Lying

 I remember when I first met C. He was 4.5 years older than me, and seemed much more worldly. He presented himself as safe, stable and loving. After my own parents' tumultuous marriage and the chaotic upbringing that came with 5 siblings, I was immediately attracted to this charming, protective and generous man. I was living in Spain in my 3rd or 4th 'gap year' after school (I had no direction in life whatsoever!), living day to day, working and drinking and sleeping and dancing. C was always the type to splash the cash, and I'm ashamed to say that I was shallow enough to be bought in by it. To be fair to myself; it wasn't that he was a cash cow, it was just that he was such a stark contrast to the guys I knew before him. He offered security and certainty, where my ex boyfriends all seemed to offer STDs and 'can I just scrounge 20 quid till payday?'

I apologise to my Dad if he ever reads this, but maybe you should just skip this next paragraph Da, mmkay?

We didn't sleep together at first. There were other fun things going on, but he was quite firm on waiting for sex. Now, talk about those differences from previous men in my life! I was used to practically fighting them off while being tempted, coerced, convinced... C had only had a very few sexual partners before me, because he didn't have sex with women without there being a real emotional connection. I found this remarkably endearing that he placed such a value on sex and what it meant. It only increased my interest in him. We had been together for several years - and had at least one of our children - before I discovered the real truth. His reluctance to have sex until a relationship was firmly established wasn't about the value he placed on the emotional connection that comes with sex. It was much simpler than that. He hates condoms. That's it. He was prepared to do everything that didn't involve the need for condoms, but would rather not have sex than use one. This seems like such a small issue for me to have obsessed over, but I do recall feeling incredibly shaken by that. That high regard for sex was a large part of the foundation that held up my love for him. This revelation rocked that foundation significantly, and sent dust and debris falling down in my peripheral vision. When I shared how I felt about it, he told me I was wrong. He had always been honest about this, he definitely didn't give me any other reason for why he didn't want sex in the early weeks of our relationship. After a while, I even believed him. I questioned my own memory, wondering if I believed he had said those things because it was what I had wanted to believe at the time. Maybe he was right, and I was just making a big deal out of nothing... 

During the following years of our marriage, similar situations occurred over and over again. Much of it was just small things; he had told me of a close relationship with a young girl who he had 'practically raised'. Yet in 16 years together, I never met, saw, heard of or even looked at a photo of this girl who was his 'surrogate daughter'. He spoke about extensive participation in various hobbies and occupations, yet I never saw anything to substantiate these claims. His stories were all designed to show him as an Important Man; one who knew and socialised with many people, had no enemies, was skilled and knowledgeable in many subjects. He was the defender of the vulnerable, the saviour of the needy and the giver to the impoverished. Initially there almost certainly was an element of believing what I wanted to believe - at least on a subconscious level - but given enough time, even a monkey can learn basic math.

Gradually, I started to witness these stories as clear lies. He would tell tales of incidents I was witness to; but his versions of events were so far from mine that they were outright fairytales. If I ever questioned them, he told me I was wrong. I had been distracted by something else so missed the critical part of it. I had been drunk. I had left the room when that conversation happened, or quite simply I wasn't remembering it correctly. What is so worrying to me now is that I could see and hear his sincerity; he fervently believed the truth in his words and they rang true when he spoke them. Well... if he wasn't lying, then the only explanation was that his version was right; maybe it did happen when I went to the toilet, or the baby spat up on me, or my vodka-soaked brain had misinterpreted it. This was particularly true in the year after giving birth to each of my children, when I was drowning in post natal depression and everything seemed foggy in my memories. Reality shifted for me. This man loved me, why would he lie to me? 

I know now that a narcissist really does convince themselves of their truths. I didn't know that then, because I couldn't see what he was. How could I? My entire reality was under question. I couldn't trust my own judgements or my own memories. C reminded me over and over of how wonderful he was to me, every time he reminded me of where we had met and how my life was going then. He emphasised the sacrifices he made for me, in sharing his money and working hard for our future. Wasn't I lucky? 

I never told anyone about these doubts then. I didn't want them thinking I was crazy, and I was sure that I must be at least unstable. Besides, these stories were harmless, right? 

In fact, what these stories have actually achieved, is to convince a lot of people of his integrity, honesty, loyalty, decency and morality. This - and my apparent instability - is why no-one would ever, ever believe that he was actually a narcissist and an abuser. I would always be seen as the 'crazy' ex. 

Our marriage really started to crumble in the last 5-6 years of it. Through completing my degree and really finding myself, I started to gain confidence in every area of my life. I started to recognise his stories as just being stories. I still wasn't strong enough to challenge them though, I just nodded and smiled for an easy life. I sometimes rolled my eyes when he wasn't looking, and sometimes when he was. This became another part of the accepted relationship dynamic I mentioned in my last entry; I would agree with his bullshit or I would jokingly imply he was exaggerating. 

Well, I got sick of agreeing. There of course came a time when I couldn't bear to listen to his falsehoods, fabrications and exaggerations. I began to correct him. Can you imagine how well this was accepted? I was no longer the 'nagging wife'. I was the mad bitch who just liked to embarrass him. I was the drama queen who loved to cause fights and disagree just to piss him off. He accused me of being abusive myself, calling him names in public and humiliating him. To my memory, the only time I actually did that was when I asked him with our 2 closest friends 'who put 50p in the dickhead?' In my defence, he was being a dickhead, and besides; we were with our closest friends, not a posh corporate event. Funny how before I started to question his deceits, my jokingly calling him names was just a funny part of our marriage. When I dared to challenge him; these same comments became abusive.

I knew how he spoke about me to his closest 'friends' (more on this later), and how he portrayed me to his family. Yet, if I continued to validate and corroborate his anecdotes, I realised - though not yet at a conscious level - that I was placing my own sanity at risk. If I let him continue, I would be just as bad.

I would be lying to myself.