When A Personality Disorder Becomes Disordered – Hit The Road, Jack! – The Final Part (23)

Small Nuances And Clues Of The End

After a final week of what seemed like blissful communication between Mr. Charm and I, the rug was about to be pulled from under me. I had seen a few signs that he was planning to discard me. Although he had indicated nothing to me about an upcoming discard, there small things that he had done that have given me this impression. Little did he know, however, that I was planning to end our so-called friendship for good. Things had been brewing within me for a while, and I had finally reached my limit with him. I could not see myself moving further in union with him as a friend. He was exhausting, and I was exhausted.

After the weekend ended, he came to my home at the usual early morning time for what would be our final project work session. The morning routine would have been the usual routine except for the fact that I woke up knowing that the day would be different. I knew that this day was the day of a showdown. I could feel this in my gut. My anxiety was rushing beyond the roof. I literally felt like I was going to explode with a well of emotionally charged words that needed to be expressed to Mr. Charm. I had a lot to get off my chest, but mainly, I just wanted to shut him out of my life. I was ready to part ways with him. I had no more emotional energy to give to him anymore.

When Mr. Charm entered the garage that morning, I took note of how he positioned his tools. He aligned them in such a way that I felt immediately flagged as if the positioning of his tools signified something out of the ordinary. Normally, I would not be so in tune to this, but for some reason there was something vastly different in his attitude and within the atmosphere too. For whatever reason, I just knew that the positioning of his tools indicated the end. It was the end of us … the end of our so-called friendship. It was a strange nuance, but I just knew. The crazy circus with him was ending, and I was about to get off the wild rollercoaster ride.

As I helped Mr. Charm gather items for the working day, I saw a micro-smirk register across his face. It appeared to be the smirk of satisfaction. It was a look I had seen too many times to count on the faces of other narcissistic types who had been in and out of my life. It was the satisfied look of accomplishment. It was the look of a narcissist who believed he had me in a position of debasement. It was the look of condescension and contempt. It was the look that uttered a thousand words summed up into one. I reasoned that Mr. Charm believed he had won a battle against me and had accomplished what he had set out to do to me.

During past occasions when I had experienced Mr. Charm’s disdain for me, I would ultimately feel a sense of shame and sadness within me. This time around, I felt nothing except a huge ball of anxiety that continued to grow. This anxiousness I felt had very little to do with what I took note of based on his behavior though. Instead, my mind made quick scans, filed mental notes, and flashed back to times of the past where had demonstrated similar behavior that never completely registered to me. I did not need any confirmation. I knew I had reached the end of a very long and arduous chapter with a narcissist who was never my friend and only had hatred for me.

The Antagonist For The End

The narcissist loves to present as the protagonist in everyone’s life story. The narcissist will insert himself into the target’s story and make himself the victim. Even if the target’s story has nothing to do with the narcissist, victimhood will steal be the chosen status. Yet, the target is the actual victim of the narcissist’s manipulative tactics of gaslighting, stonewalling, guilt-tripping and lying. These tactics are usually not visible to others because the narcissist has already operated behind the scenes under the guise of covert abuse while maintaining the perfect portrayal of a protagonist. On the outside, the narcissist is a nice and upstanding citizen of moral character, but behind the scenes the target is usually the only one who sees the wickedness that the narcissist attempts to hide from public view.

This was the case with Mr. Charm. He publicly inserted himself as the protagonist into my story while maintaining his antagonistic façade behind closed doors. No one was the wiser. He so easily upstaged me on every turn to take away my shine for things I was most passionate about simply because he did not like my happiness. He attempted to make himself the hero in my story by presumably proposing that he help me with a home project. He claimed that he did not want to see me financially taken advantage of by others. Yet, I would have been better off hiring someone else to complete the project rather than spend the time putting up with the way Mr. Charm belittled me throughout the time we worked together.

