My marriage is going to kill me. One way or another, I believe my marriage is going to kill me. A slow, tortuous, painful death. There are days(more often than not), I am certain that this is the absolute truth. But then there are other days. Days where I find the strength to keep going, keep fighting, despite the heartache and pain I have endured. My two boys keep me going. My family and friends keep me going. Zoloft keeps me going. And the hopes that somewhere, someday, there is a light at the end of this never ending tunnel brings hope and healing to my soul.
You see, I have been in a relationship with a narcissist for almost a decade. Not just any ole narcissist but a malignant narcissist with a side of anti social psychopath thrown in. It wasn’t until recently, through the help of a psychologist, that I discovered exactly what the “N Word” meant. After years of not knowing or understanding what was happening in my life, this realization brought me the sweetest, most fantastic sense of relief and clarity. It’s not me. It’s him.
They say rain on your wedding day is a sign of good luck. This may hold true for other parts of the country but when it rains on your wedding day in Southern California, I am convinced that it must be an ominous warning from the man upstairs. It never rains in Southern California. But on April 21, 2012, it rained in Southern California. Coronado, to be exact. Wasn’t this just the icing on the cake, I mused, as I reflected back on the week leading up to my wedding. It started out with such high hopes. Such excitement. Such a thrill to think I would finally be married to my soul mate and finally rid of my last name. For those that don’t know, my maiden name was Crapps. Essentially, my name was a sentence. Avery Crapps. To say I spent years being tormented and made fun of would be a gross understatement.
I digress. Back to my wedding week. About 3 days before we said “I do”, the worst happened. I mean, the absolute worst. Previously, when contemplating the tragedies that could potentially befall my wedding day, I ruminated on the most superficial of superficial happenings. Red wine spillage on my wedding dress, a torrential downpour, or that the massive amounts of irresistible Miguels queso I consumed at the rehearsal dinner would come back to haunt me. I was wrong. So very wrong. Through some detective work on the part of my friends, it was brought to my attention that my fiance had cheated during our engagement. The revelation knocked the wind out of my chest to the point that I found it impossible to breathe. Friends and family from Florida were already starting to arrive, and the thought of cancelling my wedding was so mortifying and uncomfortable that I was sure I wouldn’t survive the hour, much less the week
In true Narcissist fashion, The Almost Husband lied and connived his way out of the predicament, and somehow convinced me that these allegations were all an elaborate scheme to sabotage his happiness. Despite the nagging doubt in my mind, I chose to believe him and proceeded forward with the union. It may be hard to believe that a bright, bubbly, happy, college educated, woman could be so stupid, but I assure you, I was. If you don’t believe me, I have proof. Below is a photo from our wedding. Ironically this photo became the poster photo for weddings that year. It was everywhere. On TV, in magazines, at wedding expos. The true epitome of love, happiness and contentment.
In the words of my favorite blonde Beverly Hills heroine, “AS IF”!
A few weeks passed, after the wedding, and, as it always does- the truth came out. He admitted to cheating. To say I was devastated is an understatement. My girlfriend, who was with me at the time, had to walk my hysterical self down to the local hospital so I could get a shot of ativan in my butt. This was after, of course, I decided to break every single photo frame in the house that remotely reminded me of The Husband, The Wedding, The Lie, The Betrayal. Grief and heartache were overwhelming. To this day, I still have a hard time being around/in/near anything resembling a wedding because it brings back so many painful memories. Anyways, so began the long, painful, and still ongoing journey of self reflection, healing, and enlightenment that ultimately led me to where I am today- a Narcissist Abuse Survivor in the Making.
My goal for this blog is not to bash my “soon to be ex” husband. My goal for this blog, is Healing. Connection. Support. Education. Because, ultimately, if it weren’t for the brave souls that came forward to share their stories of narcissistic abuse, I would still be in bed, wallowing and stuffing my face with sunchips and cheap wine. My hope is to encourage others who find themselves in the tragic, toxic web of narcissistic lies.