And now, instead of courage, they choose games: indirect messages, sudden likes, memory triggers, silent hoovers meant to poke the wound they inflicted and see if it still bleeds. Don’t let it. You are not their supply; you are not a character in their script. You are the whole story they never learned how to read. The illusion may be loud, but truth whispers, and in that still small voice, it says, “You’re free.”
Let me tell you something that might just free you: the silence doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten. See, the narcissist doesn’t always come storming back through the front door. Sometimes they linger like smoke in the rafters; they’re there, watching, waiting—not out of love, but out of strategy. And when you’ve really started to heal, when your eyes start to shine again and your laughter doesn’t tremble anymore, that’s when the panic sets in for them.
Now, don’t be fooled by the quiet. Just because you haven’t been hoovered doesn’t mean you’ve slipped from their thoughts. No, they may be well aware that a direct approach won’t work anymore. Maybe they sense your strength; maybe they’ve seen you put up walls that don’t budge with sweet words or half-hearted apologies. So they don’t knock; they observe, they lurk, they scroll through your joy like it’s surveillance footage. And when they do Hoover, it’s not love; it’s a pulse check, a probe. They want to see: are you still bleeding? Are you still watching? If so, that attention feeds them, even from afar.
Some of those vague profiles that follow you, that oddly familiar comment from an account with no photo? Yeah, don’t underestimate how far the narcissist will go just to stay in your orbit, to stay relevant. They’ll disguise, deceive, disappear—only to reappear in a cloak of curiosity. And if they sense you’re moving on, truly moving on, that’s when fear grips them. Why? Because that new supply they flaunted so proudly is already losing its shine. It’s not enough; it never was. They didn’t expect you to glow without them; they thought you’d fade.
So now, they lean harder into illusion: more posts, more fake joy, more smiles that don’t reach the eyes. They’ll push it all into the spotlight, trying to sell the idea that they’re living their best life, that everything you gave them has now been multiplied without you. But don’t buy the show. Their happiness isn’t genuine; it’s a mask crafted from insecurity. Their affection isn’t deep; it’s a performance for the crowd. And if that love was real, they wouldn’t need an audience to believe it.
Continue reading on the next page
Sharing is caring!
