I Almost Married a Narcissist!

If it were possible, there are so many things I would tell my younger self. In high school, I would have fallen in love with any boy who gave me the time of day. I've always been like this, I suppose: pouring my heart and soul into people who never reciprocated. I'm still like this, I suppose.

In early college, I got back in touch with a boy I'd known in preschool, a boy whose mom was friends with mine. I pitied him at first, admittedly, because he was lonely and sad, and he needed somebody to talk to. An empath, I thought I could be that person. I guess I've never really learned how to please myself. I'd become far too wrapped up in pleasing everybody else.

He was a chaotic mess of a boy, nineteen years old and still damaged from the divorce of his parents. But he enjoyed confiding in me, and I enjoyed feeling needed. I suppose I thought it gave me purpose: to be a confidante. Since then, I've discovered purpose in so many other things. From the beginning, our relationship was tumultuous. I was nineteen, with several anxiety disorders and autism, inexperienced at life and love. He disliked my parents, and they him. I wanted to be loved.

In the beginning, he seemed like a nice guy. They always do. He was the type to self-victimize, to insist that everything that went wrong was the fault of somebody else. At first I'd side with him, because that's what a partner does, right? I was stubborn, and took advice from no one except a boy I'd centered my life around. We would break up and get back together so many times that I lost count. He would drink too much and start fights with strangers, and then try to drive home. I would defend him frequently to friends and family who saw the red flags before I did. Is this what love was supposed to be? Walking on eggshells, setting off a human time bomb at the slightest touch. Was this my life now?

I grew up in a dysfunctional family. I was used to being scolded, blamed, insulted. Perhaps that was why I was drawn to him, in the beginning, he felt like home. You know what they say. It usually starts at home. When the boy I was dating began to become controlling and demeaning, he reminded me of my father.

It's no big deal. He said he loves me.

He doesn't. Nobody who loves you treats you so badly.

No? Then, why do you do it?

I think there's a lot more to emotional abuse than there seems to be. I couldn't have been emotionally abused by my parents; they were my parents! I was misbehaving. They were trying to keep me in line. I remember, near the beginning of our relationship, my ex made me delete all of my male friends from social media. He was paranoid, claimed I'd cheat on him with them. I never argued. When you have no sense of self-respect, it's easy to put up with less than you deserve.

The first time he accused me of cheating, I was having an anxious day. As a person with anxiety disorders, I'm always having an anxious day. This didn't matter. He'd come home from dropping off his father at the airport, and demanded I leave the house. You're anxious because you're worried about being caught cheating. I want you to leave. If I weren't so naive, so stupid, I would have left ages ago.

Never ask a person in an abusive relationship why they don't just leave. I couldn't give you a straight answer. I loved him. I was scared. He was unstable, and stronger than me. I could give you a hundred reasons, and none of them would be good enough. When he wasn't in a mood, he was sweet and funny. He was in a mood a lot. When he was angry with me, which happened often and out of nowhere, he would degrade me and complain to his friends about how much of a bitch I was. When he had a big problem, it was never his fault.

When I was almost twenty years old, I got pregnant. In my mind, this gave me another reason to stay. But it all got worse after the baby was born. I still have a vivid memory of my infant child crying in a bedroom I was locked out of, after his father became irrationally upset that I didn't laugh at a joke he told. In the hallway, listening to my baby cry for me, I had a panic attack, and then I was let back inside to find him crawling through a pile of adult vomit.

There were a lot of last straws. The time my ex showed up drunk at my parents' house in the middle of the night. The time he told me I deserved to burn in hell for forgetting the Christmas gift he'd gotten me. The time he hoped loudly my infant son would grow up to despise me. I was always on edge, dating a man who could erupt in the blink of an eye, over nothing at all. We dated for three years, breaking up and getting back together more times than my heart could handle. I guess at the time, it seemed like I had no other options. At one point, when my child was a baby, we were engaged to be married. And thank the Goddess this never ended up working out. If it had, I don't know where I'd be.

It took me a long time to heal from the emotional damage the relationship brought me. I felt, for years afterward, that all of it had been my fault. Perhaps if I'd been a bit more attentive, a bit more agreeable, he wouldn't have been so angry. You can't change a narcissist. You can't change anybody who doesn't believe they need to be changed. Growing up, I'd felt a lot of the same things that lead to this self-blame. If I'd been a bit better, I wouldn't have been punished so often. When future partners treated me kindly, it felt uncomfortable. It felt undeserved, like they were only being kind to gain trust, and then they would explode. When future partners treated me with respect, it felt kind of... suspicious. It took me until well into my twenties to realise I was worthy of respect, too.

I do wonder, some days, if my son will grow up to be like his father. Some days, his father is communicative and agreeable. Others, he's up in arms about something insignificant. I suppose I didn't understand, when my son was born, that he'd tie us together for the rest of our lives.

These days, my ex rarely sees his son. This is not out of anything other than personal hindrances. You're keeping my son away from me!! he shouts, while making no effort to even see the boy. I don't remember the last time he asked to come and hang out with our son, or for him to come over and play. These days, it seems he acts as a father merely out of obligation, and children deserve better than this. We argue about religion and vaccination and boys that dress like girls. My ex bullied my son for wearing his dresses. He said he'd get bullied at school, that boys can't dress like girls. When my child was younger, he enjoyed wearing dresses to school. Now, he's too afraid to wear them at all.

I regret, a lot of the time, bringing a child into the world with a man who doesn't seem to want him. I feel comforted and saddened by the fact that my boyfriend is a better father to him than his father ever was. I worry he'll grow up to be like his father: bitter and victimized. We don't have a custody agreement. He lives with me, and visits family whenever they want to see him. Nowadays, it's always his grandmother who asks. I used to have so many regrets: dating the man I did, having a baby with him. Regrets are in vain. If it weren't for my ex, I wouldn't have the tiny human who absolutely transformed my life. I guess it's true what they say. Things do happen for a reason.