13 Demonic Traits All Narcissists Share

But perhaps darker still is what they do with God’s name. The narcissist loves nothing more than to twist what is sacred. They’ll take scripture, holy words meant to heal, and turn them into chains. “God says to forgive me.” “God says you can’t leave.” They’ll pull verses out of context like weapons from a sheath and wield them against you like daggers. And friend, let me tell you, God is not in that. They won’t quote the parts that warn you to flee from destruction; they’ll skip right past the verses about Jezebel, about wolves in sheep’s clothing, about evil spirits hiding behind charm. They don’t want the truth; they want leverage.

That’s what’s so wicked. It’s not just manipulation; it’s blasphemy—using the holy as a hammer. And it gets worse. One of the most chilling things I’ve ever experienced happened in the blink of an eye—barely a few seconds, but it felt like time froze. I saw a narcissist again after some time apart, and for just a moment, I didn’t recognize them—not because of a haircut, not because of age, but because they weren’t there. The mask was off. The person I thought I knew was gone. What stared back at me was vacant, unfamiliar, alien. And then—snap—they were back, smiling, performing. But I’d seen behind the curtain, and I know some of you have too. You saw something that didn’t belong in this world—something cold, something that looked at you with no soul behind the eyes. That’s not awkwardness; that’s revelation.

And if you’ve had that moment, don’t ignore it. That was truth unfiltered; that was a glimpse of what they really are. And don’t shame yourself for not wanting to see it right away. Sometimes the pain of reality is too much to bear all at once. But let that moment live in the back of your mind. Let it whisper, even when you try to forget. It’s there to protect you; it’s the tap on your shoulder from God himself saying, “No, this is not safe.”

And here’s the next thing; this one’s terrifying in its own right: they change identities. You could know someone for years, and the moment they latch on to someone new, it’s like they were never who they were with you. With you, maybe they were a thrill seeker, an adventurer, someone who loved the mountains. But now, suddenly, they hate hiking. They’re an academic, soft-spoken, and introverted—reshaped entirely to fit their next victim. It’s not growth; it’s not maturity—it’s spiritual mimicry. They wear people like clothing—changeable, discardable.

And this last piece, oh Lord, this one hurts because it breaks people. The narcissist will feed you information—half-truths, slivers of reality wrapped in implication. And then they wait. They watch. They let you take that information and act on it. Maybe you confront someone; maybe you get the law involved. Maybe you’re just trying to protect someone else. And when the moment comes, when the truth needs to stand up, the narcissist backs away and says, “I never said that. I have no idea what you’re talking about. They’re making it up.” And there you are, standing in the fire alone, looking like the liar, looking unstable. And if you weren’t already breaking, that moment could finish the job.

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