You’re Not Crazy- She’s a Sociopath

About 5 months ago, I first encountered the dark world of narcissists, sociopaths, and psychopaths- and quite by chance.  I’d been aimlessly searching the web for PTSD and break-up related help for 8 months, ever since I was ruthlessly dumped by my sweet, harmless, innocent “girlfriend” of the past 10 years. An old friend of mine had commented in passing to me that “she’s a narcissist,” after I’d read to her one of the sociopath’s emails detailing how she’s apparently the sad victim of her own twisted vanity and selfie-obsession. Nothing I’d read in the hundreds of break-up and relationship articles online shed so much light on my nightmarish experiences with this woman as the discovery that she really is fucking crazy, and that there is a name for what she IS— a sociopath, a psychopath, a narcissist.  Heartless. Soulless.  Crazy.

I read one article and blog site after another, with a knot in my stomach and my heart in my throat, and a very sinking feeling that everything those many anonymous survivors of horrific emotional abuse had written was true for me as well. It had never really occurred to me that I was dealing with such a person– especially since this was someone I loved with all my heart, and who I mistakenly thought loved me too.

The last 10 years of my life were spent living at the mercy of a truly heartless and soulless woman.  After the “honeymoon year” with her, the gloves came off and I was masterfully kept in a perpetual state of isolation, anxiety, loneliness, and fear of her next disappearance, sickening sex-escapade, or emasculating insult. She was fond of calling me her “sin eater” (i.e., the one who suffers all the consequences and fallout from her insanity and drama), and was fond of reminding me that she was the “best thing that ever happened” to me.  Wow.

It’s been 8 months since I last saw or spoke to the Alien Squid Creature (ASC for short), but only 6 months since she last tricked me into contacting her.  I pray to god that I never hear from or see her ever again, as every time I do, I am back at square one, like it all happened yesterday.

This woman destroyed my life and my sanity in all of the ways enumerated in the many articles and blogs about this sub-species of human, down to the letter.  Unless someone has been through this special kind of hell, it is truly impossible for others to understand what it’s like to deal with & suffer on account of what a psycho will do to you- there truly are no limits- and you can never- and will never make them make sense.  My grief over the loss of my “best friend” and “soul mate” has been overwhelming and devastating to put it mildly, and I’ve been living at the very edge of the edge on account of the misery and the mental war inside.

It was astonishing to me for months and months- astonishing– that the answer to the question, “how could someone who loves me do—THIS,” is that they truly don’t give a fuck about what happens to you.  They really do enjoy knowing that you suffer and grieve over what they’ve done to you, especially when you pour your heart out to their mocking wall of silence. They’re having a great day– and they know that even if you’re not weeping your eyes out over at that moment, you are sure as hell pining away, and you’ll never have them figured out.

What remained was trying to put my life back together, figure out how to let go, move on, and all that.  But I’m still playing her victim/fool since I can hardly function normally, and feel sapped and possessed by the past, the recent past, and the empty present.  I feel like I lost myself to her, and I guess I did.  She always won.  Of course I had no idea we were competing.

Pretty much all I think about is her.  If I’m distracted from mentally reliving my nightmare for 15 minutes (or drunkenly weeping my eyes out over the “good times”), I count it pure bliss.  I fall asleep thinking of her and wake up thinking of her every day.  The worst is when she’s in my dreams.  It feels like there’s no escape from this woman, no safe place in my head, nowhere to set my thoughts where she’s not lurking.

What little I know of her present activities (and believe me, I want to know nothing at all and never, ever go looking) just confirms that she hasn’t missed a beat, and is doing fabulously, and that the few absurd remarks she made to the contrary were just more of her favorite tactic, “spin.”  She had at least a few others lined up well before she ever dumped me.  Men, women; she would fuck anything that was willing, as I later discovered first hand.  She’d told me all along that she was practically a virgin when I met her (she was 41 at the time), and the very soul of monogamy.  Sure darling, so are the girls in the brothel.

The worst thing— and it hurts like hell— is trying to fathom that she never loved me— never— that she never cared about me at all.  I can see it, but god, I almost don’t want to.  I feel so stupid and childish for having been this person’s doormat for so many wasted years.  I really do regret that I ever met her– nothing– not the “wonderful times,” “our passionate love,” all the “best times I’ve ever had” with anyone– is worth a living death.  I’d give it all back if I could.  I do hope there is a way to live beyond this.  It hurt like fuck to discover what she truly is, but that was the first “good pain” I’d felt in ages.  It’s really was not me who’s crazy after all.