Dear Dandy: Locking the Door Behind Me
Dear Dandy, Amanda,
The way you left may have seemed extreme to many, but it was necessary for you. He had no idea why it happened? Did he not recall what he repetitively said he’d do if you ever tried to hurt him?
Did he not think you wanted to say goodbye to the people you spent almost five years with? That you didn’t care? That it was easy to leave your home?
You owed him nothing.
It’s incredibly difficult to imagine he was oblivious to your reasons for leaving when everything you learned about narcissistic love-bombing described the early stages with him to a tee, like he had a hidden manual on it.
Weeks after you first moved to Minnesota, you found Craigslist and created a bizarre post — Black Holes and Event Horizons — where you described your ideal friend as someone who has ninja skills and could help you search for portals to other worlds.
He soon saw your post and discovered an odd young woman scouring the Strictly Platonic forum for friends; likely an easy target, because she was new to the city and what normal person would write that?
But he didn’t want a normal person and he was the only one to respond, like you were fated to connect. You met and it wasn’t long before your new, exciting friendship blossomed into a new, enchanting romance.
You were soulmates and he was quick to tell you often, and with your craving to finally feel loved and accepted, you played along because it was all you wanted out of life. He easily chipped away at your thick emotional barriers by being exactly who he thought you wanted.
At times he clued you in on his true identity, but made you feel unique and special, like you were the one who could change him, save him at last, like he needed you and you loved that.
He admitted that he enjoyed leading women on, that he was a deceptive person and had no feelings, but you desired someone just as crazy and awful as you felt, because no good, sane person would ever want you.
You passed the test when you swept those fatal admissions under the rug, for you felt truly seen and heard, chosen, like you were the only person he desired, and you couldn’t let that go.
There were others in the beginning, but you were better. He made you believe it and you felt so incredibly lucky to have him, but in reality it was the others who were lucky to sidestep his madness.
You eventually opened your heart, revealed your innermost secrets; things you didn’t tell many people, but it seemed as if he would be the only one to understand, and he wanted to.
He wanted to understand not to comfort and empathize with you, but to gain knowledge of your weaknesses and control you; to build the cyclical ride that would make you feel amazingly euphoric on the ups, hopelessly depressed on the downs, then anxiously eager for your next dose of actions that resembled true, loving kindness, only to be administered when he noticed your spirit slipping off course.
The first several months were straight out of a fairy tale, as that villain dressed in princely attire gave you the life of love and excitement you’d been hungry for. He showered you with compliments and words of affirmation, took you on thrilling adventures around the city, and beautiful hikes through forests; he made you feel included in his inner circle of fun, quirky friends and goofy little family.
Life was perfect, you’d found your place, and your shaking decision to move away from home was finally confirmed as sound.
But inevitably the harmonic tune of your relationship went silent, and the debilitating song and dance began.
Our duplex, lower level.
It wasn’t long before he hinted at moving in together, and he knew you’d jump at the opportunity to escape your loud, filthy roommates. But more importantly he had you convinced you were in love, fated to be together forever, so it only made sense to take the next step.
Do you still love me? you cried to him one night, about a week after the move. Something had changed and you couldn’t figure out what was different, what you were doing wrong.
But you’d done nothing wrong — his prize had simply been won. He no longer had to work hard to obtain it, and to keep it, well, that was easy. You would keep yourself around because it was in your nature to fix and please, and you specialized in maintaining simplicity to avoid muddying his pristine waters…
Because confronting him about the heartbreak caused by his brutal flaws was like attempting to take a chisel to a flawless marble statue and being crushed by it instead. Contesting his constructed vision of stark perfection was a wrong you could not right.
At times you tried to speak up, but a score was being kept and he couldn’t stand to watch you win, so the game intensified.
The passive criticisms and name calling began, but seemed okay because you were allegedly too sensitive, or he did it because he loved you.
Your problems and emotions became burdening and inappropriate, but if ever received with patience and understanding, were later turned against you at other vulnerable times.
