hours at this point and the thought of putting in the mental effort of a clever text was too much.

But a week later, he added me on social media.

The Seduction

I looked at his stuff. He was in films. And I did know his face. We started talking online. This lasted nearly 6 months until one night, I was boarding a flight to NYC for a publishing event. I told him about the event and he said he was going to be in Philadelphia. He said he would hop a flight and meet me there and if so, could have a formal date?

I said sure.

The date went terribly. I felt like I was in a job interview. It felt insincere and scripted. He asked me how many kids I wanted. I told him a better question could be who is my favorite children’s book author (it’s anything by Phoebe Gilman, thanks for asking!). I told him everything felt a bit packaged, like he was running lines. He got up, walked out of the place and waited just outside the doors. When I caught up to him, he was very angry, told me I was wrong for suggesting better questions, turned around, and walked down the street. I’d regretted saying anything. How hard was it to answer his questions? I felt bad for offending him.

He texted the next day, asking for a re-do.

I asked my mom what to do about it. She asked if maybe I was being hard on him, I could have a more open mind about what someone can ask on a first date. Besides, he was probably nervous. I really could’ve just gone along with the questions; he was probably just tired of first dates. Aren’t we all.

I texted him back and that night, we went out. He had rented an entire restaurant that overlooked Central Park. He loosened his grip on questions and we ended the evening with a stop into a dessert lounge where he ordered one of everything on the menu for us to try.

It was fun to have someone who leaned into seizing the moment, someone who was willing to put in the effort to make plans happen.

As someone who was planning trips to Europe with girlfriends, who had her favorite cheesecake in every major city in the US and who once drove 7 hours to pick up a signed copy of a Didion novel, I was intrigued. I was driven by spontaneity and excitement. I loved the idea that he had full control of his life, that he made things happen. I loved that he put himself out there. I loved that he was detailed and thorough. His business was extremely successful and my tendency to want to know the intricacies of how his mind worked was piqued. A creative and an intellectual. It was thrilling to be with someone who was all of those things at once.

We began dating.

When I was introduced to the people in his life, who were always work related, he always said the same thing, “I have very high standards so it’s really saying something that I’ve chosen her.” It was always in a jovial way, a verbal reassurance to everyone. He had the best of the best. It was a change from what I’d been in before, when I dated fun, casual, noncommittal guys. He was nothing like them.

The Confusion

As the relationship goes on, I’ll get out of a tight chronological order of events. There were good days and there were very bad days. It wasn’t always awful, but it was always a second away from being.

Instead, I’ll share the moments that took the air from my lungs, the ones that sucked the words from my mouth and held them clenched in my stomach. The ones that left me in a perpetual state of confusion.

To know a narcissist, to ‘be in love’ with a narcissist, is to feel constant disorientation. You are a chess piece of their making. You are a tool for their means. If they are an Ikea bed, you are the 1000 nuts and bolts that are used to keep them together without a manual to guide you.

The confusing reality of dating a narcissist is you still question whether you dated a narcissist. Maybe you took too much attention away and they felt eclipsed. Maybe you brought up too many issues, maybe you should be filtering anything that you’re asking of them.

Maybe you should just be happy they chose you.

To be with a grandiose narcissist doesn’t mean that they wear a name tag with their psychological title underneath. It’s not spelled out for you. All of the tendencies are wrapped in layers of being cared for, then controlled. They’re soaked in moments that make you think maybe the world does revolve around them. They’re steeped in outward criticisms. They’re driven by praise and affirmation.

But it doesn’t happen all at once.

It happens in small, almost unremarkable moments. It builds to medium, confusing days of being shut out. It explodes in large, demeaning blow outs that demand you do better and try harder.

We pass the term narcissist around the way we pass around likes on Instagram. It’s easy to blanket an ex into some self-serving, emotionally stunted monster. It’s easy to console your friend at brunch over her breakup with the notion that her ex will never find true love anyways, he is too much of a narcissist. It’s easy, but it’s not always necessarily true.

Narcissistic Personality Disorder sits in the DSM as a personality disorder. According to the American Psychological Association, it’s defined as a mental disorder in which people have an inflated sense of their own importance, a sense of entitlement, a deep need for admiration, and a lack of empathy for others. It involves patterns of manipulative, selfish, patronizing, and demanding actions. It’s deemed rare, the DSM states that 0.5% to 1% of the population could be diagnosed with NPD. 50%-75% are men.

We’ve societally built up this persona, taken its bare bones and shoved it into our casual language. It’s taking the power of the word, the ugliness of it, the fine grit of the word that gets in your lungs and sticks forever on your clothes like a fine dust, and devalues it.

