Now let me take you deeper into the collapse. When you walk away, when the mirror shatters, the narcissist doesn’t just feel loss; they unravel. Rage—that’s the first wave. You might see it in texts that drip with venom, in whispered lies they tell your friends, in social media posts designed like a weapon, with photos and captions staged—smiles that scream, “I’m fine without you.” But don’t be fooled; that’s not healing; that’s theater—a performance for an audience, not because they’re okay, but because they’re not.
Behind the scenes, meltdowns, fits, quiet panic that nobody sees. They’re not grieving the relationship; they’re grieving the collapse of the illusion, the image they fed you, the control they had. Let me tell you something: a client once shared that her narcissist ex, just days after the breakup, posted photos with someone new. Not just that; he tagged her friends one by one, just to make sure they all saw it. Petty? Yes. Painful? Absolutely. But it wasn’t about the new person; it was about her. It was a tantrum dressed up in pixels and filters—a scream in disguise: “Look at me, still wanted, still adored.”
And you know what? That’s not power; that’s desperation. That’s a hollow shell trying to fill itself with borrowed light. So, my friend, if you’re sitting there wondering if they miss you, I want you to shift that question. Not “Do they miss me?” but “Why am I still asking that?” You are not a memory to be dusted off when they’re lonely. You are not a mirror to reflect their glory. You are more than supply; you are sacred, whole, and worthy of real love—the kind that sees you.
Don’t chase after someone who only knew how to take. Let them perform; let them collapse; let the illusion burn. Because you? You’re stepping into truth, into healing, into the kind of freedom they’ll never understand.
Let’s talk about that brutal moment—the want that knocks the air clean out of your lungs. You blink, and suddenly the narcissist’s got someone new, front and center—a brand new supply. Not months later, not weeks; sometimes it’s the next day. Sometimes it’s already in place before you ever left. And you sit there, heart shattered, thinking, “How could they move on so fast? Did I mean anything at all?”
Let me answer that clearly: What you’re seeing isn’t love; it’s not healing; it’s not wholeness; it’s performance. That new relationship is a costume, a mask thrown on at lightning speed. It’s not about the new person; it’s about you—sending a loud, cruel message: “See? I’m fine; you’re the broken one. You never mattered.” But let me tell you something sacred or something true: that’s not real connection; that’s strategy, manipulation. That’s a person so empty inside they’ll grip onto anyone or anything just to avoid feeling their own void. Because if the narcissist had to face that emptiness without distraction, oh, they’d collapse; they’d crumble.
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