My ex has continued his infantile behavior of not taking my phone calls and not returning my messages, therefore, I got in the truck and drove to his house. My brother (who doesn’t think like a narcissist) thought this was a bad idea because it’s an hour and a half drive each way. What if Driftwood’s not home? Then what? I would have driven three hours for nothing. But I know the narcissist’s routine and I know how he behaves, so he was home the whole time, ignoring my calls.
The narcissist was surprised to see me. (haha) I soon discovered why. The living room was stacked wall-to-wall with boxes of mine from before we were married fifteen years ago! He had brought them up from the bowels of the basement to go through them. He had threatened me that he was going to sell my belongings. Again, this is because I was “a thief and owed him”. Narcissistic Entitlement.
On the bright side, he had set aside three items for me. I have written before about Driftwood’s psychic connection to me as his wife, and he had chosen three things that were specifically on my secret wishlist of possessions that I hoped to recover.
1. My 1988 college yearbook.
2. An 8×10 photo of my mother at age 10, the only photo of her as a youth.
3. “The Web of Deceit”, a small sculpture made by my artist friend, John Peltoma, in Chicago in about 1991.
Now I had a quandary: either I could take the antique furniture that I came for or I could take this new set of boxes; but I didn’t have room in the truck for both. I ended up with two pieces of furniture and twelve boxes of papers. In the beautiful world of my imagination, someday I will hire a needy college student to digitize all of my photographs and love letters so I can carry a lifetime’s supply of souvenirs on a single jump drive. That has always been my dream/plan. However, today I am stuck in an interim stage and have 75 boxes of I-don’t-know-what that needs to be stored someplace.
Obviously the deeper problem is that I am emotionally attached to my papers, and there is a reason. When I was 15-years old, my dream was to write a best-selling novel. I came up with an idea and wrote half the book. You see, 15-year old me thought that I knew everything about everything about everything. I realized that I was being immature, so I began to wonder how my ideas about the world would change as I got older. I decided to write the first half of the book from my adolescent perspective and the second half of the book when I was a 30-year old woman. I locked my novel in a steamer trunk and happily went off to college.
Six months before my 30th birthday, my step-father broke into my locked trunk, read my diary, and destroyed it. When I asked him by what right he had done this, all he ever said was, and I quote, “It was disgusting.” At the time, as I sat with my dream destroyed by my step-father, I speculated that he meant “It was disgusting” because I had written in detail about losing my virginity. Today, twenty plus years later, I think he destroyed my writing because I wrote about being raped as a 5-year old child, and while he did not rape me himself that day, he was responsible for giving me to the other pedophile. Surely one pedophile can recognize another pedophile as well as one thief can recognize another thief. He knew what he was doing.
The icing on the cake (mmm, tastes like irony) was that only a few years later, a man came up with the same idea as me, and published his diary from high school. It was an immediate best-seller and he is now a millionaire. Awesome. Way to fuck me twice, Daddy.
…So I want my stuff from the house. I want to be able to keep my things and write my best-selling novel based on the story of my life. I need my papers because how I interpret events changes over time. The event stays the same, of course, but my understanding fluctuates radically. Also, I feel victimized. I have a dull ache in my chest that is screaming, “That’s not fair!” Needless to say, I still get a migraine whenever I have to see Driftwood. I get the whole shebang: flashing lights, nausea, intense pain. Is this going to go on forever? I thought he gave me closure when he admitted that he was incapable of feeling love, but the abuse continues. I think the answer is to cut my losses and go No Contact – but I want my stuff.
I’m afraid that doesn’t make me a very good example. I’m sorry.
“Divorcing a Narcissist: Trauma Upon Trauma.” is copyright © 2014 by 18mitzvot. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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