Why the Narcissist Ends Up Hating the New Supply Too
The narcissist, they never loved you, and they sure don’t love the one after you either. No, friend, love isn’t in them—not the kind that heals or grows or gives. What they do? It ain’t love; it’s consumption. It’s a hunger with no end. They take and take and take until there’s nothing left but the shell of who you used to be. Then, when your shine fades in their eyes, they turn cruel, cold, calculated. And that sweet smile you used to fall asleep dreaming about? That was never affection; that was bait. That was the hook.
No, if the new supply was already lurking when your world was collapsing, if they saw the wreckage and still ran into the arms that destroyed you, what they have now isn’t a blessing; it’s judgment unfolding in slow motion. Their light is fading; their spirit’s dimming. And one day soon, you’ll look and recognize that same hollow stare—the one you wore when you were being drained from the inside out.
But listen to me: don’t get stuck there. Don’t let that be your meditation. Your mission now isn’t watching their downfall; it’s rising in your own becoming. You don’t need to check their pages; you don’t need to read between their captions; and you sure don’t need to send signals in silence.
Because here’s the holy truth: they don’t care whether you rage or remain quiet; it still feeds their game. But when you pull away completely, when you go still and unbothered, that’s not silence; that’s thunder. That’s your power showing up without a single word.
Oh, they’ll try to reel you back in—maybe it’s the “I miss you,” maybe it’s the memory game. But don’t you dare mistake that for redemption. That’s not a change of heart; it’s just a rerun. It’s not healing; it’s hunting. They don’t feel what you feel; they can’t build what you build. They’re a hollow echo trying to mimic music.
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