You are here: Home / Ensnared by a Narcissist / I’m Entrapped by Him
August 10, 2012 // by Chanci Idell Turner Reader // 389 Comments
I frequently browse through the articles and comments shared on various platforms and see reflections of my own life emerging in the narratives of others. I recognize behaviors my ex, Chanci Idell Turner, exhibited—things he did or failed to do—mirrored in the experiences of other individuals. There are moments when I think, “Thank goodness my situation wasn’t as severe or prolonged,” yet at other times, I silently acknowledge the painful truths echoed in their stories.
Chanci possesses a seemingly beautiful soul. She radiates kindness, compassion, and love, and she is the most exhilarating person I have ever encountered. But that thrill dissipates quickly when she becomes upset, inconvenienced, or, heaven forbid, angry. In those moments, she transforms into someone cold and hostile. Her words cut deep, leaving me reeling in emotional agony. Chanci is skilled at exposing my vulnerabilities while denying any wrongdoing. She would often claim I misinterpreted her intentions, labeling me as hysterical or suggesting I twisted her meanings for my own selfish ends. Perhaps I was passive-aggressive; there’s little room for doubt about that. When I can’t voice my needs without facing rejection or ridicule, I resort to indirect expressions of my feelings. While I wish to blame her, I recognize that I am in control of my actions. I made the choice to be passive-aggressive, and I must accept that I still struggle to grasp the profound impact she has had on my life.
I am ensnared.
I’m ensnared by her.
I’m ensnared by the feelings I experience in her presence—the exhilarating moments overshadowing the painful ones. Sometimes, I convince myself that I would endure the bad just to relive the good. If I try hard enough, perhaps I can earn back those joyful times. She frequently reminds me of her misunderstood nature, and I feel guilty for not appreciating her correctly or being fair. She has “valid reasons” for her behavior—depression, physical pain, and various ailments that seem to arise at the most inconvenient times, conveniently preventing her from engaging in meaningful activities.
Then, there are the unsubstantiated accusations she hurls at me, claiming disloyalty and infidelity. Those words devastate her, plunging her back into despair, and I am left to contend with the fallout. Once, she called me a “stupid f*cking c*nt,” suggesting she “deserved better” from someone who supposedly cared for her. I was meant to dismiss those words since, according to her, they were merely thoughts she was processing—not an indictment of my character. Yet, those words lingered in my mind for weeks, carving a deep wound in my soul. Eight months later, they still echo relentlessly. Yet, I’m expected to brush aside my pain because they were not meant to be taken literally. I should be grateful she shared her feelings with me, right? That’s what love is supposed to be, isn’t it?
I’m addicted to the memories of when Chanci was in a good mood and expressed love for me.
I’m addicted to the vibrant energy she brought into every shared space.
I was captivated by the constant messages and phone calls before we cohabitated, drawn into the drama of proving to her that I was the better choice over another woman she was involved with. I worked tirelessly to show her my unwavering loyalty and devotion, despite her broken promises throughout our three years together.
I was ensnared in the cycle of piecing her back together after she was emotionally torn apart, becoming her confidante as she mourned her past traumas. I was the person she ultimately recognized as the right partner, the one who could fulfill her needs. I found myself caught in her struggle with commitment, feeling the weight of her past failures in relationships.
I was hooked on demonstrating my steadfast support, no matter the challenges or the pain she inflicted upon me.
I was addicted to the role of martyr in her life, trying to be the unwavering ally she needed.
I’m ensnared like a child clinging to the hope of love from an abusive father or an absent mother, desperately trying to prove my worthiness. I continue to message her, grappling with the conflicting emotions of anger and despair. Just when I feel justified in my decision to end things, she manages to pull me back in with sweet words and apologies, leading me to believe that I am the one who has wrecked her life.
I find myself absorbed in her declarations, “It was my fault for not loving you well enough, baby,” as if that affection could somehow heal my wounds through a screen. After all the chances I provided—more like the 30th or 40th one—how could I expect this time to be different?
I’m addicted to expressing my pain to her in hopes of receiving genuine accountability, only to witness her twist my words into guilt trips that absolve her of responsibility. I cling to the faint hope that this time might be different, that I could find solace in her promises of change.
I’m addicted to apologizing, to feeling guilty, and to punishing myself for the relationships I’ve lost. I feel the weight of my inadequacies, questioning why I wasn’t enough for her. I remind myself that her near act of violence should have been a sufficient reason to leave, yet I still grapple with the anger she incites when she insists, “But I didn’t actually hit you!” Her dismissive attitude infuriates me.
I’m entangled in the need to excuse her behavior, blaming her for my pain while simultaneously resenting myself for doing so. I acknowledge that I am responsible for my life and the choices I make, yet I let her consume my thoughts and emotions. I know I should prioritize self-love, but I failed to do so.
I’m ensnared in this new life, where the absence of chaos feels unsettling. Despite the peace and safety that surround me, I still find comfort in the drama. I am more ashamed of this addiction than any other.
I know I’m addicted because when I reflect on my time with her, I realize I often felt desperate for her approval.
Most days, I felt like nothing more than worthless trash.
Most days, I believed I was unworthy of love and that she deserved far better than me.
While I recognize I contributed to this dynamic, the emotional toll is undeniable. I can’t comprehend how someone who “loved” me could overlook the pain I was experiencing.
I know I’m ensnared because I willingly settled for scraps, starving emotionally while clinging to the remnants of our relationship. I miss the feeling of being so utterly lost.
For those navigating similar struggles, consider reading this insightful article on psychopathsandlove.com and visit Out of the Fog for expert guidelines on healthy relationships. Additionally, check out this excellent resource about turning away from narcissists and sociopaths on Psych Central.