Your reality was assumed questionable because he accused your mind of being so broken, how could it possibly separate truth from lies?
Unattractive, inside and out. Uninteresting, not worth anyone else’s time and energy. You hated yourself and said you deserved the pain, and wondered how it could be worth it to make attempts at flourishing beyond his grasp when everything outside of it felt like a treacherous wasteland.
He often insinuated he was as good as it could get, and you accepted it, because at least things weren’t always that bad.
But they were. It was a sickening game of table tennis that had you back-and-forth questioning if you were in your right mind, over and over and over — accepting false apologies and microscopic specks of decency, flipping the switch back to fictitious happiness, and inevitably cycling through it all over again.
What was once a high wire balancing act became a spiraling descent far beyond the depths of the person you were before him.
Two years in, it took your old Australian flame to help you see through the first round of games, and you made the decision to leave. It took everything in you to play against his calculated moves to keep you there, but you knew it was wise to move on.
To spare his feelings and avoid furthering his protests, you concealed your reasons for wanting to leave with the desire to travel abroad and a sparkling hope of return. Yet deep down the reason was him, and you had no plans to come back.
But you did more than once: for your friend’s wedding, and for New Years during winter break. Then he flew to Seattle to spend time with you while you traveled through for your job. You allowed the two of you to keep in contact throughout your time away.
He remained relevant — had the chance to prove he changed.
Months later, after the travel gig blew up, you pushed aside the gruesome details of your past and in a desperation to avoid Nebraska, planned to make Minneapolis home again…
March 30, 2016, days after you returned, you started a journal…
I moved back last Thursday…I went to the old place, which is where I’m living. Dandy was upset that I was home late and out with a friend, so that irritated me…The whole next day I felt apathetic, off about everything, and began to question my decision to move back in with him.
April 1, 2016, one week after returning…
Last night I didn’t want to have sex and he said it was “sexual abuse” to deny him those needs. I still wouldn’t budge. I hope he realizes I’m not so easily moved these days. Quite honestly I’ve had a feeling this won’t work out, I really doubt it will. I have until the lease papers arrive in June to get out.
That was one year and nine months before you finally left; you signed the lease and stayed — but why?
April 17, 2016 (two weeks later), after confronting him about feeling off and wanting to live in separate places…
Well, last night went a way I definitely had not anticipated. I told Dandy I felt platonically toward him and about my suspicions from the last few weeks. And apparently I’m so fucking deep in my shitty view of myself that I’m living in a false reality? Does that make sense? Am I really that fucked up?…This is too much to process in one evening.
And thus, round two of his games ensued…but this time you kept score in writing.
During the aforementioned chat, he questioned how your solid feelings to return to him were squashed by a sudden desire to live elsewhere. For a while you wondered that, too.
You accepted that Intuition may have failed you and pressed on, but still took notes along the way.
September 7, 2016, when your mom was in the hospital for a lengthy surgery…
After dad and I hung up, I felt emotional and didn’t want to bring the party down, so I sat alone outside to gather myself. Dandy came out and found me by the tree crying and asked what was wrong, so I told him things weren’t looking great for mom. He got mad at me for leaving, for not telling him I left! For taking the call in general! I said I’d go back to the house and pull myself together to join everyone and on the walk back, he said, “If I learned anything from dogs dying in my family, don’t take calls at night.” I wanted to explode! He compared my mom’s situation to his dad calling about a dog dying while he was at school! Anyway, I went into the bathroom and put Visine in my eyes, wet my face, and carried on with the night as if nothing happened.
For the following year you would fall in and out of journaling about your exciting adventures, whirlwind of feelings, and suspicions of infidelity.
October 15, 2017, a couple weeks after his birthday at an arcade…
Dandy and I played some meme game with Randall* and Carla* the other night and a card came up that said, “When you see your main bitch & your side bitch having a convo,” and he laughed and rubbed my arm. I wasn’t the only one who noticed, Randall questioned it but was ignored. How strange, considering he invited his co-worker Alice* to his birthday a couple weeks ago and we had a few conversations.
