I Will Not Cry For You - When A Narcissist Dies

October 6, 2016

 

This is a personal story. I am not a doctor or a psychologist. What I do have under my belt is enough research to fill a small library and the personal experience of rage, torture and ridicule that I was subjected to during a 9-year period of my life.

 

I will not cry for you. The feelings of grief and sadness over the loss of a healthy relationship do not apply in this case. You see, I didn’t drink the Kool-Aid, and cater to the whims of this highly abusive and controlling individual, so I was ostracized, gas-lighted, manipulated, and lied to ad-nauseum. I never received an apology for jaw-dropping behaviour, nor did I ever fully receive the truth. Every conversation was twisted and bent over on itself with warped innuendo, veiled insults, and excruciatingly razor sharp, cutting insults, that would leave victims to either bleed a slow death from a sliced chunk of self-esteem, to a swift beheading of anyone’s emotions that dared to speak the truth of the victimization that they were subjected to.  Narcissists need their narcissistic supply. It unfolds like Turrets in an unfortunate soul. It can stay dormant for only so long, then it has to come out or render the perpetrator, a deep-seated terror.  They need a victim. I am an empath. By default, I was the chosen one.

 

Please don’t get me wrong. I am a gentle soul with a loving connection to my humanity (we are one), with a spiritual connection that is honest and true. I have come to realize on this life’s journey, that love of mankind needs to begin at home, in ones own body, mind, spirit and emotional centre. The most spiritual loving step I am taking is to expose the truth to let others that have experienced this personality know, that they are never alone, and that there is a way out by moving into the light. Shining a bare and bright incandescent bulb over the beast, to take your life back, and let them basque in all their shit and dirty business – no censoring, raw and exposed, for the world to see, is a spiritual endeavor indeed.

 

I will not cry for you. She’s died at 91 years old. In the universal bigger picture, this is a blessing on many levels. She is now in a place to make wiser, spiritually motivated decisions, and has the opportunity to reflect on her unprecedented meanness and cruelty, while accepting the gift of another chance to enhance others' lives, rather than detract from them. Christmas, Easter, and Mother’s Day functions, washed away like sludge down the drain from a good scouring of those giant pots and pans in commercial kitchens. She actually thought that when she entered a room, EVERYONE stopped to admire her and her family and that they were the centre of attention – that others were jealous of their beauty and status. A caste system generated by delusions of grandeur envelop this family - how profoundly sad. A bullet couldn’t penetrate this wall of denial.

 

I will not cry for you. A particularly vulgar display happened when I was visiting her elderly husband (with dementia) in the hospital. He had a stroke and he was dying. He was severely dehydrated and hadn’t eaten in days. She was his caretaker…but that’s another story. I observed with stunned silence then screamed with an incredulous bark as I watched her literally pinch and poke this man to cause him pain, while he lay helpless, unable to move his limbs properly to defend himself. I told her to keep her fucking hands off him. She smiled, slid her hands under the blankets, and did it again, watching for my reaction, enjoying every hairs breath of that lingering moment in time.  During that same hospital visit, I watched her lean in to her husband, pretending to move in for a kiss. When he raised his weak head to kiss her back, she pulled away and tittered. He told her to fuck off. She was one mean bitch. Who does that to a man on his deathbed? Her – that’s who.

 

She told me a story of how her father killed a kitten with a hammer because it had scratched her. After a lot of questioning, and my own intuitive instincts, I realized, she killed that cat.

 

I will not cry for you. Narcissists have a pattern of three phases when you become their victim in that web of deceit and lies. First you are idealized, then devalued, and then discarded in the cruelest way possible. Is there any other way? The legacy of the narcissist lives on as her children carry the torch of the next generation – and so it goes. The genetic nature and environmental nurture, is handed down, from grave, to grave, to grave.  Her children were victims of bondage (literal and emotional) – hostages of the queen. Now, the torch has been passed, the behaviour remains intact, and the tyranny continues, fresh and new, leaving a new generation of bodies in their wake. 

 

I will not cry for you. I feel free, unencumbered and lighter.  I have started the healing process,

realized my part in the dance, and let go of the naïve possibility that this person ever loved me or anyone else – ever. I am learning to love myself, to live in peace and harmony with others, that truly want the best for me, with generosity of spirit and love in their hearts. I rejoice in the freedom and melt into my newfound trust. I did cry a little. The tears were for me, the grieving was for me, the healing was for me, and the love was for me.  I will not cry for you, as you never cried for me. 

 

© Susan Lee Woodward - 2016 - This article in its entirety is protected by Canadian and International copyright laws. Reproduction of this written content without written permission of the author is prohibited. 

 

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