Mr. Charm had only re-entered my life’s story after a temporary discard to complete his own injected story and exact his revenge against me for a perceived narcissistic injury. For months prior to this home project, he had been angry with me. He had ceased talking to me and had placed me on a temporary discard for voicing my opinion about his church situation. His re-entrance back into my life was all a part of his continued plan to devalue my worth in his eyes.

Mr. Charm wanted to destroy me, and at this point during the end of the project, I had already reached a point of feeling as if I was going to have a nervous breakdown because of his mistreatment against me. The crazymaking behaviors he hurled against me had brought me to a low point, and it was just the point that enabled me to take a look at how far I had descended into a pit of despair. I reflectively took a look at myself. I no longer recognized who I was anymore. I was completely unhappy, and the peaceful life I valued within my home environment had been totally disrupted by him. I wanted out of this toxic situation with him. It was time for me to take my power away from him and use it to free myself.

So What Happened Was

The morning of my last day with Mr. Charm began as usual, but there were nuances and clues of the end … not to mention the internal war going on inside of me that foretold the end. I just did not expect for things to turn out the way they did even though the signs of closure were all there beginning with Mr. Charm’s entrance into my garage. From the way he positioned his tools in the garage to the way he smirked in his charismatically sinister way, the toxic situation with him had reached its climax. A volatile combustion was bound to happen.

After Mr. Charm laid out his tools in a methodical way in the garage, we had morning breakfast to get us started for the day. Afterwards, Mr. Charm decided he wanted to take a walk through the neighborhood as a way to relax his mind before we started to work. This was not necessarily unusual for him to do, but on this particular day, his behaviors only increased my own anxiety to bring closure to his toxicity within my life. Yet, at the same time, I sensed that he was setting the stage for his own discard against me. Despite my desire to be done with the home project as well, I felt strongly that I could not spend another day in his presence. I desperately wanted him out of my life.

Needless to say, Mr. Charm took a walk and returned back to the house with a very negative attitude towards me. As soon as he walked into the house, I could immediately feel the energy within the house shift. My peaceful abode had a dark overcast about it. It was a bright sunny day, but he entered my home with a shadow of dark clouds. From just the previous week of being nice to me after treating me to a grand display of supposed remorse for his ever-growing mistreatment of me, he was now back to his cyclically abusive behaviors. Although he was not physically abusive towards me, he certainly had shown to me the potential to be, and that potential was very concerning to me.

To see a flip in his behavior when there had been no previous reason to precipitate a change was strange to me. He had merely gone for a walk. Once he returned and I felt a shift in the atmospheric energy, I immediately sat up from my reclined position on the couch. He had not even walked into view before I felt a huge knot of anxiety explode upward from my stomach to rise into a tight ball of fire within my chest. Instantaneously, I braced myself for the sudden impact of his words. It was clear he was in an argumentative mood. I held on ready to defend myself.

Him: So you can’t seem to start without me, huh? I would have figured that while I was out you would have tried to do some work without needing me to tell you what to do.

I stared at him incredulously. I wondered what had happened from the time he left up until he returned from his walk. I was speechless as his eyes cast a disdainful glance upon me.

Him: Let’s get to work.

My heart raced, but instead of responding, I remained silent. It was as if my lips were chained shut. I did not feel as if I had the ability to speak. I followed him out of the back door to the deck to begin the process of finishing up the repairs. The only thing left to do was to stain the deck. I felt a sudden relief that this project was coming to an end.

Despite the tension I felt around him, I remained silent. I did not want any trouble. I did not want to argue with him even though the energy I felt around him only seemed to intensify. I could literally feel the fire of his rage coming to a boil, and I did not understand why he was so angry. There was an intense hatred that I felt coming from him towards me. It was as if he was literally throwing invisible daggers wrapped in hate projected in my direction.

Although I could feel the projectile of his hatred, I felt the fire of these invisible daggers bypass me. Instead of taking his emotions on as I normally did, I recognized his emotions as his to carry alone. All my mind could wonder in that moment was “What is wrong with this man? What had to him over the weekend or even on his walk to cause his angry behavior?” I just did not understand, but I had also reached the point where I no longer cared to understand or analyze his behavior.

