Why You Were Drawn To The Narcissist.
Repetition Compulsion: Repeating the cycles of childhood abuse.
He was the epitome of a narcissist, my father. Dominating, intimidating, charming, arrogant. And he was a sexual predator. Women used to fawn over him like drunk and dizzy bees swarming around a honeypot. I remember him once slapping the bottom of my best friend, we were 14 years old. The next morning at breakfast he commented on the shape of her breasts and said the boys at school must really like them. She became mute and hung her head in shame. He didn’t have any friends, because who wants a narcissistic bully for a pal? His closest acquaintances were a harem of adoring females that he had lured manipulatively into his den. He feigned empathy like a pro but when the rubber hit the road and true empathy was required, his rage unfurled into space before him like an angry and fiery comet.
He used to pit my brothers and me against each other so that chaos reigned between us. It was psychologically impossible for us to get on because he was spreading lies about one of us in one ear, and another toxic lie in the other’s ear.
I only heard him utter the word sorry once in 31 years of knowing him. It basically didn’t exist in his vocabulary. “Sorry,” means admitting to a flaw or a momentary lapse of goodness — not something my…