You’ve since admitted to emotionally cheating on him more than once, and although it was wrong to do, it was easy to convince yourself he didn’t deserve your loyalty as he was likely cheating, too.
Quite possibly with men, simply using his female co-workers as decoys to make you jealous — or perhaps he fucked them, too.
If not with men, he was a superstar at persuading you to believe it. But why else would his body shake so terribly when you asked him if he was gay? And amongst all your other reasons, why would a breakfast outing with Hansel* be cautiously revealed days after it happened?
And with Hansel? His gay, Asian-loving pal that he’d get oddly worked up about and heavily criticized, more than any of his other friends, as if they weren’t even friends at all.
You laughed it off when Hansel came out to you on a drunken night in St. Paul and eyed Dandy as he warned, “You really need to worry about that one.”
But when he said on a different night years later, “Oh you think you know everything about Dandy?” you became very leery. It was said as if he had top-secret knowledge and got off on your ignorance.
You so badly wanted to use your learned deception skills to pull the truth from his boozy lips, but Dandy worriedly interjected and asked what you were doing.
It was never the potential fact that he swung for the same team that mattered, it was that he possibly lied and used you to hide it.
Even if he was straight, if he somehow remained loyal, he constantly twirled you around to convince you otherwise, forever keeping you uncomfortably on your toes until you grew tired of wondering and no longer asked.
On top of everything already described and more, new threats started being sprinkled into the mix: I’ll kill you if you ever hurt me.
His threats weren’t always so direct or one-on-one — some were given as playfully arched hands at your neck while wrestling, or as seemingly light-hearted remarks around friends: If I ever kill someone she’ll be brunette, just like my mom.
You glanced at Randall and his girlfriend, Carla, who appeared taken aback by the comment — your hair was dyed brown. But hey, it was only silly Dandy and his sick sense of humor, you all just laughed those things off…
(Along with his sexual innuendos, or “jokes”, about little boys — and now he’s a therapist for children.)
You liked to think that he’d never physically hurt or kill you because he wouldn’t tarnish his reputation or relationships with friends and family, but people do it all the time. What were you to do?
And then something unexpected happened to finally awaken you once more: your workplace hosted a training about domestic abuse and the answer to what occurred for all those years slapped you hard in the face.
You bussed home that afternoon in a daze, as you still tried to deny that you were being abused since you were never hit. But then you researched, and researched, and researched…and related.
So many people naively prance over psychological abuse as if it doesn’t exist because there is no physical evidence and it’s more difficult to spot. But it indeed exists and the effects unfortunately last much longer.
October 20, 2017, the day after the MN DAP training, you reflected…
He tells me he’ll kill me if I ever cheat on him, I think that’s fucked up. Who tells someone they’ll kill them for any reason? He also wishes death or bad things on people when they piss him off, like in traffic…
Yesterday I wondered if part of my discomfort talking to him about cool experiences comes from his reactions. He looks so uncomfortable when I’m happy. The other day we ran into John* and Mark* at Fair State, when they asked what we’d been up to, Dandy answered and said “nothing too exciting” like two or three times, then looked at me in a way. I wanted to speak up and talk about my body language program, but stayed quiet. I’m a different person around him…
I’m listening to a podcast and I’ve realized there’s been a lot of gaslighting going on. Like all the times he said “when did I say that?” or denies doing something he clearly did. Always making me wonder if I’ve recalled something incorrectly…
He gives the excuse “it’s because I love you” or “because we love each other” when he does something I don’t like. He makes sure we always have something going on, has control of my schedule and social life, comments that I’m needy when I say I want to make more friends outside of his…
He trashes my friends and family to the point I second-guess my relationships and then avoid them. He makes incest jokes that he thinks are funny because I told him a sibling used to make me watch porn, and that one tried secretly video recording me in my room…
He calls me jealous and sensitive. He tries to embarrass me in subtle ways and makes mean comments about my body…
This podcast just mentioned polarization, feeling like a different person with the narcissist, which can lead to anger and wanting to be loud. Lately I’ve gotten mean and started throwing his behaviors back at him so he knows how it feels, but that’s not me…
I need to escape…The podcast said, “These people will wait your ass out.” When I end this, I need to go NO CONTACT with him and everyone associated with him.
