I used to buy an extra ticket to everything, for an eventual partner who never existed. When I was married, my husband would join me for some things, but his attitude toward anything I enjoyed was so negative that I stopped wanting him to go with me. So I stopped doing things I enjoy at all.
When I started seeing Nandi, I would buy an extra seat to anything I wanted to do, on the offhand chance he would actually join me. He never would. He even resented the last minute things he agreed to do with me like, trying a new restaurant or just joining me on errands. Actually joining me at a planned event was out of the question. His excuse was needing to be home with his kids and not being able to plan ahead because of them. But it never stopped him going to bars late at night and texting me about the flirtatious waitresses there. And if I asked him to meet me at a bar? He couldn’t, of course – the kids. But I would join him at things he had planned, out of town trips for martial arts events, that sort of thing. They were never about me or us – they were about something he wanted to do and I was just along for the ride.
Later, when Mac came along, he would do things with me sometimes. I paid for trips out of town, concerts, all kinds of things, and he loved every plan. He didn’t make it to most of them because he would initiate a fight or just disappear the day of, and go missing for days or weeks, then claim illness or a drug bender. So I wouldn’t go either. Or if he did go, he would have a drug-induced psychotic episode and create huge drama that caused us to have to leave. So much wasted money buying seats and trips for us that never got used. The last one, he staged a huge fight the day before a concert I had bought us tickets for. I was too upset to go, so the tickets were wasted, as usual. Late night the day of the concert, I saw him post about having gone and how great it was. I don’t even believe he had gone – it was definitely intended for me to see it and honestly how would he have gotten tickets? He had no job, no money, and they were sold out long before. The story that a friend took him could have been true, but I knew it wasn’t. He had long before admitted that he often posted pretending to have been at events just so it would look like he had a life.
After that, I would just try to plan things with friends. Sometimes it worked, but most of the larger ticket items just ended up never happening because no one could commit to go or not.
I didn’t want to keep wasting my time and money on tickets for two that never got used, so I just stopped planning to do things.
For the brief time I was seeing Caelus, I would suggest things – always something I could arrange, of course. Someone gave me tickets to this event, we should go. There’s a restaurant I can take him for his birthday. He would say “that might be fun sometime,” but it was never the right time. He never took me anywhere and never did anything with me outside his house. When we started coming out of this pandemic, I still considered making space for him in things I wanted to plan, just in case he came around. I resisted, of course. I no longer am willing to make space for someone who doesn’t exist or someone who doesn’t want to be in the space I create for them.
From now on I plan things for no one but myself, and I do things for myself and with myself alone. Sure, I’ll offer friends to join me if it makes sense, but I make my plans without waiting for their decision if it’s not forthcoming.
I am entering a loving and supportive relationship with myself, and I will give myself every single ounce of the love and care that I used to offer up to others.
Sometimes I find myself reaching inward, trying to touch that need for you. It’s only curiosity, an interest in knowing whether it could be rekindled even if I wanted it to. I don’t want it. But I wonder – could it ever claim me again? If I were to see you tomorrow, what would I feel? Sometimes I feel I hate you. Sometimes it’s only pity I feel. Underneath it all, I do feel a love, but it’s like the love of a sister to her brother. And only that this time. There is no passion. No desire. When I think of us together, the intensity we once felt, I cannot touch it. I remember it like I’m watching a film with different people, just actors, not us. It doesn’t touch me. Sometimes I think it’s my own psyche protecting me from the memory.
I was wondering why I suddenly feel down again, haunted by thoughts of Mac, when I had been doing so well. Then I remembered – I saw my NPD mom yesterday and she asked about Mac. I hadn’t told her we broke up because she is never interested in anything affecting anyone but herself, but yesterday she asked about him, because he had promised to do something for her and she wanted him to pay up. So I explained that we broke up and I hadn’t seen him in about a month. She asked why, so I explained he is an addict and was unable to stay off methamphetamines and alcohol, and that these things cause him to be abusive to me. Her response? “So you’re not worth quitting drugs for, basically.” I thought nothing of it – that’s how used to it I am. I just nonchalantly attempted to explain addiction to her, how it’s a disease and quitting isn’t about someone being “worth it,” but rather about so many other deeper issues.
My therapist recommended I write down the qualities of every man I’ve been involved with and look for any patterns. I found the following common thread – each one had a particular all-pervasive selfishness and interest only in their own needs being fulfilled. None had any interest whatsoever in fulfilling any of my needs. Sure, some said they wanted to take care of me or support me emotionally, and some would even get angry when they didn’t feel I was being vulnerable enough to them. But each one who made these claims or demands of vulnerability would become enraged when my actual needs didn’t match their expectation. They wanted to provide something specific that they wanted to give, not what I actually needed. And when I wasn’t able to match my need to what they wanted to provide, they hated me for it. This mirrors perfectly my relationship with my mother growing up. They say you may choose unhealthy relationships that mirror the relationship you had with an abusive parent in an effort to “fix” that problem by proxy. Seems to be true of me. So how does one stop? 
notthekindofgirl 