But the spell convinced you that suffering was noble, that being broken was love, and that your pain was just the price of companionship. It’s not real. Love doesn’t confuse you; it doesn’t shrink you; it doesn’t leave you walking on eggshells or staring out windows, wondering who you are anymore. The narcissist had you tangled, not treasured. You weren’t in a relationship; you were caught in a web.
Love uplifts; a spell traps. Think back: how many times did your own mind ask, “Why am I still here?” Not once, not twice, but over and over. That was your soul trying to wake you up. The tears, the anxiety, the tension in your chest—those were your alarm bells. You didn’t imagine it; you felt the wrongness. You lived it, and still, you stayed. That’s the power of the spell.
And let me tell you, those who are truly in love don’t have to justify it. They don’t have to explain away the bruises on their body, heart, or mind. They don’t have to say, “Well, we’ve been together a long time,” or “Everyone fights.” That’s not love; that’s compromise dressed in chains. Real love tastes like peace, looks like kindness, sounds like encouragement, and moves like freedom. You don’t question it because it feels right. You don’t fear it because it makes you feel safe.
But with the narcissist, it was always chaos—always guessing, always shrinking yourself to survive. That isn’t love; that’s bondage. The world may try to tell you, “Oh, that’s just how relationships are; you’re being too sensitive.” No, don’t you dare believe that lie. Real relationships don’t run on fear; they don’t feed on pain; they don’t thrive in darkness.
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