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What a Narcissist Endures

by Cindy Gust 2 years ago in trauma

The truth behind the mask

I sat here this evening looking through a years worth of documentation. Ten notebooks of garbage and evidence to the madness that occurred over the past year of my life. Not on purpose mind you. I was merely looking for lost or “vanished” passwords to get into some accounts. The harassment, the bullying, the threatening, the control. People knowing things about me that nobody should know, and the taunting and teasing about them toward me, or TO me. Knowing personal things about me. Teasing me about them. Making me do such insane stuff on promises that were never fulfilled. Stripping down for a Facebook photo, putting me on a dating site. 5000 Nigerians following me and harassing me on Facebook. Thousands of disgusting pictures sent in my fb messenger. I could go on with the list of the year’s worth of antics, but I won’t. And, I will never get down to the bottom of it either. As far as who is responsible. Who did this to me? Why was I so deserving of a years worth of hell? I almost killed myself on three occasions. Oh, I know, because I humiliated a man of pride and ego. Probably a few men, it seems. Because and But.... I don’t think any of them realized they had been having sex with a 7-year-old, every time they were having sex with me.

Somebody needs to tell me, when does the pain ever go away? When is the justice ever repaid? I stopped growing after the first time. I figured as long as my family and friends continued to call me “bean pole” that was a good thing, right? I had no womanly figure or curves for men to gawk over. So, what was wrong with me that they still did, regardless of whether I had breasts or not. I just learned, if you gave them what they wanted right away they’ll go away quicker. If you stalled and made them wait, they just continued to follow you around, make you feel really uncomfortable 🥵 and embarrassed by their talk and fondling. Not only the talk to you, but to your best friend or your sister or brother. No, I found it was best to just get it out if the way quickly, so they don’t make a scene. Then you can go about your business as if nothing ever happened.

Rule 2: Don’t ever tell your best friend.... ever. Not at 7 and not as an adult. Either way, they look at you like you’re some kind of monster evil woman from hell that seduces every man with “the gesture”, “the look”. Whatever the look was, I just wanted some roller skates for crimes sake. He promised me shiny, new, white polished roller skates with big Pom poms! I said, “Okay”. He got what he wanted, I didn’t get what I wanted. He was gone before I even woke up in the morning. Although, I had ended up sleeping with my brothers because he scared me when he climbed on top of me. I tried to play dead, like I was sleeping. But my sister busted my camouflage when she screamed at hi. To get off of me. What did he do?? Funny, he got off of me and tried to pretend like he was invisible. He crawled under my bed and that’s where he stayed until my sister grabbed my hand and drug my down the steps with her to get our dad. He was no help though, he was sprawled out on the bed, on his stomach, passed out. We couldn’t wake him. So we went and slept with our brothers. I couldn’t sleep though. I watched him all night, and heard him. He paced to my bedroom upstairs, then back downstairs to my brothers bedroom doorway, peeping in, calling my name in somewhat of a whisper, “Cynthia”......”Cynthia”. Then he’d go back up to my bedroom and lay in the bed and wait. He eventually fell asleep with his bottle in hand on my bed.

The next day he was gone. The one and on,y time seen, but he asked about me, specifically, in every letter, “How has Cynthia been?”. I hated my name for a long time after that.

trauma

Cindy Gust

Read next: Intergenerational Trauma

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