Half way through May I unceremoniously kicked out of my house the narcissistic parasite that I had allowed to attach to my heart.
Actually, it was fairly dramatic to be honest. After telling him that if he didn't have his stuff removed from my residence by 5.30pm that evening, I would start putting it out on the street. As he felt omnipotent, as narcissists do, he didn't heed my threat. Trouble was, I had reached my breaking point, and proceeded to carry out my threat.
On one trip to the gutter Nathan said to me "I feel like I'm living in an episode of Shameless." I replied, "So do I. For the last three years!" and continued putting stuff in the gutter. (Not proud of this. Just an example of how perfectly imperfect I am as well.)
I took a photo of what I had already put out there and sent it to him. Funnily enough, he arrived within 5 minutes of the photo being sent. Extremely intoxicated. Did I mention that he's also an alcoholic and addict? I know. Winning Vicky - I sure can pick 'em! Send your wounded, damaged, addicted souls to me.
When he arrived, he confronted Nathan, "Think you're a big man now do you?" and shoved him. My son is now taller then him, and the same size. But Nathan's a lover, not a fighter, and walked away from him.
The lioness within me had been poked into roaring, and the removal of his belongings amped up a notch. I no longer carefully placed his belongings out of my home. It took all my self control not to attack him. How dare he lay his hands on my son!! I fueled my fury into removing his stuff out of my home faster. He pushed me. I pushed back, walked away and called the police to come and supervise. To come and supervise ME, so that I didn't get pulled into his jungle of deceit and instability. I wasn't afraid of him. I was afraid of me, and what may erupt if I didn't take some control.
Over the previous several months, I had started to become increasingly aware that the thief I had given to my heart to was not who he pretended to be, and had been reading more and more about Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD). Naively, or arrogantly (the jury's still out on that one), I believed that I could help him see that he was unwell, and get the help he needs, and live happily ever after. Trouble is happily ever after only exists in fairy tales.
After I evicted him from my home, I thought I had successfully evicted him from my life as well. I did. For a while. About 5 weeks to be honest. I tried to get on with my life, with reestablishing some sense of order, and reclaiming of my self. Work. Kids. Self. Friends. Life. All the things that had be relegated far down the chain of attention ...easier enough to do when the person you're involved with demands your undivided attention like the succubus they are.
I was in the shower when I first felt a lump near my lumpectomy scar. It wasn't very big, and so close to the scar that I couldn't determine whether it was a lump or an extension of scar tissue. An alarm bell went off in my psyche. Which I promptly shut the fuck down. Yeah... no. Nobody got time for dealing with that shit again thank you very much...
Over the next couple of weeks I would find that my fingers had subconsciously found their way to the lump...was it real? maybe it was my rib I was feeling? no, it's part of the scar...It's nothing... I had a scan in February and it was all clear.... Over and over, as my fingers read my breast like braille, seeking the words of confirmation that it was nothing.
It's ok. I have an appointment with the radiation oncologist mid June. I'll get him to check it. It's ok.