It makes it a character of itself, it becomes a packaged Disney story in which they gaze lovingly into the mirror, hold their nose upright and disregard everything the princess says. It becomes a sound bite. A gimmick. A narcissist. Too in love with themselves to love others.

But it’s so much more than that.

It’s not language to be used for every subpar second date that doesn’t text back. It’s a methodical, manipulative exploit of any sense of defiance or self. It’s taking the qualities that make you who you are, your thumbprint of identity, and slowly burning away the unique lines to a soft canvas of blank beige.

As our relationship progresses, the unique patterns are key.

There are defining characteristics of narcissism that without proper language and understanding, and without the prevalence of these characteristics, could otherwise be summed up as a terrible partner.

Love bombing and isolation are prevalent instruments.

Withholding intimacy and time together were paramount. Neglecting emotional needs and gaslighting were important tools to question my own intuition, feelings, and reasoning. Using verbally controlling language so I knew not to question actions or the diminishing of actions in the name of love were on rotation. Demand for more attention and commitment were near constant.

He’d consistently lie to corroborate a story, to catch someone in an act or to inflate his own importance. He created fake emails to pretend to be someone else so as to catch business partners or new friends doing something they shouldn’t be doing. He routinely told others he went to Harvard.

He did not go to Harvard.

In the first few weeks of our dating, a photographer came up to me while I was at work and asked to photograph our wedding. I said that’s very nice but the odds were against it, as I awkwardly laughed and stepped away.

For the duration of our relationship, his posts on social media were gushing of newfound love and the little heart emojis were scattered underneath with words like “forever” and “happiest I’ve ever been.”

Over the course of our relationship, I’d have what was likely 30-40 people joyfully ask if they could be a part of our wedding, one that he alluded to on social media. I don’t hold it against them, as a woman you’re supposed to welcome the opportunities to joke about “tying him down” or “putting the ol’ ball and chain on!” Right? Is that how it’s supposed to go? I still don’t know.

At the beginning, it was nice to have someone publicly display affection. To be so certain. I’d notoriously kept my romances on the quiet side, so the rooftops were a new spot that teetered on flattered to a full-on panic attack. When I expressed this feeling to him he laughed and said he knew a lot of girls who would want to take my place. I felt angry at the comment but then again, maybe it was my own stuff to work through. Besides, everyone kept remarking how great we looked together. How was that a negative? He felt right and those feelings of oversharing felt like mine to battle.

The Isolation

About two months in, he said I should consider quitting my job and try consulting. Consulting would allow me to travel with him. He was at this point, staying in a city for a few weeks at a time, working 12-hour days. Although I had to google what “consulting as a publisher” would even mean, I left it alone for a while. I knew eventually, if this was to continue, it would take a huge change in the mechanism that was holding it together in the first place. I was the only pliable piece in the relationship, and I was bound to start bending, one way or the other.

I quit my job.

He developed a distinct way to let me know when he didn’t like something. He’d say it passive aggressively to a person or group of people, veiled in a joke. A common one was when someone hugged me first upon saying hello, he’d make the same joke about how he’s the one who is closer to them and not to make that mistake again. There was a time it got awkward, someone didn’t laugh at his quip and he refused to speak with me the rest of the night. He claimed there was something probably going on with myself and the man.

I started noticing oddities were occurring more and more. When we’d go to meet my friends, he stopped engaging at all unless someone would speak directly to him. He’d sit there, usually on his phone, not speaking unless spoken to. After leaving friends, I’d ask if everything was okay and he’d shrug and say sure. He’d routinely question my friendships and after being around them, would stop communicating with me for lengths of time. My friends would sometimes jokingly text me that they couldn’t think of more questions to ask him about himself to keep him engaged. I said oh don’t worry about it, he’s just busy.

After about 4 months, our dates started including other people.

Other people he’d just met through work who became a “great” friend in a matter of days would be with us in whatever time was carved out at the end of the day. He’d only have people around who he was interested in working with or who he had just recently worked with. The only ones who had a recurring role in a hangout were women he had hired to work on differing projects for him. They were usually in their early twenties, attractive, nice, pleasant. They always wanted to be in movies and he’d always find a way to have them be a part of something he was working on.

One night, I was quiet on the car service back to his place after one of these evenings. Staring out the window, I got lost in it all. We hadn’t spent an evening alone in weeks. Was I overreacting? Am I being needy?

We got home and he said he didn’t like that I was disrespecting him by being so quiet. In the hallway, he stood with his arms touching both walls and demanded I tell him what was going on. I told him I didn’t want to come across as controlling but I didn’t understand why we were never alone anymore. I said it’s important to me that we have time with just the two of us. He stared at me blankly. He punched his hand against the wall and yelled loudly if I even knew how much he did for me. How hard he tries. He said this is how his life is and he chose me because he thought I could handle it. I pushed back that I didn’t know it meant never having time alone. He slammed his hand again. He said he wanted to talk to a therapist because my behavior was getting very odd.

