Narcissist. Consider its curvaceous pronunciation–the incline of ‘narc,’ and the river of ‘issistic.’ How can such a poetic expression describe the havoc afflicted on your psyche by a person labeled as such?

The dictionary definition–much too compressed. It reads similarly to: a narcissist seeks admiration for their physical and mental attributes. Isn’t that a normal human desire? What is missing from the dictionary are the multi-leveled intensities with which Narcissism displays itself. How, exactly is the admiration sought? Harmlessly? Or is it at the expense of another person’s soul?

Subtle tricks of the mind. A posture, a look, a word–all camouflaged by deception and secret code.

A narcissist’s greatest ability is brilliant manipulation executed in invisible terms, therefore, becoming captive to his charms is seamless. At first, you are not aware of him nor his deadly sting, therefore he will seduce you easily into his web. His super-power unfolds as he is able to convince you of anything without his consciously plotting to do so. No planning, rehearsing nor premeditation. Injurious, verbal sticks-and-stones that shatter your backbone to reinforce his.

Somehow he knows you. Knows he will beat you at his game. You weren’t suffering before him. Now, you question your intentions, your beliefs, and your own abilities while a desperate quest in obtaining whatever remedy he requires to believe in your adoration and commitment becomes the forefront.

His wants and happiness now supersede your own. You are only okay if he is. You loose your voice. You take his blame and cover his bad behavior. You want to help him, after all, he needs you. My guess–you can see his weaknesses, and you long for his love, therefore, you continue to chase what he dangles just out of your reach.

You continue until you loose everything. Your sanity, your money, determination and happiness. Shame blinds your vision of the truth. The truth of him.

How did this happen?

All of the red flags from that first day, the first month, then the first five years of encounters now seem so obvious.

1993: The sight of him took my breath away. He towered over every other muscle-bound power lifter inside Union Station Gym. He carried a leather weightlifting belt as large as my entire torso. His Greek-godly like legs bulged and I melted into his green eyes.

One of his friends asked me out for him. I said, yes. Such a massive and beautiful older man–how could he be so shy? Especially to me, a tall skinny girl with no figure and no good sense. I came from a poor family and a small town and was in my last year of college. Me?

Our first date: I drove to his apartment, arrived five minutes late, and before I could close the door to the car he was out of the house and headed toward me with quick wide steps. His first words that day were, “You’re late.” He continued past me; his chest pressed forward and his arms pulled out from his hips wider than necessary. His black leather jacket was unzipped and his tight black jeans stretched around his wide legs. He motioned for me to get into his truck with a smile. I was a little startled but not sure if his comment was just a joke. I swallowed my tentativeness and got in.

He was interested in me. Me, in my entirety, and promised to give me everything I never had but unquestionably deserved from my thoughtless family. Finally a man who would put me first, I thought. His magic had begun and I was quickly under his spell.

I shrugged off his violent outrages as emissions of insecurity. His demands of not walking ahead of him, ever. That I must hold his arm and talk to him and him only in public or people will think I don’t care about him. “Is that how a wife acts?” and “You better act like you love me,” whispered into my ears repeatedly in public. His pub brawls with strangers and ruthless banterings whispered so loudly into my ears they felt as if they could bleed.

“Don’t you ever get in or out of this truck without giving me a kiss and telling me you love me.” His lies to trick me into admitting non-existent guilt. His jealousy over past relationships, family, friends. His use of my secrets against me. All shrugged off. I’d seen my mother put up with shit like this and I believed pain proved commitment. That our love was worth the difficulty. I could take it because I was stronger than him. I would prove my commitment and love.

No day passed without incident. No week passed without my eyes crying all of their tears to the point of dehydration. My dreams of having a stable family and children would not elude me. I would make sure it happened and this relationship was not going to fail. “I can fix this.”

And as our life progressed we had a baby girl. The day she was born was the first day of my life that I felt true love. The mother inside of me was awoken. I became enlightened with a sense that my purpose was not to serve a man who held bitterness and distrust in his heart toward me and his child.

2003: Though I was weak and my courage was tender, with the help of my family I left him.

It was the hardest thing I have ever done; second was when I supported our daughter in leaving him as well.

Blame so heavy we almost drowned in shame. How could we leave such a wonderful man who could never be replaced? No one would ever love us like he did. Thank God.