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One Year Ago Part Three

Last December was a very bad month for me. The narc was amping up his abuses because I finally had a handle on his tactics, a look behind his mask, and he was not happy at all.

November ended with a fight about moving some plywood, of all things. He got mad that I didn’t jump up from my desk where I was doing paying work to help him before he needed to ask. The argument went round and round until I just didn’t care any more and shut down, refusing to respond to him at all. He pretended to “make an effort to change” which I knew was just another tactic to bring me back in line.

Because of my wonderful readers and lots of internet research, by December I knew I was dealing with a person with Narcissistic Personality Disorder and that there was no cure, no hope, and no reason to say with the asshole. I started to turn his conversational beatings around on him, refusing to play his games. I admit I found it thrilling, like poking the tiger in the cage at the zoo. Now that I was no longer emotionally invested in the relationship, I didn’t care if I made him mad and said what I really felt with no regard to what he might think. It was Sofia Uncensored. He hated it. I reveled in his hate. His anger and switching tactics only fueled my own anger and determination to get the hell out.

When he could no longer move me to tears or talk me into submission he changed his approach: suddenly he was helpless, unable to keep his finances in order, broke, sick, depressed, unable to remember a host of little things from one day to the next. He became a toddler again and he expected me to pick up his slack and take care of all his needs.

I had money in my bank account and a plan for the next time he left town, but he seemed determined to not leave me alone. I tried my best to keep from rocking the boat while standing up for myself – not an easy task. I didn’t want him to kick me out before I was ready to go, but I had a backup plan just in case.

And then Christmas was upon us, and he did his usual gift thing. I bought him clothes, careful to choose exactly what he said he wanted. He took back some clothes that he had given to me and whined constantly about how he felt like he’d been taken advantage of all these years by “everyone,” including me and that was why he wasn’t where he wanted to be in his life and why he could not be happy and treat me well. He was laying the guilt on thick at every opportunity.

I was angry. So very angry. I was very impatiently waiting for him to go out of town again so I could put my escape plan into motion. I was keeping many secrets from him and I felt justified in doing so because of his lies and manipulations. I no longer loved him. I did hate him with a red hot fiery passion and I knew that hatred was the primary force keeping my head above water, paddling slowly forward, looking for an opening to get away.

In less than a month I would be free. That last month was the hardest to endure, but I made it and have been narc free for almost a year!

Thank you all for traveling along with me on this journey.

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Whores Get Paid

Let’s talk about sex, shall we?

M is a twice-a-day kinda guy and he mourns the “passionate beginning” of our relationship. Can’t get it off his mind, in fact. It’s a huge problem. He feels unfulfilled. Lonely. Out Here on his own. Unloved.

He says that sex with me isn’t fulfilling because I’m not “enthusiastic.” Because I don’t “beg for it.”

I’ve explained on numerous occasions that if I don’t feel good about myself there will be no desire for him. That if he yells at me, while it makes him feel like King of the Mountain it leaves me feeling like a doormat and that is not sexy.

He refuses to do anything to spark my desire. He is a typical Narc – tearing me down to make himself feel good and then pressuring me for sex as the icing on his Narc cake. I should be panting hot for him just because he took off his clothes, right? He can’t understand why I’m not. Or so he says.

I’ll be honest here and tell you that I generally give in. There’s no bonus in it for me to refuse him – he just escalates his other abuses and his episodes last longer. It’s easier to pretend and let him get it over with. Frankly, I don’t think he cares if I’m even in the room – it’s all about him.

So, I’ve been keeping track of just how much sex he’s been getting – from me, at least – if he has someone else or helps himself I don’t care.

Since May 19, when I started keeping detailed records, he has had an orgasm with me 75 times. That’s 170 days, minus the two weeks he was away sailing and the five days he was out of town, for a total of 156 days when he slept in the bed we call “ours.” Divide by 75 and you get 2.013333333.  That number does not take into account those nights when we had company sleeping over.

So, basically he’s “getting his” every other day. How many times did I “get mine?” Eight. He wasn’t in the room every time, and he wasn’t in my mind any of those times. That speaks volumes, doesn’t it?

Does that make me a whore? You betcha! If I had charged $50.00 each time I would have $3750 in my bank account. And, of course, I wouldn’t also be housekeeper, cook, psychiatrist, etc. I can’t help but think it would have been an easier career choice.

 

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