And when that old itch starts to crawl again, they don’t stay silent. The narcissist will hoover—oh yes, that’s the word—hoovering like a vacuum, trying to suck you back into their grip. Out of nowhere, a text arrives: “Just thinking about you,” or “Happy birthday,” or “Hope you’re well.” They send these messages like seeds, hoping one might sprout. It doesn’t matter if they’re with someone new; it doesn’t matter if they claim to move on. If the new supply starts getting dull or if they just crave a little more attention—boom! They’re back in your inbox, whispering like a ghost you thought you buried.
Because for the narcissist, more is never enough. They don’t close doors; they leave them ajar just in case they feel like strolling back in.
And you know where else they show up? The grocery store. Sounds harmless, right? But for the narcissist, even food becomes a battlefield. They’ll act like experts, pointing at your choices, criticizing what you buy, acting as if every apple or carton of milk reveals your worth. “Why would you get that brand? That’s so unhealthy!” Control—that’s what it is, wrapped in kale and coupons. They’ll wander the aisles like royalty in exile, correcting your cart, flirting with the cashier, chatting like they own the place. It’s not about nourishment; it’s about control, charm, and being seen.
Now listen—remember how I said they live on their phone? That wasn’t an exaggeration. The narcissist doesn’t settle for one dating app. No, one is never enough. They’re not just swiping on Tinder and calling it a day; they’re casting wide nets. They’re on Hinge, on Bumble, on Plenty of Fish, on Christian Singles, on apps you’ve never even heard of. Because to them, connection isn’t about depth; it’s about options—a constant buffet of validation and possibility. They want to be everywhere, talking to everyone, casting shadows in every inbox. You see, to the narcissist, life is not about presence; it’s about pursuit—not about love, but leverage.
And their hobbies—oh friend, their hobbies are the breadcrumbs they leave behind on a path of manipulation, a trail that only leads back to one thing: the altar of self.
Now let me paint another scene for you, one that’s as telling as it is exhausting: the narcissist and the selfie. Oh, what a love story that is! It’s not just a picture; it’s a performance. You go out with them—to the car, to dinner, to the ocean—and you think maybe, just maybe, you’re going to make some memories together. But no, they’re not trying to capture the moment. Oh no, they’re trying to capture themselves—over and over again. Click, pose, filter, again. It’s relentless. And here’s the catch: you’re not in the frame, because you’re not the audience—they are. Or more accurately, their next target is.
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