Member-only story
My Passion Might be Destroying Me
Maybe it’s not my passion after all
Revenge, I want it, I want it badly. I fucked up again and went to my ex’s house, and she signifies everything a Narcissist is. Cold-hearted and unempathetic.
I write about psychology, narcissism, mindfulness, and my ex. I feel like it’s a passion, describing my misery with others. I am getting the approval and validation from followers on Quora and here that I never got as a kid. Is that unhealthy? Possibly, I have no fucking idea anymore.
At what point does the proverbial light bulb go off in my brain that wakes me the fuck up to reality? If she ever cared about me, she wouldn’t have lied. She wouldn’t have run off multiple times with other men. She wouldn’t have left me in a parking lot waiting for her when she was off on a flight to Dallas fucking her ex-husband and drinking Cabernet, knowing she wasn’t going to show up. But she let me wait anyways. As the minutes ticked past 3 pm, I began to panic. She loved to put me in these tailspins. She said she would meet me, but I knew my fate, and my heart began to crumble. She did it again. And she also wouldn’t have fucked my best friend when I told her I needed space. Heartless bitch? Yes, she is.
But the little boy in me is chasing her with broken legs. I’ll never catch her. I’ll never be who she wants me to be.
