Una carta al narcisista que me destruyó

Estimado “You” ,

I don’t even want to give you a name. You don’t deserve one. You will be referred to as “You” and that’s the kindest thing I could have ever said to you.

This impersonal, cold, distant pronoun. You don’t deserve anything better. How are “You” ?

Is the sun still shining brightly through your windows? Or did you cover them up with dark curtains to avoid the light—to live in the darkness like I do?

I guess you didn’t. Nothing has changed about the way you look at things.

Me has estafado. Y punto. Me dejaste seco. Punto. Me destruiste. Y punto. Pasaste a la siguiente. Punto.

Oh, that poor girl. She doesn’t even know what awaits her. She has no idea.

Cree que eres lo mejor que hay. Piensa que you’re going to give her the world.

Cree que llevas el corazón en la manga. Cree que ha encontrado al elegido.

Es tan tonta como yo.

Nothing was ever about me, was it? Everything was about you. If you had a bad day, I had to suffer. If your life wasn’t going the right way, I had to pay for it.

You had such power over me. I really can’t imagine why and how I let you do that.

It’s either that I was too weak to fight you, or you were too strong in your mind-playing that I didn’t even stand a chance.

Me estabas convenciendo de cosas que no son reales. Me lavaste el cerebro. Me convertiste en una marioneta obediente.

I was the one who had to dance to the music you were playing. You’re really something.

You never managed to at least pretend you are not in love with yourself. I was a ‘third wheel’ in our relationship although it was just the two of us.

Aunque te culpo de muchas cosas, también me culpo a mí mismo. Debería haber sabido lo que estaba pasando. En realidad, lo sabía, pero me negaba a creerlo.

I refused to acknowledge that was happening to me. I refused to accept I’d fallen into a trap. I refused to see you as you were—a narcissistic piece of s**t.

Intenté que lo nuestro funcionara. Eras un reto para mí y nunca me alejo de un reto. Pensé que podría cambiarte. Chico, me equivoqué.

I was addicted to you. You were my fix. Every time I needed a dose I would come back. I was afraid to be alone so I went back for a fix of you—every single time.

The only thing that I got from you was humiliation. I got someone who thought he was better than me—someone who thought he was better than anybody else.

En nuestras vidas, siempre fui la segunda. Siempre fui justo después de ti.

“You”! “You” me destruiste. Me manipulaste. Me insultaste. Me arrebataste mi vida.

Me robaste todos mis sentimientos. Me entumeciste. Me hiciste indiferente.

Tus palabras cortantes y frías me entrenaban para no sentir absolutamente nada. Durante nuestras peleas, me quedaba sentada mirando un punto desvaído en la pared, esperando a que terminaras.

I just moved my head like a zombie in an approving manner—just to make you stop. I agreed to everything you said.

Sólo para que te detengas. Sólo para volver a disfrutar del silencio.

I really can’t say at what point I gained enough strength and courage to call the things by their real names—to see clearly for the first time after a long time.

Was it because I had nothing left to lose? Was it because I was so indifferent that I didn’t care what is going to happen to me anymore?

I don’t know. The only thing I know is that I had enough. You took everything from me. You drained me. I had nothing else left to give you.

Maybe you were the one who let me go because I wasn’t of use anymore. All that was left of me was an empty shell.

You don’t need empty shells. You need someone’s energy to feed off of. And I didn’t have it anymore.

Now, it’s her turn to feed you and to become a simple outline of the beautiful woman she was before.

Pero, ¿sabes qué? Rellené mi boceto. Rellené mi boceto con bonitos colores. Mientras seguía viviendo mi vida sin ti, fui añadiendo colores uno a uno.

Después de algún tiempo, terminé mi obra de arte. Terminé mi obra maestra. Me acabé a mí mismo.

Véase también: Cómo superar al narcisista