Escaping The Chaos Of The Malignant Narcissist

I didn’t know what he was at first.

He was charming, magnetic even. The way he looked at me made me feel like I was the only woman in the world. He listened so intently, asked all the right questions, remembered the tiniest details about me. He swept me off my feet before I even knew I was falling.

But looking back now, I can see it for what it was — a setup.

Malignant narcissists don’t love you. They study you. They watch how you react to praise, to silence, to subtle insults disguised as jokes. They learn how to push your buttons and then pretend they didn’t. What I thought was love was really a long, slow game of manipulation — and I didn’t realize I was losing myself until I couldn’t recognize who I was anymore.

It was confusing, because the man everyone else saw wasn’t the man I lived with. To the world, he was the nice guy. Generous. Funny. Helpful. People would actually say how lucky I was. And I started to wonder if maybe I was lucky — maybe I was just the problem.

He rarely screamed. He didn’t have to. His silence could cut just as deep. When he did scream it was as if a demon was coming out of his body. His voice would change, veins would pop and his face would become blood red. It was terrifying and could flip like a switch. His moods dictated the temperature of our entire home, and I walked on eggshells trying not to trigger the next shift. If I cried, I was dramatic. If I questioned anything, I was crazy. If I asked for more, I was ungrateful. The more I tried to hold it all together, the more I unraveled inside.

There were nights I stared at the ceiling wondering if this was just what relationships were. Wondering if I was too broken to be loved the right way. I clung to the early version of him — the one who had made me feel so seen, so wanted, so safe. I kept trying to get back to that beginning, but it was never real. It was bait.

Malignant narcissists don’t just lack empathy — they enjoy the chaos they create. They get satisfaction from watching you spin, doubt, question, beg. And the worst part? You keep thinking if you can just do better, they’ll go back to loving you. But they never will. Because they never did.

I know this now. I know the truth of what I survived. But back then? I just knew something didn’t feel right.

So if you’re reading this and feeling that same unsettled ache in your chest — that knot in your stomach that whispers something’s off — please hear me:
You are not crazy. You’re waking up.
And waking up is the beginning of everything.

It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it. You don’t have to stay stuck in their cycle. You are not theirs to break.

I got out. And I found myself again.
You can too.