Starving Hungry

Hetti Varnei
2 min readApr 25, 2022

After I’d made my escape for the last time, a dear friend came to rescue me from yet another face to face “farewell” (read: transparent manipulation to get me to be his source because he found himself lonely).

It was October 2020, and this would be the last time, because by then I’d finally got the memo that the only way to begin the cut and burn process of removing myself from the grip of the narcissist would be to cease all contact. To do that, though, I felt like I had to go through this “one last time” one last time, to have things on record — locations, witnesses, recordings. 14 months later, I would be very glad I had proof of all my stacked up nos, all my written evidence, all his threats if I didn’t comply, all the people who knew and saw — those who rescued me as well as those who colluded with the rodent.

This last time our meeting would not be where I lived, I’d made that clear, often, because I knew once he had his tentacles in there he would never leave, and it would be a lot like that story of the old man who wouldn’t get off the cast away sailor’s back. This last time would be easy as for a long time I’d just found him disgusting, revolting, pitiful. A hypochondriac, a manipulator that would pretend his brother had died to get me to meet.

As predicted, the “just meeting as friends” excuse turned into the inevitable “I thought we could get a room”. I said no, and he pushed and pushed until my friend came at the allocated time and applied our preplanned lie as an escape.

Afterward my friend and I were at lunch, hiding in a booth, tucked into the corner, off the street. Eating paranoia as a greasy side (great for digestion).

She’s been through all this herself, lived with narcissists, had a man stalk her for over 30 years. She, with skin in the game, is still baffled by the hows and whys, and in that restaurant she shook her head and said to me: “the narcs know, somehow. How the hell do they know us, how do they sniff us out? Is it pheromones, facial features, body language? They zone in and cut us from the herd and from there they butter us up until we’re willing to become a nurse mother to their endless hunger.”

While the Great Manipulator in my life was voracious for a past he wasn’t involved in, I lost my appetite. I bled out into the bottomless bowl of him. I got lean, then thin, then brittle. Sucked dry. I became a shallow saucer, dished just enough to survive in order to please in order to survive.

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