October 25, 2017, five days later…
I need to continuously remind myself why I should go…
We’ve gone from “I’ll kill you if you cheat on me,” to “I’ll kill you if you ever hurt me.” It’s almost like he’s following my texts to people and now I’m super paranoid. Would he really?
Now I’m in a place where for two months I have to pretend all is well, but I did that for much longer the last time…
If I get this new car, I’m going to start minimizing my things so everything can fit inside. It won’t seem weird, I do it all the time.
November 7, 2017, he started being nice again…
I bought the car! It’s been nine months since I’ve had one. But now I’m back in that mood where I feel like everything is fine because he puts on the sweet, cuddly, complimentary persona that makes me second-guess all the bad shit, like I’m wrong about everything, like I’m just imagining it and I’m delusional. The thing is, I know I’m not! I’ve recorded what’s happened, I’ve reread it all, it’s a total mindfuck.
But still it makes me empathize during my thoughts of leaving and I feel heartbroken for him. That makes this hard. But this is the best way to avoid his word salad and topsy-turvy stories and explanations. Plus, he jokes all the time about killing me…
I’m really fucking anxious and scared.
December 11, 2017, you continued to reflect…
I find myself feeling angry around him lately. He touches me and I’ve started to think about the way he touches me or shows “affection.” It’s quite violating at times. I’ll get annoyed and ask him to stop, but he doesn’t…Even worse, he says it’s my fault for having a nice ass or this or that. It makes me angry to be touched like that, and even more angry to say STOP and having to keep saying it. I hate kissing him. I hate sex with him — does he know how many times I’ve secretly cried during it because I didn’t want it or felt like an object? I even hate when we hug sometimes. He’s too rough and then wonders why I lean away or flinch. Open your eyes!
You ultimately left the morning of December 29th, 2017 — four years ago today. You’ve read your journals several times since leaving and wondered how the hell you put up with it for so long. You continued to consider the answer to his question about how it felt so right to go back to Minnesota the first time, considering everything that happened.
When you recently visited Minneapolis, you learned it was never him that you wanted to go back to, it was the place you loved and friends you met along the way.
Minnesota was the place you compared all other places to on your travels. It was the place you longed to be and it still felt like your home away from home upon returning, even all these years later.
The lakes, the forests, the restaurants, breweries and entertainment; the people, your friends (despite most of them being his) — that’s what made your years there tolerable, and at times wonderful and worthwhile.
Staying there didn’t make sense at the time, not with the potential to run into him or his crew. Nebraska felt like your only option, so you moved away and cursed that frigid city for years, as if it were the problem.
You left the way you did because of him, yet it was likely you who was colored as the evil, crazy, selfish monster. You felt like that monster for some time, but have since learned you’re so far from the wretched person he made you out to be.
You couldn’t allow yourself to be kept there by him again; gaslit, whirling around in your supposedly fucked-up brain, desperately wondering how you could be so insane. You wouldn’t allow your spirit to be completely crushed beyond recognition.
Your writing is what saved your sanity; your tight grip on the scraps of the woman you dreamt of being before him, and the hope of still becoming her, is what carried you beyond that door — but then you forgot to lock it.
The forgotten key was no longer running in fear and protecting him from himself.
It was fully living your life without the remnants of his disease continuing to infect you. It was building yourself up beyond who you had to be to survive there…
He was never meant to be a life-long illness. You’ve made immense strides in healing those internal wounds, and the infection ends here.
The lessons learned were your remedies. Exposing the truth is your cure.
Being you is living.
You were freed from that past, Amanda, now embrace and live this beautiful life you’ve been creating — for your happiness is the sweetest revenge.
Love,
You
*Names have been changed
Do you relate?
Are you still in this type of situation?
Please reach out.
