I’ve been a peaceful zombie. But, I can’t stand when someone keeps poking me with sticks. Can you even imagine what happens when you poke a zombie? 

First: Why am I a zombie? Well, the healing from Narc is going so slowly, that I’m in many ways a zombie. Neither living, nor dead…. A “zombie of healing”: … not healed… yet: not unhealed….Healing, but incredibly slowly. 6 months ago, I was probably 99% zombie. Now it varies: 70-80% of the time: zombie. Rest of the time, a human being with some feelings of grief, mixed with occasional hope, and even some moments of joy, from time to time.

Now, let me clarify: Being mostly a zombie, while getting to be a human being sometimes,… increasingly more human with time, is a great thing A wonderful thing, in fact, compared to being submitted to awful emotional abuse such as gaslighting, lies, cheating, mind games, blame games, silent treatments, and so on. No one is abusing this zombie, and parts of my skin are looking more and more alive, at certain occasions.

But then comes that poking, of my greyish zombie skin, which is not yet fully back to being healed, living skin, again. If you poke it, you better be prepared for what’s coming. They will lash out at you. Who’s to blame? The zombie you created, or you, for poking it?

When the narc poked me, with several texts where he deflected all blame, and pretended like none of the abuse ever happened…. I lashed out. Eventually. I couldn’t stand all those texts from him…. “There would be no ‘wall’ between us, if you are just nice…” etc. Excuse me, if I am nice? What about the fact that you abused me emotionally, for years? I didn’t text him back in particularly foul language. I just put the truth out there, cause I refused to listen to his re-writing of it. I’ll not ever have anyone deny my reality again! Zombie or not, I’ve become way too strong in myself, to ever accept delusions again. Narc has forgotten: I’m no longer under his spell; the brainwashing wears off quite fast, after we haven’t been in touch for a while.

So. When it became clear to me, that he was persistent in completely denying reality, and simply wanted to get some narcissistic “fuel” from me, I took a step back. I was on a wonderful trip (photos here), and wasn’t gonna let him ruin that too. I took a deep breath, sent a last text saying I would never accept his “reality”. And then I switched off the phone. For 2 days straight.

I feel the strength and importance of that. In the past, I could never have achieved that. I would’ve been stuck for hours in a texting battle, defending my truth. Now, I didn’t want to waste time, so I simply turned my back on the one who was poking/provoking me, and went about my business. I’m a peaceful zombie, like that.

When I switched on the phone a couple days later, I had 2 more messages there, from narc. Nothing of importance. Ignored. One day later, came 2 more messages. The tone had changed. I can almost laugh about it now: I see a boy in front of me, who wants to make friends with his “zombie pet” again, so now he’s talking nicely to it: “Good zombie, don’t be mad. Coooome here”……

“Missing you”… “You should’ve been here now…but I hope you’re well”…”Hope you had a great weekend?”. Meaningless BS, you know? Ignored. And ignored.

My new phone (ultra-modern! With blocking apps) should arrive within a week. I’m just longing for that moment, when I install the blocking app once again, and draw a long sigh of relief, that he can’t poke my wounds, again. At least, not easily, by text…

That made me think of: What is it, that so riles me up, hurts me? That rips my wounds right open, from just some stupid/arrogant texts? I believe it’s that he will never be held accountable for the wounds he caused. That is like…. driving a knife into someone, and then denying you ever did it? Just so….inhumane, in my eyes. It increases the pain, immensely. Can’t explain it better… But, a confession, and a sincere apology from the heart, is like a salve on our wounds, if someone hurt us, isn’t it? I can forget that, it will never happen. I have to tend to my own wounds.

Also, there’s something utterly crazy-making, when the narc gets another opportunity to deny my reality. It feels like a free fall from a cliff, to me.


It makes me have to go over everything again: Was I the crazy one? Am I exaggerating everything? Do I have the right to be hurt? It forces me to look closely again at all the lies etc, to confirm: Yes, it was that bad. I’m disgusted that he still tries to keep me around, as a toy, by playing nice now. I’m appalled he would put me in a position where I (for my sanity) have to re-examine all that happened, just to confirm: Yes, I was abused, it was real.

After this last attempt to win me back (as a toy) aswell as to gaslight me into denying all that happened for years…. I’m now more convinced than ever, that any contact will hurt me. I simply have to stay away, forever, if I ever want to see my humanity blossom again, and see a sparkle in these half-dead eyes…

As for his cruelty, in taking a stick and poking someone’s half-healed flesh like this… I will just never understand. I’m sorry. I’ve always been told I’m an extreme empath. But I can not fathom this. I just can’t. It’s like: What the fuck, man? You just tortured me for years, until I almost lost my sanity? Now you want to keep doing it? It’s dawned on me, that he truly does not care if I live, or if I eventually die, from all his torture. He’s seen me literally on my knees, crying, begging him to stop all the brainwashing and lies, when I was still in the relationship…

I informed him in no uncertain terms, at the end, that I feared I would literally “lose my mind”, if he kept treating me the way he did. Nothing ever made him stop. Nothing. I know there are lots of theories about narcissists. I know most of those theories by now, having read them all.

But this. This gets to me, on a soul level: He does not care whether I live or die. Plain and simple. How can we, people with normal hearts and souls, ever fathom this? I think even a real zombie, must have more love and empathy inside of him, than this man ever had, for me, or for anyone. That scares me! I don’t get it. And I never will.