As Mr. Charm and I worked and steadied our pace in staining the deck, his agitation grew into micromanaging my actions. He criticized my brush-staining movements. I listened, tried to apply his methods, but could not get around the fleeting thoughts of my mind. “How hard did he believe it was for me to paint stain onto the deck? He obviously thinks you are stupid! Why does he have such a hateful attitude about what you are doing with a staining brush? Does he not realize that he is using the same brush-stroking movements? It’s obvious he’s trying to provoke you to become angry and lash out. I think it’s a good idea to just keep your mouth shut and try to get as much done as you possibly can.”

But it was impossible. It was impossible to ignore his passive-aggressive remarks. He was verbally demeaning me completing a simple task that even a child would know how to do. My mind yelled, “Enough with this!” I was done. The huge ball of fire within my chest was now hot magma rising to the surface to spill out of me in flaming words.

Me: Are you okay?

Him: Yes.

Me: I’m actually not sure if you are. Since you returned from your walk, you’ve had nothing but a bad attitude. I’m trying to understand what’s wrong if you care to talk about it. If not, I’d appreciate if you’d chill out because I’m sick of being the target of your negativity. I’m so sick of dealing with your nasty and hateful attitude.

Him: What? Are you serious? There you go. Always flipping things around when it’s me that always has to walk around on eggshells whenever I come over here because I never know what I’m going to walk into with you.

I was stunned! There he was using terminology that I had used with him in the past. He was throwing it all in my face. He was twisting my words and making them his own as if he were the originator. Before I realized it, a tirade of words exploded from within me like a dam bursting open. I did not even take time to think about the rush of water bursting from me. I could not stop my tirade against him until I was completely emptied out from the depths of where those words came.

Me: Me flipping things around? No! You! You are the flipper! I am the one always walking on eggshells because of your behavior! I refuse to accept your projections! I am always the one constantly trying to keep the peace. You continuously treat me like crap, and I’m tired of it!

Him: Lower your voice. Why are you shouting?

I did not even realize how elevated my voice had become with him, but it was too late. I had lost my cool with him. He had pushed one button too many, and my emotions could not be contained.

Me: I can shout. I can scream. I can do anything I want. This is my house! You are on my turf!

Him: You should be ashamed of your self. You’re disrespecting your neighbors being so loud.

Me: So now you care about what my neighbors think??!!? … as if you care about anyone other than yourself. Yeah right! Okay. Please! You only care about neighbors hearing me because it’s an embarrassment to you. It’s your behavior that’s being called out, and maybe they’re thinking it’s about time! You only care about my loudness because of how it all makes you look. Yet, you spent the entire time of this work project disrespecting my neighbors literally every single day … blasting loud music, ignoring noise constraints, talking to people like trash, and making it hard for me by not respecting my expectations for how things are in my neighborhood. But now you care about what my neighbors think? That’s laughable! What a joke!

Him: If you want to look crazy then that’s on you … not me. Did you skip a few of your crazy meds?

He was alluding to my anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medications. My face felt hot.

Me: Crazy? You know what? I’m sick of you! I’m truly sick of you! The way you treat others is a reflection of you … not me. You’re projections are your issues … not mine! But I’m the crazy one? Okay.

Him: I don’t understand why you are so upset. You can’t take criticism. You can’t take someone telling you what to do. All I said was that you needed to paint the stain on the deck [this way], and you flew off the handle. I’m cool, but you are the one who’s yelling.

I was yelling, but I felt that I had to just to get my point across. Plus, I knew I had lost control. I was unable at that point to stop the eruption. It happened because it had to.

Me: I can take criticism when it’s constructive. You nitpick! You nag! The way I’m staining is the exact same way you are staining. So don’t try to flip this around. This is all about you trying to control me. You have behaved this way the entire time, and I’m sick of it.