We slept in separate bedrooms. He didn’t speak to me for two days.

My family met him, they had seen him in films and said he was “nice” after a dinner together. Nice is nice. Way better than not nice.

They’d later tell me that he never once asked a question to anyone, that he was on his phone most of the time but that he’d seemed attentive enough to me, so they didn’t say anything. I’d grown accustomed to all of that, so I didn’t even notice it.

After every disagreement, he’d send me small notes, cards, leave a vase or a photograph if I was home without him. This would happen for the first 3 months of our relationship and it would teach me what he insisted on in the first place. That I don’t bring up issues with him unless I evaluated them first. He’d say over and over again that fighting is not healthy.

As time went on, we’d rarely ever be alone.

It began to weigh on me. I’d discussed a job interview I’d had, and he laughed and told me I should email them to let them know I didn’t want it. There’s no way we could make this work if I was at a day job. I let him know it was a role I’d really wanted. Besides, it was beginning to bother me that we never had time alone anymore. He said I knew what I was getting into when I got into this ride and left the room.

I began thinking about his words. “When I got into this ride.” Where was this ride going and who was driving? Was I ascending into some cult-like club, one where my real life skewed into a haze of my perceived life, where I was just supposed to be grateful that he was even willing to put in this much work for us?

He posted a photo of us with heart emojis the next day. I got messages asking how nice it must be to have someone who loves you so much.

At therapy, he went to four sessions. After the fourth session, he told me he didn’t want to go back because the therapist was taking sides. I let him know I didn’t think she was; she was just challenging him on some of his beliefs, trying to present another side. He said she was obviously underqualified and we needed another therapist, one who could at the very least afford a better office space.

When we were apart, which was very seldom at this point, he’d ask me when I was coming back to see him. At most, it would be three days before I started getting texts asking what I could possibly be doing that would need that much time.

But soon, all small tokens, notes, cards, stopped.

The Control

We were on a trip to Chicago for his work and my friend came out for dinner with us. At the end of the evening, he showed photos that were taken earlier that evening. He said I looked disinterested in him in the photos. It looked like I was having more fun with my friend than with him. I said I hadn’t seen my friend in a while, so it was nice to see them. He told me not to think he didn’t notice that I was becoming more disinterested in him. We went to bed.

Shortly after, we got a place together.

As we decided what furniture would go where, he said he didn’t like any of my furniture and asked if I was willing to part with it. He said he wanted all fresh, new furniture. He had a colleague who was an interior designer. They would pick everything out, and I would okay it. He said he only wanted “expensive looking stuff” and to keep that in mind when I was presented with ideas. I kept a few of my things and got rid of the rest. Eventually, he said he couldn’t make the few things work in the space and asked that I give them to a friend. I didn’t.

He put an alarm in the apartment.

One time, at home, he opened the front door and his phone got an alert. I asked if the door alerted him every time it opened. He said of course. I told him I was going to take it off because it weirded me out. I knew it wasn’t a big deal, it was just a personal preference. Having a camera on the front door was enough. He told me my behavior was erratic and ridiculous and I needed to evaluate the issues before I brought them up with him. I dropped it. I started to think maybe it was odd that it bothered me.

On a trip for his work, we spent four days filming and interviewing with different media. On the fourth day, having never been alone once, not even in the morning when a makeup artist would be in our hotel room by 7am, I’d felt drained. These days were constantly met with people who would come up to me and say “He’s so funny! Is he always so charming? He’s like Prince Charming! You’re so lucky!” At the end of the fourth day, I said I needed to go back home for a few days. I needed to regroup, spend some time alone and just have some quiet. He stared at me blankly. He asked why I couldn’t keep up with his schedule. I said it was a lot, every minute of every hour was dedicated to him. I said it gets to be a lot. He burst out laughing. “Well, that’s your problem isn’t it? Don’t take that out on me.” I went home the next day. He didn’t speak to me for three days.

My drive for spontaneity and excitement left me confused.

He had deliberately morphed our life into something tight and stiff, a track I was never allowed to make. The tools to make the track had been slowly pulled from my hands. My inherent human need to make sense of why I was staying in something that was leaving me isolated and confused was quickly replaced with the feeling that he could be so fun, so exciting. If he got some time, he’d be able to really be himself again. I began equating these feelings to the fact that I wasn’t investing enough into us.

I questioned whether I was just wanting what I didn’t have, and he’d constantly remind me how much he was investing into me. Surely I can’t expect him to always be the exciting guy. Everyone always said relationships change over time and this felt like my problem to harness.

