Not because they want you, but because they want your reaction. It might be months, years, even decades later—a comment, a tag, a coincidence that’s anything but. They want to feel like they still take up space in your story, and if they can’t get back in the door, they’ll throw rocks at your windows just to remind you they were once there. They don’t miss you; they miss owning you.
They can’t handle your joy. Let’s talk about your freedom— that sweet, hard-earned freedom. It burns them, not because they care about your well-being, but because it proves they were never essential. You smiling without them is the loudest sermon they’ll ever hear, and they hate it. You see, the narcissist needs to believe they’re unforgettable, irreplaceable, immortal in the hearts of those they’ve touched. But you broke that myth. You healed. You grew roots somewhere else. You found love in places they never reached. That’s the real betrayal to them—not that you left, but that you flourished without their chains. And in the quiet moments, that truth gnaws at them.
You know what eats them alive more than anything? The fact that you got free while they’re still locked in a prison they pretend doesn’t exist. They envy you—yes, even with all their smirks, their passive jabs, their “I’m doing great without you” performances. They envy you because you no longer need the performance. You stepped out of the theater. They’re still acting, and that envy turns sore; it twists into resentment. Not because you did them wrong, but because you broke the spell. You’re living proof that their grip wasn’t permanent. That’s why they’ll paint you as bitter, dramatic, unstable, because if you’re thriving, then they have to face the truth: they never had power; they only had your permission.
Now here’s something most folks don’t realize: the narcissist lives in fear—not of justice, not even of you, but of exposure. They fear that someone, somewhere, might start seeing them the way you do. They’re terrified their mask might slip in public, that the curated version of themselves—so charming, so impressive—might crumble when someone whispers, “I don’t think that’s the whole story.” So they go on the defense. They monitor you, spread rumors, poison the well before you can speak. They’d rather burn the whole village than let the truth walk in unannounced. Once that image shatters, so does their world.
Even now, they wonder if you’ll come back—not out of love, but out of need. Because losing is unacceptable in their gospel, so they hold out hope. They rehearse their lines, they scroll through your photos. They pray—not to God, but to their own ego—that one day you’ll knock again, that you’ll need their approval, that you’ll crave their presence. And if you don’t, if you move forward with grace, dignity, and peace, that’s the real loss they can’t explain.
How Narcissists Always Get Away with Their Lies
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