Him: [speaking calmly but in a condescending tone] I was only trying to help you.

Me: This has never had anything to do with your help. People that offer their help actually don’t complain the entire time, and that’s all you’ve done the entire time of this project. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Complain, complain, complain! Your attitude is the worst, and I don’t get it. You are a miserable person. You’re not a nice person. You are actually very mean. You are mean to the core.

I said a lot, and I could not stop myself until every ounce of my frustration with him was expelled from within me. I did not care if my neighbors heard me. I actually envisioned that they might have been applauding me for the things I said because he had shown himself to be a lousy person with some of them.

Me: I can stain my deck any way I please. It’s my deck. I can do whatever I want. This is my house. I have never gone to your home telling you what to do. So I don’t know why you feel the need to try to dictate what I do at my house. Since this project began, I have not had an ounce of peace. You are downright hateful, and for what? A hateful Christian is an oxymoron!!!!!!

By this point, Mr. Charm had grown silent. I had silenced him enough that his rage had settled into a strange calmness. I was not afraid of him. I had actually surpassed the point of fear. I was taking my power back. I was reclaiming my voice. I reclaiming it rather loudly, but I was reclaiming it. No, I was disappointed that I was spewing loud words of hot lava all over the place, but I did not feel bad about it. I felt empowered. I had freed myself. I no longer felt anxiety. I did not care about his reaction. I did not fear his rage. I was past the point of no return.

When my verbal tirade was over, I was done. I had no more emotion to expel from me. I knew I was done with him. It was over. I was not turning back. Strangely, I felt myself simmer down into a monotone sounding voice until I said all that I needed to say to him. We went back to staining the deck until I decided I was emotionally and physically drained by my explosive tirade against him. Without warning, I placed the staining brush down on the steps and walked back into the house. I sat down at the kitchen table to regather myself. I felt annoyed with myself that I had reacted to Mr. Charm with strong emotion, but there was no undo button, and I did not care. I felt that a huge overbearing weight had lifted and released from me.

I did not return back outside to work. Instead, I watched through the blinds as Mr. Charm continued to work. I knew we had both reached the end of this project as a team. It was over. We were over. I was finished, and after what was enough time for me to calm down, he came inside as well and quietly sat down at the table with me. He had a sheepish look on his face. It was the look of a narcissist who had incurred a narcissistic injury. Now it was my time to smirk because I thought he deserved it. In an attempt to break the silence that appeared to make him uncomfortable, he talked about lunch and other surface topics. I listened to him without really listening.

I was treating Mr. Charm with silence, but it was not an act of punishment. I just had no more words left to say to him. I was drained of words. There was nothing left to say. I could sense within the atmosphere that the tide had changed between us. He clearly did not know how to respond to me. He tap danced around me with small jokes, but I was unmoved by any of his feeble attempts to change what had occurred minutes earlier. I did not feel like laughing. His jokes fell flat. There was nothing he could say to undo what I had done. I had now reversed the script to become a narcissist’s narcissist, but I mirrored nothing … I projected nothing.

Mr. Charm seemed desperate to change the my deadened mood. He attempted to use charming words to change the dynamic of a now strained situation. He tried to behave as my friend, but he was too late. I saw his behavior for what his behavior really was in that moment. I saw him for who he was, and I shut off my love to him. I was done. I realized his love bombs were illusions and attempts to smooth things over with me, but I was not a wrinkled shirt. This situation could not be ironed into a wrinkle-free moment of smoothness for him. I was done with his toxicity, and he knew it. I would not be coerced by his attempts to make things “right”. Things would never be right. Things had never been right to begin with. I knew he was not going to change. He was and is a narcissist.

As quickly as he attempted to love bomb me, the tide changed again into moments of his instant devaluation and oncoming discard for me. His voice tone changed with me. He became somber. He spoke so calmly that I could feel the undercurrent of his rage. I did not care, however. I stared at him. I looked at his face. The attractive physically appearance of his face could no longer hide his true expression. I could see he was fighting to control his facial expression of rage. I could tell that he was biting down with his tight jaws to keep his rage from vibrating outward. I could see the narcissistic injury mirrored within his eyes. I accepted that my words and tone of voice had wounded him even though I felt justified in doing so.

