Narcissism, Boundaries & Grief

Coming Home—and Feeling Uneasy

These days mark the beginning of a new chapter.
I’m doing something I haven’t done in years: I’m moving back into my old apartment.
A place I kept leaving, and yet it always offered me shelter when I needed it most.
In recent years, I haven’t stayed anywhere for more than five months.
The thought that I’m allowed to stay in one place, without having to leave again soon, stirs up restlessness.
As if I don’t deserve it. As if I’m not allowed to.
All the things around me—mine.

Outside, summer is blazing.
I’m sorting through clothes I pulled out of the basement after years, and I can’t believe I’m allowed to wear all these beautiful pieces again.
Not just the two worn-out t-shirts that lived in my closet these past years.
Admittedly: all these things overwhelm me.

After so long without a home, having one is a major shift.
Leaf blowers cut through my ears, punk music blasts from a street festival into my room.
Then a choir—angelic voices that touch my still-sad soul.

I think back to our conversation.
I didn’t want to run anymore.
I knew that if I followed what all the “experts” say—“No contact,” blocking every new number—he’d still find a way to reach me.
My goal was to be so grounded in myself that no open door remained.
(I wrote about this in my last post.)
But now I want to break the conversation down—to show what narcissistic manipulation looks like.
I didn’t see it for years, but from a distance, it reads like a script.
Like a call center routine.

Our Very last conversation 

I text him.
Calling isn’t an option—because the moment I hear his voice, I just want to be with him again.
Without the context of our relationship, the conversation could be seen as a kind exchange between two people who once loved each other.
But that’s exactly why I want to break it down here—to highlight the mechanisms of a narcissistic pattern.

1. In the beginning, he’s warm and open.
He says he didn’t want to leave things on a bad note—hence the many attempts to reach out.
He even tells me he misses me. Admits he wasn’t there for me enough and that he just wants peace between us.
(A gentle strategy that sparks hope for a peaceful reconnection—a door-opener for further control.)

2. I ask what he means by peace.
What does that actually look like?
Instead of answering, he throws the question back: “How do you want it to be?”
Every time he uses phrases like “Promise to make things right again with me?”, I ask what exactly he means—and I get vague answers or more counter questions.
(Strategy: sowing confusion. I’m the one left explaining. I stay in the dark. Control through vagueness.)

3. I try to explain—again—that I need peace. That I need space.
He says he doesn’t believe me. He feels that I’m still with him.
And yes, there’s some truth to that.
But there’s more to it.
(Gaslighting: he dismisses my reality and keeps emotional control by making me question my own feelings.)

4. When I hold my boundary and say I don’t want more contact after this conversation, the accusation comes:
“You’re just going to pretend none of this ever happened?”
(Strategy: guilt-tripping. Accusing me of coldness and detachment.)

5. “You’ve said what you need. There is no space for what I need. Never has been.”
(Strategy: he positions himself as the victim. Shows vulnerability. Attempts reconnection through pity.)

6. Then he shifts the topic—to work.
He wants to show me the business plan.
The one we were supposed to create together, but that he ended up doing alone.
He’s proud. Wants to share it with me.
I agree to see it.
Then he says, “I know it’s stupid, but I still hope we would work on it together.”
I deny his request. Suddenly, the offer is off the table. He switches the topic.
When I ask again to see it, he responds with another question: “Would you have a phonecall with me then?”
(Strategy: withdrawing as a form of control. I start wondering—did I hurt him? Am I overreacting? He demonstrates power by pulling away.)

He keeps trying to get me on the phone.
I keep saying no.
Then come the questions: What are you doing? Where are you?
I realize I don’t want to tell him anything about myself—so he won’t have anything to judge or use against me.

7. At the end of the conversation, comes the condition:
If he gives me space, will I promise to make things right again someday?
I ask how it should exactly look like—no reply.
An hour later, the finale:
“I never meant to hurt you. Take care.”
(Strategy: he leaves the conversation with a trace of warmth. No accountability. Just a loaded sentence—“I never meant to hurt you”—that softens everything, and keeps the door slightly open. Maybe, just maybe, it was all real after all.)

I hadn’t recognized these manipulative patterns before.
It was a whirlwind of confusion, contradiction, and guilt.
But I’m glad I faced this conversation—because it was the only way to set a real boundary.

Triggers in the Middle of Normality

In the weeks that follow, I try to live a “normal life.”
Indeed as if the last two years never happened.
I invite friends over, we cook together, laugh.
It feels like those years were just a bad dream.

But the triggers keep coming.
I feel like I see him everywhere.
It’s something I only knew from movies—and used to think was just a cheap storytelling trick.
But now I live it.
When someone from a distance walks like him, dresses like him, I flinch.
The other day, someone was sitting in the wine bar we used to go to.
His back was turned to me, I could only see part of his face—
but everything matched. Even the glasses.
I was sure it was him.
It took days for me to let go of that thought.

When I pass places we visited together, I feel like I see his shadow.
Sometimes, when I’m near his old apartment, I can’t breathe. My heart races.

A friend made a “joking” comment—
that he’d have to hit me someday because I was behaving “like a brat.”
Instantly, tears filled my eyes.
I remembered how Lucas used to say, “You need a proper hiding, so you start behaving again.”

And suddenly, the thought crept in:
What if it’s true?
What if I really am unbearable?
What if Lucas was right about everything?

These doubts are hard to silence.
Right now, it’s incredibly difficult to accept happiness—
or allow myself anything good.

Dreams, Emptiness and the Search for Connection

Almost every night, I dream of him.
Usually of our physical closeness.
Never a conversation. Never laughter.
Our bodies never lied.
That was our deepest form of connection—no matter what else was between us.

Outside, it's dark.
I live a life where I stay busy, yet still feel alone, even in a crowd.
I crave connection, intensity.
The emptiness is hard to bear.
When I don’t fill my days with work, I feel it even more—this space that used to be him.

Then I miss the quiet comfort we shared.
The rare moments of peace in what little "home" we had.
Knowing how seldom those moments were—
and how, in hindsight, they now feel almost sacred.

Be Well,

Vaselisa