I’ve been with a toxic, obsessive narcissist like this before, and what I can say is… there is a sort of dark pleasure when you read these stories from the safety of a screen. When it’s all fiction, that intensity feels exciting.
Before my toxic relationship, I used to think I wanted a man who would yearn for me obsessively, someone who was head over heels and couldn’t think of anything but me. And then it happened. At first, it felt like a trophy — I got exactly what I thought I wanted. I lived in his head 24/7. He was desperate for my love, desperate for my attention, desperate for my heart.
But when I finally fell for him too, the reality hit. His “devotion” became possession. His arms felt like claws—tight, suffocating, controlling. He tried to overpower me at every turn. His love wasn’t love at all; it was pure lust, obsession, and insecurity wrapped in the illusion of passion.
The difference between me and those fictional girls is that I’m not shallow and I’m not powerless. I stayed for a while because I wanted to fight for my love and believed I could fix things. But that delusion dies fast when you realize he’s a dead end. And I got myself out for my self-respect and my value, no matter how hard it was.
So believe me — the things we romanticize aren’t hot, steamy, or pretty when they become your reality. You don’t understand what you’ve walked into until you’re living it.
So yeah… let’s keep that stuff in fiction, for entertainment. In real life, romanticizing that kind of “love” is seriously fucked.
I’ve been with a toxic, obsessive narcissist like this before, and what I can say is… there is a sort of dark pleasure when you read these stories from the safety of a screen. When it’s all fiction, that intensity feels exciting.
Before my toxic relationship, I used to think I wanted a man who would yearn for me obsessively, someone who was head over heels and couldn’t think of anything but me. And then it happened. At first, it felt like a trophy — I got exactly what I thought I wanted. I lived in his head 24/7. He was desperate for my love, desperate for my attention, desperate for my heart.
But when I finally fell for him too, the reality hit. His “devotion” became possession. His arms felt like claws—tight, suffocating, controlling. He tried to overpower me at every turn. His love wasn’t love at all; it was pure lust, obsession, and insecurity wrapped in the illusion of passion.
The difference between me and those fictional girls is that I’m not shallow and I’m not powerless. I stayed for a while because I wanted to fight for my love and believed I could fix things. But that delusion dies fast when you realize he’s a dead end. And I got myself out for my self-respect and my value, no matter how hard it was.
So believe me — the things we romanticize aren’t hot, steamy, or pretty when they become your reality. You don’t understand what you’ve walked into until you’re living it.
So yeah… let’s keep that stuff in fiction, for entertainment. In real life, romanticizing that kind of “love” is seriously fucked.