I have spoken avidly about my last relationship, a very damaging one with a narcissist. Many trespasses took place, many words were spoken aimed to dull and hurt me, as well as soften me when irked. He said “I love you” but once. The very conversation he admitted to sodomizing me while I slept. 


This is why we could never have nice things. He knew of my past and he chose to rape me in my sleep. More than once. “It’s better when you’re awake to cheer me on.” I’ll never forget how nonchalant he was and how chilling it was to hear those words. 

I didn’t know what to say. I forgave him for it and returned to him for another year after I learned this.  I cauterised this injury but when I allow myself to feel it, it is filled with great sorrow. I truly loved this man who hurt me in every way he could. 

He saw me as nothing. I was always nothing to him. I’m beginning to rise from the ashes of that fact. My character, my heart, my womanhood – all was assassinated in his wake. I was dismantled. 

He dismissed my horror and pain, denying it being rape. He saw me no different than a convenience available in every capacity and without regard to my being. Good riddance. 

Someone like you 

I was once married to a man so duplicitous, my marriage was actually annulled and I was never divorced. It’s hard to explain this, so I claim the divorcee moniker. The marriage last ten years and it was still possible to dissolve it in a manner I had always assumed was designated for those who had not consumated. 

I used to listen to the Adele song “Someone Like You” so much, had it come out in 1991, I would have worn out the tape. I blamed myself because I believed there was no one better than he and despite all I went through, I felt undeserving of such a love and deserving of the abuse. 

Now, I avoid someone like him. This is not about him or a specific man, but more of a musing about what kind of man to avoid. It’s a musing about how to avoid “someone like you.”


I have learned a narcissist and many a douchelord will work overtime to win me over. The shower of compliments, the endless conversations, the praising of my intelligence and interest in my interests. I have needed a man to share all of my likes and dislikes, but we all like to find something in common with people we want to date. Beware of mirroring!

A douchelord manipulator is amazing at mirroring everything from pretending to like cultural pursuits to feelings. These people fake entire relationships. They are devoid of emotion. While this causes the average person a great deal of distress, especially during a break-up, the douchebag can’t feel. Imagine a life in grey and red. 

While I feel too much, a person like that feels anger and not much else. There’s contempt, disappointment… but they love like a normal persons loves a toaster. 

The conquest depends on the quest for a douchelord like this. I’m not high maintenance. I’m easy-going and I used to open myself faster than Jaws snapped his gob. I was super easy and fast. 

If a man blows hot and cold, stands you up and only contacts you in the middle of the night through social media, say your peace and off you go. There’s nothing for you there. This is not serious or real. 

Not Someone Like You

Good men do exist, I’m told. But they don’t want a hot mess these men prey on. I have to love myself truly. I thought I did, but it’s not true. I don’t put myself first and I wear myself out. A douchelord clocks someone like me to suck all he can while stringing along with no intention to commit. We are a supply. 

I don’t want another narcissist. I don’t want a man who takes me granted and uses me for whatever may suit at any given point. I don’t want someone like the douchelord who takes someone like me and goes nuts playing his games and getting his fill. I want to never meet someone like that again. I want to move on and never look back. 


I have fallen for not one, but two narcissists, in my true loves. They fall at opposite ends of the spectrum, but both inherently there. All the signs were always there. My first Narcissus kept the jig up for five years. The other saw a cat-mouse opportunity immediately.  The point of this musing, is that something is me is a magnet to these men. They’re not the only ones, but the ones I loved best. 
Narcissist Lite

My husband once told me he was special. He knew he was born better than others. I did notice he felt entitled and was frustrated with life. He was angry when he had had a great life with great parents and friends. He was angry he wasn’t granted riches or talent to become extraordinary. With the passing of time, he began to resent me. He stopped loving me and began something pretty awful. 

I can now look back and see it 20/20. At first he became the person I wanted in a partner. He kept up the charade so long I feel he deserves a medal. I am bemused and disgusted at how long it went on and how impervious I was. I was literally sleeping with the enemy for years. 

I suffered from depression and I blamed myself for the fallout of my marriage. I still believe it was an unfortunate ingredient in the mess it became. But now I see I could have been perfect and it would not have mattered one bit. It’s hard to see something so subtle unfold when one is in the fold. 

Narcissist Rex

This should have been easier to spot. I loved him so much so quickly I would have accepted devil worshipping and an upside-down face. I took so much and let myself become entwined with someone so vindictive.  

I felt there were all these signs that pointed to him being the one. I just had to be patient. I had to be kind.  He saw I’d do pretty much anything for him and he began to have fun with it. 

