Narcissists follow a distinct pattern of behaviour in relationships, cycling through three main stages:
- Idealisation
- Devaluation
- Discard
Idealisation: The Hook
In this phase, they shower you with attention—love-bombing, playing the caring friend or partner, listening intently, offering help, and even bringing gifts. This is all a calculated effort to make you trust them.
Devaluation: The Shift
Once they feel secure in your attachment, they begin to break you down. It starts subtly—backhanded compliments, triangulation, boundary violations. In extreme cases, they gaslight or confabulate to maintain control and uphold the illusion they created in the idealisation phase.
Discard: The Final Blow
They only discard you when they have secured new supply. The discard isn’t just abandonment—it’s another method of control, reinforcing your perceived worthlessness. But they might return, restarting the cycle if they think you can still be useful to them.
A Personal Experience
Recently, an old friend re-entered my life, illustrating this cycle firsthand. His initial reappearance seemed heroic—offering unsolicited financial help, food, and emotional support. He positioned himself as a reliable figure, making it clear that I could always turn to him.
I eventually asked for a small loan to print documents. When I attempted to repay him, he resisted, instead steering me toward buying weed—fully aware I was trying to quit. This was his way of fostering dependence, ensuring I would continue to need him.
When I later asked for help moving furniture, we were still in the idealisation phase—he was generous, attentive, and full of surprises. But subtle devaluation had already begun: small manipulations, dismissive remarks, and calculated emotional pushes.
The real shift came when I didn’t reciprocate what he truly wanted—attention, validation, sex, a relationship. That’s when he escalated.
The Devaluation: A Clearer Picture
His behaviour changed. He disrespected my belongings, invaded my personal space, and became impatient and rude. He weaponised my vulnerabilities—turning past trauma I had confided in him into ammunition. When he realised these tactics weren’t working, he backtracked with apologies—another manipulation.
Then came the triangulation:
“My gorgeous ex-girlfriend, who earns £80,000 a year, still contacts me.”
It was a weak attempt to incite jealousy, to make me feel inadequate. Meanwhile, he played the victim—lonely, rejected, lacking companionship—strategically feeding my empathy to pull me in deeper.
Then came the final manipulation: control through my vulnerabilities. He dangled xxxx in front of me, offering to give me large amounts, then subtly shifting the terms—he would control access to it. When I didn’t bite, he intensified the mind games: deliberately smoking near me, constantly reminding me of the xxxx he had.
Breaking the Cycle
Recognising the pattern, I shut it down. I called out the manipulation, and when he couldn’t twist reality to fit his self-image, he resorted to confabulation—rewriting the story to paint himself as the victim. I knew where this was heading—towards harm I couldn’t afford—so I cut him off completely.
Shifting My Own Narrative
When I was first told my ex-partner might be a covert narcissist or sociopath, I rejected the idea. I must be the narcissist, I thought. That belief was ingrained in me—fed by childhood conditioning and reinforced by an abusive marriage.
From a young age, shame was projected onto me. I grew up believing I was too much, my emotions were wrong, my presence was intrusive. I carried burdens that weren’t mine. I blocked out nearly four decades of traumatic incidents, holding onto fragmented memories that distorted the truth.
The result? Complex PTSD, a permanently dysregulated nervous system, and a storm of neurodivergence intertwined with borderline personality disorder.
This led me to repeat abusive patterns—attracting the same types of relationships over and over. I once thought awareness alone could protect me. Now, I know better. You cannot outsmart these people.
- They exist to conquer.
- You are never truly safe with them.
- If you escape, you will be damaged—emotionally, mentally, physically.
The only way to win is to walk away.
Rewriting the Script
Narcissists will always launch a smear campaign when you leave. They need to confabulate to maintain their version of reality. Others may believe them, and you must learn to accept that.
But the most important thing? Rewriting your own story.
For years, I believed I was the problem—that I was toxic, unlovable, a narcissist. My neurodivergence made me an easy scapegoat. Like so many others with ADHD or autism, I spent my life defending myself while enduring subtle abuse and exclusion.
I recently unearthed a deeply buried traumatic memory. Alongside other forgotten incidents from my childhood, it completely changed the narrative I had lived for years. I was never the aggressor, the abuser, the dirty, shameful one.
- I was a victim.
- Those things should never have happened.
- The story I told myself about myself was not true.
But my survival mechanisms—my ways of coping—became toxic. In protecting myself, I hurt others. In defending my own wounds, I lived a false narrative.
The Aftermath
Today, I write this with a foggy mind, a dysregulated nervous system, and a heavy heart.
- I wish things had been different.
- I wish I could reclaim my youth.
- I wish someone would love and protect me.
But I must do that for myself. Healing takes time—perhaps a lifetime.
I struggle with relationships. Any kind. Social interactions—even online—make me anxious. I don’t trust people. I barely trust myself. My only constant is Radha, my service dog, yet even that relationship comes with stress.
I spent my life numbing emotions, avoiding them, seeking an easier flow. But now, the dam is about to break—like Vesuvius. And honestly, even remembering Vesuvius feels like a miracle.
The Path Forward
Sharing our stories—no matter how uncomfortable—helps us reclaim our truth. Moving from shame to acceptance isn’t just healing; it’s survival.
For me, this only became possible when I started remembering the experiences I had buried, allowing me to shift the narrative and connect with my true self—not the person others told me I was.
This is how we begin to restore our souls.
With love.
Karmic Rebelle