I met back up with him soon after those three days ended.

We were meeting back up during a very busy time for him and he let me know he didn’t want to discuss anything in the relationship. We went for a late dinner with his new work friends. Afterwards, he wouldn’t say anything to me and we sat in silence as the uber took us back to our hotel. I’d learned that whenever I’d tried to talk about my feelings or issues that went against his idea of what he was or what he was giving me, it would cause him to cut me off for days again, or worse, he’d be very angry and then cut me off for days.

He posted photos of us online with hearts underneath in the morning.

At events or dinners, if there was someone famous, he had to speak with them. There was a club that he saw himself a part of. An unspoken rule of the club was that anyone famous would get asked out for dinner or drinks. One time he hired a private flight to have the drinks on the plane.

If someone didn’t respond to the follow up text of his offer or his assistants emails, he’d spend weeks talking about how their career was in the tank. How they probably bought followers online. How he’d heard people didn’t even like working with them. He’d venomously dismantle and discredit them.

On a rare occasion, we were alone and back at our apartment.

As we laid in bed, he said two girls he used to hook up with would be doing PR for his upcoming film and he thought he should tell me before I found out elsewhere. I asked why there weren’t other women who could do the job. He jumped out of bed, stood next to me and yelled “She just lost her father, and you’re going to take away her income because you’re insecure?! Your behavior is so selfish. You’re a selfish person.” I felt obligated to oblige, I felt embarrassed for caring about it. He slept in the other bedroom. They were his PR reps for the next year. I thought I was overreacting. Film was a notoriously hard and volatile industry.

I began getting cramps in my stomach. I’d feel nauseous for no reason and it would wave through me like a gust of wind. Sometimes it would get so bad that I’d have to lay in bed minutes before I had to be somewhere. My headaches were nearly daily. I tried drinking more water.

I told myself I just had to try harder. If I tried harder, I could prove that I was dedicated.

One time, as we sat on another flight, we got in a fight. I wanted to be home for Christmas and at this point, his schedule didn’t allow that. He raised his voice and told me he was no longer speaking to me. He said when he had asked me to evaluate what I brought up to him, this is what he was talking about. Getting off the flight, we waited for the bags to hit the carousel. A few people walked up to us — they recognized him and wanted a photo. When they walked away, he held my lower arm and leaned into my ear. “Smile. Fucking smile. This is unacceptable and I know you know that.” I stared straight ahead, stunned.

That night at our hotel room, he lit candles to the hot tub on the patio, ordered strawberries from room service and talked about what we would do for his upcoming day off.

I’d taught myself again, up until this point, that everything was because I wasn’t invested enough in the relationship. He was always bringing it up and I didn’t show him enough how committed I was in the relationship. He’d continuously outline my need to go back home as a sign that I wasn’t giving him enough of what he needed.

Breaking Free

He began collecting famous friends.

A few had actually texted him back. He started taking private flights to islands. He stopped facetiming morning and night.

I’d begun to stay behind at the apartment and pull back on my flights to see him. I couldn’t keep up with it and I couldn’t pretend to connect with it. I was so tired. I spent my days reconnecting with friends I hadn’t seen in months, lying in bed during the day and drinking too much at night.

I woke up one morning to an email saying he didn’t trust me and that we should stop dating.

The weight those words had on me was like treading water in the deep end for years and finally being offered a ladder out.

It felt so good.

I questioned whether I was one of those people who just didn’t feel things. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I was one of those people the therapist told me to read about when I had a private session with her. What if I was the one with no empathy and no feelings and was neglectful? I mean, who goes 2 years in a relationship and then feels relief? That had to be some personality disorder in itself. I felt guilty for not fighting for it.

I felt guilty for writing back “ok.”

He wrote me a few days later and called me a narcissist. He said a girl, one of the ones who was routinely around, the one who wanted to be an actress, was going to collect his things.

I wrote back “ok.”

I started to feel bad for not feeling...bad.

But then I caught myself. I’d hindered, suppressed, quieted and dismissed my instincts for 2 years. I’d abandoned my own reasoning so many times. I’d questioned myself so many times. This feeling I had was genuine relief. It was a relief to know I got my thoughts back, my actions back, my time back, myself back.

It was a relief to know that I was no longer of use to him. His hoops kept getting smaller and they just kept getting placed higher.

It was a ride; he had been right about that.

Instead of it being through the countryside, it had diverted early on. I had been in a tunnel, full of heavy, black air. I’d been taking what little filled my lungs and breathed it into his.

Soot heavy on my skin, I walked out the other side and finally breathed fresh air, keeping it in my lungs and exhaling it into the open.

I Dated A Grandiose Toxic Narcissist