Knowing the Narcissist : Letter to the Narcissist No. 126

I was 12, you my teacher. I was intrigued and drawn to how you looked at the world with eternal contempt in your eyes. How badly you treated the other students, how you were always sulking, moody. Except for me, you made me your favourite, I have no idea why. I did not like it at first, it made me feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. But I was also very unhappy and started to like the attention. You kept saying that you were going to help me, that I should come live with you and your wife, that you wanted to know about everything – everything! – that was going on inside my head.

Until something changed. I do not know what or why, but it was at the time when your wife left you. All of a sudden I was no longer special in the usual sense. I was now special in the opposite sense: you seemed to hate me so much. Again I felt special, there appeared to be no one that you hated as much as me. You seemed to make a fool of yourself, with your refusal to talk to me, look at me. It was laughable but also intriguing. I was drawn to you even more, what did I do to you that was so bad? How could you hate me even more than you already hated everyone else? It was a puzzle I could not solve.

I left school. Other things happened in my life. But I could only feel attracted to teacher figures. I do not know how it came to be, but I contacted you, because I needed to know what had happened and I wanted to become free of you. I did not think it would be a big deal, it seemed the sensible thing to do.

Now, at this point I am getting angry. You with your “I have a girlfriend but she is on the way out”, I was also probably a bit naive. You with the “I am diagnosed with NPD, nobody understands me, it’s so hard to be me.” I now understand this was pity play, it sure did make me go out of my way to prove to you how special you are.

I lost myself. It is still difficult to understand how that happens. I ended you several times until I stopped trying. But then I became ill, very ill. I lost my looks, my lust, also my job. I could still not let go. Even though all I now heard from you were the texts, every few months, “wanted to check if you are not dead yet”. No not yet, I am still here. Until it looked like I was going to die and I was in a hospital bed and I thought to myself: “I am done, I do not mind dying, there is nothing left inside of me that is viable anyway”. But I did not die, by miracle. When I got home two months later I entered my home and I thought to myself: “You will never enter through this door again”.

And you haven’t.

Do I have final words? There’s no point, whenever I would tell you how hurtful your actions were, you always replied: “I know”, with that stupid grin on your face. There is one thing I can say, although it is really beneath me to mention this. But I will, for this last time only, lower myself again to your level of constant failure: you never ever once made me come. I’ve given you every piece of my body to use, fullfilled all your wishes no matter how hard, but I have not given myself. And, yes – I made sure you knew it. Now see that smile on my face?