The perpetual temptation is always to give up—to stop fighting—to
lie down in the middle of the trail and succumb to the pestering flies and
vultures; since the straps would stop cutting into your shoulders then—to allow
the funnel cloud to rip you back into the emotional and psychological vortex. Because disentangling yourself from the narcissist takes absolutely everything in
you and then some more. You have to seemingly dig down to the earth's core and hope that you can withstand the Dementor shop
VAC sucking your soul back up through a pipeline he has fashioned out of Kryptonite.
The almighty, oh-so-powerful delusions you helped create—so that
he could pretend to love himself--repeatedly slam against you like gale force
winds that tumble you around, crumpling your iron will like the child’s toy
bendie man. Escaping Medusa’s snake hair seems like it might just be easier.
Redundantly, you are hypnotized like a firefly back toward the bug zapper's flickering light of a thought—maybe I got it wrong? Maybe, I
overstated things? Maybe, he’s not as bad as this? How could he actually be this
awful and unreasonable?
It fucks with your head. Zapping you to the ground. Terrible Lie.
You find yourself fantasizing about the
ultimate-oh-so-everyday-average-normal divorce as if it is some
sort of delicious Boston Creme Donut—cause
right about now—average seems like child's play.
How the hell did this become your life? Well, you hooked up with a narcissist long ago.
