Have you noticed how the story flips in the beginning? That new supply might mock you, laugh at you, even defend a narcissist with wild devotion. They buy into the lies. They echo the smear campaign. But just wait. Time tells the truth. Those polished smiles on social media, those beaming snapshots of happiness, start to fade. The glow dims. The grins turn hollow. That’s when you know they’ve stepped into the devaluation stage.
Behind closed doors, something darker is unfolding. And suddenly, the same person who once mocked you is now peeking at your profile, even reaching out—not with scorn, but with trembling words, searching for answers. Why? Because reality has hit them. They’ve discovered that the one they thought was charming, stable, magnetic, wasn’t. They’re disturbed, and the narcissist is furious, boiling with rage because they really believe they can play God. They believe they can rewire another human soul into someone else.
Think of the arrogance of that. Think of the blindness. And yet they cling to it like a creed. So, you sit there and think, “I remember those shoes. I wore that style; that used to be me.” And you’re right. The narcissist is obsessively reshaping the new supply to mirror your image. It’s not love; it’s obsession. It’s possession. They poison the garden you planted, ripped it apart with their own hands. And now they’re out in the desert trying to plant plastic flowers and call it life.
They want to rebuild what they destroyed, but it’s empty. It’s insulting. It’s absurd. And if I may say, they don’t deserve a single seat; they deserve a whole stadium full of them for the nerve of thinking they could delete a person’s God-given essence and paste it onto another.
That’s why you’ll see the new supply lurking around your pages, watching, studying. They’re not fascinated by you out of hate; they’re desperate, trying to figure out the rules of this twisted game. But the truth is, it’s a game no one can win. The narcissist doesn’t care about their hopes, their dreams, or their identity. They only want you grafted onto someone else. And that makes no sense because it’s not meant to make sense. It’s the madness of a fractured soul.
But let me say it plainly: the new supply is not you. And that’s the thorn in the narcissist’s side. They can copy your recipes, wear your clothes, echo your words, but they can’t reproduce your spirit. They can’t forge your resilience. They can’t mimic the compassion and light God placed in you. That spark is untouchable. It belongs to you alone.
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