Oh, if something stirred in your chest right now, if your breath caught or your heart whispered, “Wait, this is for me,” then don’t scroll past. Don’t treat this like just another voice in the noise. This might be the moment—the one that cracks the sky just wide enough to let a little light seep through your storm.
And friend, I pray you feel it. Let me tell you plainly: you’re not walking this road alone. And you don’t owe anyone a slideshow of your suffering to prove it was real. That pressure on your chest when the world finally shuts up, and you’re alone with your thoughts? That isn’t just sorrow; it’s sacred. It’s your soul waking up. It’s freedom stretching out limbs that have been bound for far too long.
It’s the sound of your spirit remembering who it used to be before it bent itself to strange shapes just to keep someone else whole. But let’s drop the curtain just for a moment and get real. This isn’t just a story about the narcissist; this is your story too.
And maybe you’ve played both parts. Maybe you jumped headfirst into something new before the bruises had time to fade. Smiled wide for the world while silently screaming inside. Posted pictures with captions that sounded like strength but were really cries for someone—anyone—to notice you were still bleeding.
And that mask? Heavy, isn’t it? Meanwhile, the narcissist is still center stage, flashing teeth, tossing around phrases like “growth” and “alignment” as if they know the taste of real healing, but all they’ve done is swap one act for another. Every post, every filtered grin is desperation in disguise.
Because once you walked off their stage, the lights dimmed, the script went blank, and now they’re performing for shadows, hoping someone—anyone—buys the show. But they can’t outrun the truth, and the mirror never lies.
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