If you Battled with a Demonic Narcissist you Need to Hear This
And when I finally did, when the veil split for just a second, I saw the truth. It wasn’t just one narcissist I was fighting; it was a legion—all a spiritual web stretching far beyond one body, one name, one face. That vessel, the narcissist, was a puppet, and something ancient had its hand inside.
The mission? One thing: snuff out the light. This was never just a relationship; it was an ambush—a spiritual ambush. I was tangled in something I couldn’t see but could feel with every breath—a thousand invisible cords wrapped around my limbs. Breaking free, friend, it nearly cost me everything. I clawed, I cried, I called on the heavens with but a whisper of faith left in my chest. I begged God for rescue.
Slowly, slowly, the grip loosened. You want to know what saved me? Distance. Holy distance. I ran, not with fear, but with fire. Like Lot from Sodom, I didn’t look back. I got on a plane and crossed oceans. I had to tear myself out of the mouth of that thing and flee to high ground because I couldn’t breathe inside its shadow.
When I finally got away, the fog began to lift—not all at once, but enough for me to see the battlefield I just crawled through. You can’t see the monster when it’s sitting on your chest. But get away, rise above, and suddenly the shape becomes clear. You see the pattern, you see the lies, and you see what was devouring you, and you never mistake it again.
Listen: get out. Not just from the room, but from the realm—from the soul-split illusion that says they love you. Because they don’t. They need you like a parasite needs a host, and you, beloved, were never made to be food.
Now hear this: survivors don’t walk away limping; they walk away half-dead, spiritually emaciated. You think it’s heartbreak, but what you’re feeling is the absence of your own light. Oh, you’ve been fed upon, hollowed out, left to wonder if you were ever whole to begin with. This wasn’t romance; this was possession.
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