Some days I feel more emotional than others about it, when I unravel it and begin to work through it. It was the single, most gruelling relationship of my life. He never laid a finger on me. But maybe that would have been easier to deal with. I wouldn’t have put up with that and I would have left. That kind of abuse is cut and dry. I’m not saying it’s easier, but it wasn’t the psychological warfare this was. 

Reading up on it, this man is textbook and I am too. I really need help shedding the internal magnet I carry by healing and truly loving myself. 


I’ve been keeping my head high and my nose clean. It’s like my narcissist can smell this feat of progress. Stop, manchild, because you will get no word from me. By now he’s worked out my number is new and unlisted. We are back to other methods of being a nuisance…

I will not reply to this man in the same way I wouldn’t piss on him if he were on fire.  My little heart is now impervious to his BS – it took three years but I know his insidious ways. I know his modus operandi. I know what this man is like and while love kept me around, that’s over now. I will not succumb to his crap now. His BS is not my problem anymore. 

Where am I now in terms of feelings? I don’t love him anymore and the spell is broken. How did I love someone so emotionally and mentally abusive? I understand being on that flytrap of a relationship. I was caught so long I couldn’t see the woods for the trees. 

I remember words he used to hurl at me and I am disgusted I took it; AND still came back for more. I feel like I have arrived on safe, dry  land after fleeing in a rickety raft.  There is no way I’m going back to being adrift and bleeding in shark-infested waters. I said once a man is scorched earth to me, there’s no going back. This relationship is burned black, dead and barren for life. 

The best part of the latest bout of contact is around how I’m having my friends contact him. Twisting it around so I am seemingly harassing him. My friends who even knew of him couldn’t be happier he’s gone. No one would dare try and get him back in my life, just in case. What a weak, sad approach. If it persists, I will have to take more stern measures. But reply? Never. 

In the words of No Use for a Name, “if you pick up your phone, please don’t call on me.”

Heart of Melon

Sometimes I wish I had a heart of darkness instead of a heart of melon. Ironically, I’m lethally allergic to melons in all forms. Thus is hardly a case of “you are what you eat,” but perhaps akin to cannibalism, albeit the emotional mind. This expression, to have a heart of melon (corazón de melón) is colliquially popular in Mexico, meaning one’s heart is mushy and sweet. 

I came across an article yesterday about how “nice women” attract “bad boys.” One can’t change the other any more than the Borgias could keep their hands to themselves. But it’s a case of cat and mouse, I imagine. My ex spoke blatantly about how the targeted me because of a previous man I dated. He assumed I had poor self-esteem. 

He once told me he felt about me as Jay Z’s “Song Cry.” He warned when I was a “good girl gone bad,” I’d be gone forever. I imagined he had meant this hypothetically, but he meant just that – he’d cast me out. He knew he’d grind me down to come to such outcome. I wasn’t the first and won’t be the last. 

People like me, “nice women,” offer a unique supply to people like him. I was his yes woman.  No one, especially that “bad boy man,” will thank you for being a special kind of doormat. It’s a funny game to him. He doesn’t appreciate it. It’s easy. 

There are men out there who would appreciate a nice woman, but not that kind of man. A good man looks for a woman who loves herself; not one who slices herself in half in exchange for crumbs. No one wins here, save for the “bad boy” and only for a spell. 


I had a very hard time when I realised I had been discarded by my narcissist ex.  Most of my nearest and dearest couldn’t understand my distress. I felt like my heart was being ripped right through my ass****.  I felt both like running while pulling at my hair and screaming, and hiding under a rock until the pain dissipated. 


That simple little world crowded my life, swimming in circles. Why me? Why when I had given him all of me? Why when I loved him despite knowing what he is? Why? Why? Why?

It doesn’t matter why. It never did. And more to the point, I will never know why. Perhaps that was hardest to masticate and swallow. I wallowed in self-pity. I struggled so hard to get up each morning, practically rolling out of bed. I felt disheveled, numb, like I was just going through the motions… I used to glare at my face in the mirror and didn’t recognise the sallow, sad face glaring back at me in the bathroom mirror. 

“Why did you do this to me? After years of waiting and waiting, putting up with all sorts.” I never asked this question because  I already know the answer. He never loved me and it was always going to end like this. It is in his nature and he was always going to discard me. 


I waited for him to call, to hear I meant something, that it was more than this. He left me knowing I was in a particularly vulnerable position and waited until Christmas Day to drive the knife. This wasn’t the first time he’d done so. I should have know better than to pick up the phone. 

When he’s tweaked, I get endless calls in the middle of the night I don’t answer and won’t answer. Emails that wind in the trash unread. My phone number is different now and I won’t publish it in any business sites (how he previously got my number once I had changed it). 

