And in that final stretch, when the body starts giving up, their mind still refuses to surrender. You can see it in their eyes. Obviously, you can. That desperate flicker of calculation, still trying to find someone to blame. They will whisper names, curse people who are not even there, and twist memories to convince themselves they were the victim all along. Even as their voice fades, they cling to that same old fantasy where they are the misunderstood one, like the hero who was never appreciated by their own children. But beneath that act, there is terror—the kind of terror that comes when the performance ends and there is an audience left to applaud. Deep down, they know they’re leaving this world unloved, unseen, and unredeemed. And for someone who spent their whole life chasing validation, that is the cruelest punishment of all.
The next regret that eats a dying narcissist alive is that they did not live long enough to keep doing the devil’s work. This is spiritual. They don’t fear death because of pain; they fear it because it means the end of their influence—not just psychological influence, but the end of their ability to corrupt, twist, and destroy. When their health starts to fade and their body gives up, it feels like the darkness inside them is being dragged out against its will. They look around, surrounded by sickness, surrounded by the chaos that once belonged to others they hurt, and it enrages them somehow. They hate watching themselves become weak. They hate that they can’t stand tall, can’t argue, gaslight, or twist things anymore. They hate that people are finally safe from them. But what torments them most is the loss of their role as the devil’s advocate—the part of them that enjoyed watching good people doubt themselves, that whispered poison into innocent hearts, that made light look foolish. That part starts to die before the body does, and they can feel it slipping away. For once, manipulation does not work. The charm does not work. The darkness is losing its grip. And as their breath slows, they realize the truth they spent their entire life running from: that no one fears them anymore—not even the devil they served.
There is a moment where they lie there, staring at the ceiling, realizing that death means the end of their act. No more chaos to create, no more confusion to plant, no more pain to feed on. And that realization feels like suffocation. They start cursing the air, cursing God, even cursing everyone who is still alive. They have seen it because deep inside, they know that the evil they carried cannot continue without them. Their existence was a stage for something extreme that needed their ego as a vessel. And now that stage is closing.
Another regret that haunts a dying narcissist is realizing they never truly won, no matter how much they tried to convince themselves they did. They fooled people into believing they were very successful, powerful, and wealthy. They built their lives around appearances—maybe the car, the house, the image, the children. Yet, none of it ever brought them peace. Inside, they were always starving. They broke hearts, ruined people’s trust, and drained everyone who came close. But no matter how much attention they got, it never felt like enough. There was always this misery sitting in their chest, whispering that something was missing. It always was. They saw others living simple, genuine lives—laughing, loving, and celebrating. It made them burn inside. They could not stand that the people they mocked for being weak were actually happier than them. Every smile, every bit of joy in someone else’s life felt like a personal attack. So they competed with everyone, even when no one was playing. They could never just be happy for someone because they only felt alive when they were about them. And now, lying there with nothing left to prove, they finally see the truth: they never built anything real. What kills them is not the illness; it’s watching the people they once hurt go on to find peace while they are in their own bitterness. They spent their whole life chasing power but never learned how to love, rest, or even feel. And now, surrounded by the ghosts of their own choices, they realize the one thing they were never able to conquer was themselves.
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