I had raised my voice with him in a very public way even though we were both in the privacy of my backyard. I had put him on blast for all of his negative behavior. Although my loudness did not make him any more accountable, I had proverbially read him for the filth he continuously dished out to me. Despite my actions, it never phased me that he would lose he cool with me. We had shared a moment in time where he seemed to realize that he had pushed me too far this time. We looked at each other. We even locked eyes. At some point, my eyes caused something within his eyes to cower to the point that even his voice timidly retreated from me as he took a huge sigh.

He continued to push conversation to break the silence. He finally settled on a topic to close the chapter to the our story together regarding the duration of the project. He closed the chapter by talking about the things that needed to be done to complete it. All that remained of the project was deck staining, and it was apparent that he was leaving me on my own to do it. My mind spoke to me. “You know what? This was his plan all along. He wanted to discard you by leaving you without help to finish the rest of the deck on your own. That’s why you noticed the positioning of his tools in the way that you did and the smirk on his face. He was already planning to discard you. The only thing he didn’t bargain for was that his discard would be upstaged by you. He wanted to dismantle and destroy you further, but instead you of reacted to him with the unexpected emotion. He wanted you to be broken-hearted and humiliated by his final devaluation, but you gave him a verbal tongue lashing he did not expect. You fought back! You gave him a huge blow to his ego. His supposed discard of you came at his own expense. You did good! Very good! Your gift to him is a boomerang discard. Now say good riddance!”

Over And Done

It was over, and the long-kept anxiety I felt within me was dissipating. I could breathe freely again. Although my mind fought against thinking about all of the staining I had left to do to the deck, I was appreciative that the hardest repairs were complete. I verbally thanked him for the job he had done because he had, in fact, done a superb job. His repairs were excellent, and although he completed them with my assistance, he had still done so much with only utilizing half the capacity of his extremities because of the effects of his stroke. I knew, however, for the most part, that he needed to prove to himself that he could do the work. Even still, though, I was grateful. I could still give meaningful thanks to him for his help while still choosing to close the door of my friendship to him. The end of it all was bittersweet.

Needless to say, we both got up from the table and walked into the garage for what I knew was the final goodbye. As I watched him pick up his tools, my mind flashed back to our first meeting. If I had kept the original feeling of disinterest I had when he first approached me, maybe I would have avoided connecting with him. It was wishful thinking far too late. In those moments, I saw his lips move as he uttered words that I did not hear. Instead, I heard a melancholy tune play in the background of the moment, but before the tune continued, my mind abruptly interrupted with a closing song in my head.

Then, inside of myself I could feel an overwhelming sense of elation sweep over me. It was as if Mr. Charm walked to his car slowly and dramatically. After a few parting words that I did not hear, he turned to look at me as if to wait for me to respond to him. There was a resignation and finality that he seemed not to want to part with in that moment but had no choice.

So with one final plea with his eyes, Mr. Charm looked at me, uttered my name, and simply said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you later.”

I was calm but resolute.

Me: If I ever see you again, it will be too soon.

He looked at me in confusion for a split second and waited.

Him: What does that mean?

Me: I don’t ever want to see you again. Have a nice life.

My mind responded, “… with your miserable narcissistic self!”

Then I turned to walk away. I had nothing else to say. When walked out of the garage, I pressed the button to close it down. I did not bother to look back at him. Instead, I went inside the house, sighed a huge gust of relief, and walked to the back deck to complete the rest of the staining project on my own. The toxic nightmare of a friendship was finally over. I was free. I was done.

To the backdrop of my thoughts came the lyrics and tune, Hit the road, Jack!

… and don’t you come back no more … no more … no more … no more. Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come back no more!