There’s a kind of “H” that doesn’t quite fit into words, isn’t there? You feel it deep in your chest—the silence that comes after someone just disappears. Vanishes, not with a bang, not even a goodbye—just gone. It’s not a clean break; it’s not closure. It’s chaos wrapped in quiet. It’s what I call the narcissist’s disappearing act, one of the most ruthless performances of all. And if you’re standing there right now, dazed, wondering what just hit you, let me say this: you’re not alone. This right here isn’t your fault. It’s not about what you missed or what you said or didn’t say. It’s not about you trying harder. This is the narcissist’s discard—the cold, calculated exit that leaves you spinning.
Now, maybe this is your first time getting caught in this storm, or maybe you’ve been here before, walking through this same emotional battlefield. Same silence, same confusion, same questions echoing in your chest. And still, you’re left holding pieces of a puzzle they never meant for you to solve.
Listen to me now: this isn’t something that’s going to change. I say that with love, with fire, with urgency, because the moment you start thinking, “Maybe this time will be different,” that’s when they’ve got you again. You see, narcissists don’t walk away to set you free. No, they walk away to circle back. They come back, always, in one form or another. They return not because they love you, not because they’ve changed, but because you still hold something they crave—your attention, your reaction, your energy. And beneath all that surface behavior, it’s not just about ego; it’s about wounds—deep ones, wounds so ancient they don’t even recognize them. We’re talking about attachment—fractured, unstable, grasping attachment. This isn’t just about you giving and them taking; this is about their need to feel powerful, even if it means tearing you down in the process.
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