His calls are either to hurl abuse or seek comfort. I’m not his partner anymore. He’s not my problem anymore. His new supply is a beautiful woman. He knows I won’t say anything to her about what he is because a) not my style and b) she won’t believe me anyway.  My best man said he pities his new supply because she’ll be where I am someday and I was lucky I wasn’t as immersed as I could be. It didn’t feel that way at first. 

Now I’m glad we haven’t our baby in common and there’s no bound between us. The thought of taking a call, getting any messages… it now terrifies me. I don’t want to see him again. I don’t love him anymore. I’ve reluctantly and slowly moved on, but it’s the best foot forward. 

He’s gone and while that used to be my worst fear, I couldn’t be more relieved now.  


I’ve lost a couple of embryos in my life, and yesterday, I was given a light of sorts. I’d read the pamphlet information on endometriosis and I have even had a laparoscopic surgery years ago. I was always told my son was a miracle, but it’s hit me at last. 

I was a teen mom. It wasn’t premeditated and the judgement was rife. It happened easily, the pregnancy was flawless and the birth a mere three hours with mild contractions, as recorded by the machine. I marched with a 50-pound drum for 7 months of it. 

At 12, I began to get these excruciating pangs during my period. They began to get worse. I recall profuse sweating,  vomiting and pain so severe I felt like knives were carving my insides. I longed for God to kill me. I couldn’t function the first day of it every single month. Visits to the ER weren’t uncommon. I used to have severe dysmenorrhea. 

Yesterday, a doctor told me biologically, my teen baby was the one. My body wasn’t scarred like it is now, making conception and retention of the embryo pretty easy. I lost two babies over the last 3 years and it was a pretty difficult time for me. 

The odds of conception for me were always tough. I knew on paper what it means to have endometriosis. I knew on a monthly basis what it’s like. I once passed out in a busy shopping centre in front of my then nine-year-old son. I vowed I would take care of it. 

My ex, at the wake of the news of the last pregnancy, called me many things. The one that resonated was when he said I’d surely miscarry as I’m so pulluted inside. I do feel that way – like my uterus is a time bomb that is self-sabotaging. A leper uterus of sorts. When I miscarried in November, those words spun in my head aimlessly.  Thank God my “pulluted” body did conspire, because I’d be bound to him otherwise. 

I have to accept this is what will be. I had my son, which is more than many other women with my condition will ever get to do. 


This is not a man-bashing post. I’m the jerk who was jerked around. But the writing was on the wall and I kept coming back for some more. This is about how not be a jerk like me. 

“Don’t make excuses for jerks. You can’t put a flower on an asshole and call it a vase.” One of my dearest said this to me. Because I’ve grown up around people with NDP, I could have seen it all before. But alas, hindsight is a wonderful gift. 

Don’t be a jerk who believes empty words. Actions speak so much louder. Men who want to be with you – will. Don’t buy the recycled game and wait around like a… jerk. Being the butt of a game’s joke is a horrible feeling. 

Men with “game” seek out jerks like you and I who fall hook, line and sinker because we’re naive or inexperienced. Or just in love. It’s no different from hawks seeking out dumbass pigeons – except we don’t have crows doing our bidding. 

Don’t be the jerk who waits around and takes a beating, and then gets back up more more. Don’t love someone so much,  you forgive time and again.  Especially when some transgressions are unforgivable. Do not be a door mat. 

It’s okay to put yourself first. It’s okay to safeguard your feelings and your being. Don’t let someone trample on all that you are and piss on it. 

It’s awful being jerked around with sweet nothings and nothing but a little string of hope. It’s not a feeling of losing or not being good enough. It’s just what it feels like to be made the fool. Own it. But don’t repeat. 


The Buzzcoks asked the most important question of all – ever fall in love with someone you shouldn’t have fallen in love with? Was I somehow drugged beyond recognition? Did I wade through it unable to hear, see or think?  This is no superficial post, but a glimpse from the outside. 


I can’t think of one time I was happy that wasn’t marred by something vile that immediately followed. I can count the actual happy times on one hand. I can’t think of why I didn’t run after the love bombing stopped and the mask slipped. 

I’m sure I won’t feel this clarity very long. But I’m holding on. 


The time has come to commit to the cutting of all ties. My no-contact rule with the ex is strong and committed, despite varied and persistent attempts. I want nothing further and I will not publicly write of this for some time. I’ve come to terms with some of it and it’s time to take a temporary vow of silence in a bid to move on. 

The finality was difficult to handle, but understanding I felt a fool helped me tremendously. I was made a fool of. I was made to chase my tail until I spun out. 

I am a master of scorched earth.  Once I move on, I won’t look back. But this time, this man… I just needed the validation what I’m feeling is normal so I may let it go forever. He is incapable of loving or being a regular joe in the relationship arena. 

This is something that will happen – I will never speak to him again. I am free, I’m not his property. I am no longer his fool.