I waited, knowing it would come. Maybe in a minute, perhaps in several hours, but it always came. I had to be there when the narcissist was around to make sure it didn’t get worse. When I didn’t wait, and when I wasn’t there, it was always escalated and amplified. I prayed for an end, dreamed, and longed for it, but instead, life stagnated and festered. It didn’t end until I made it stop, and it was treacherous and frightening, but utterly necessary.
I find myself waiting again with another narcissist. It’s not so bad this time, at least not on the surface. He has different ways, wears a different mask, and tells different lies. It’s bad enough that I failed to notice the signs again. Now, I’m waiting for an end, and I’m petrified. I know it won’t end until I make it stop, and I’m even more afraid this time because I know what lies ahead.
