I didn't actually miss him
Literally, Taylor Swift's “Mr. Steal Your Girl, then make her cry,” vibes. Healing after narcissistic abuse is weird. He made me feel crazy. Healing feels even crazier. But I'm still here.
Although he shredded my heart, and future, to pieces, I still find myself searching for him at times. You might be in the same boat as me.
You’d think after two years you’d be over someone that did you dirty. It’s not that easy when, underneath it all, he was actually a raging narcissist.
It’s like a little voice in your head saying, “Look at me! I know he cheated, but look at me! Look! He was your best friend!” If my thoughts sound like yours, you have to tell that voice: no.
“He made me believe that his kindness was love — and that I was the problem.”
It’s one thing to be in love. It’s another thing entirely when:
He lies to his family about you.
His parents have some weird, unexplainable vendetta against you.
He complains that he’s broke but spends all his money on pizza, video games, and expensive sunglasses.
Then you gotta leave before it gets worse — because that wasn’t love. But it sure was survival.
What I feel isn’t even about missing him
I don’t miss him, really. That’s the messed-up part. It’s not even about him.
It’s about how narcissists worm into your brain (sorry RFK Jr.) and leave behind a version of themselves that feels like yours — like home, even when it’s burning.
I hate to say it, but it felt like an addiction.
I didn’t want him back — God, no.
But then there’s that tiny voice: “Maybe just check his page? Unblock him? Just for a second?”
And you know what happens if you do.
You’ll want to throw up.
You’ll shake. You’ll sob.
You’ll dissociate and forget how to hold a conversation for days.
You’ll remember he’s a deeply disturbed man.
And you’ll remember that five-minute moment on his birthday, when he said on the phone to his grandfather, “I already got the best fish in the sea. I lost her once, and I won’t lose her again.”
But he still did. And yeah, that part still stings.
That’s what they do. They make you believe that you’re only worthy of their version of love — love with conditions, love without a future, love without commitment.
They make you believe you’re worthy of only their version of love — love with conditions, love without a future, love without commitment.
So now, when someone’s kind to me, it’s hard.
I finally started dating again last summer. But I got scared — why are they being so nice? It felt suspicious. Unsafe, even.
It’s not my fault. And it’s not yours.
He made me associate softness with manipulation. It’s going to take time to unlearn that. And that’s okay too.
But I’m starting. This? Is me starting.
“So yeah, I’m onto better things. Literally and emotionally. This post? It’s part of that healing.”
Conditional love is not love
I’m more healed than before. But I have PTSD because of this relationship. Some days, it still hits:
A certain song hits.
I’m alone too long.
And I remember that last conversation from the summer of 2023, when he said he knew me “like a book — front to back, back to side, side to cover.”
Or something like that.
I don’t remember exactly.
I’m literally just a girl.
Anyway. Back to the story.
That craving to be acknowledged and validated? That’s not love.
It’s the echo of abuse. The echo of manipulation.
The echo of how he’d cross my boundaries, make me feel guilty for reacting, and then I had to comfort him because he felt like, “the bad buy.”
And then he’d be so nice.
He convinced me that his bare-minimum kindness was love. That I was crazy. That I was, “too sad.”
I had to be “the chill girlfriend.” I worried I didn’t seem relaxed enough. And in the process, Kaylirose disappeared.
I lost myself. No one noticed because I hid it so well. I thought it was normal.
Slowly, I’m finding her again. I’m not totally healed.
Some days, it still takes me a minute to respond when someone’s too kind. Sometimes, I wonder if I even deserve love.
But I do. And so do you.
I’m setting boundaries. I’m checking in with myself. And I’m learning that love isn’t supposed to feel like survival — even when I’m on my own.
It was never about him
Surprise! I didn’t miss him. I missed the comfort. The illusion. The idea of being loved, and being in love.
But yeah, he was a total dick.
The kind of guy who’d use vile locker-room talk in video game chats with his friends and think it was funny.
Never again. It was embarrassing. But you know what they say about rose-colored glasses.
I deserve real love: softer, safer, not soaked in hate speech and insecurity. So yeah, I’m onto better things. Literally and emotionally.
This post? It’s part of that healing. And if any of this sounds familiar to you, I just want you to know:
You’re not crazy.
You’re not dramatic.
You’re not hard to love.
They were an idiot. You deserve true love.
Until next time.
— Kaylirose <3