I don’t miss her anymore. Not by a long shot. But I used to. Sometimes so much that it tore at my chest and punctured holes in my heart. What I finally realised is that what I missed wasn’t real. The her that I missed didn’t actually exist. It’s like trying to cuddle a cloud. Pointless, really.

She was on my mind last month. Not because I missed her, but rather because someone left a comment on my blog post about our divorce which stated, and I quote, “Really? I hear you had nothing at all to lose, not even a job.” This was preceded by an equally presumptive and incorrect comment left in January this year that read, “You only need lawyers if you OWN something. You have nothing to lose. No money, no property, probably not even a car. Lucky you.”

Now, I think it’s safe to say that neither of these commenters (if indeed they are not the same person) know me at all, and by their wording and tone, I gather they know my ex wife and have been given the revisionist history version of our marriage. So, commenters, even though it’s none of your fucking business, I’m gonna give you the lowdown on what I lost because now you’ve pissed me off.

I did have a job, actually. I had two: managing her career and working in a warehouse for a sexist, homophobic pig who fired me the week my marriage fell apart (after 7 years of employment, mind you) because I refused to stop listening to podcasts on my phone as I worked. In fact, one of the reasons I didn’t feel safe in our apartment anymore was because the ex wife threw my firing in my face and told me I should move back to New Zealand because there was clearly nothing for me here. This was after two years straight of financing her drag career. This was a month after I paid her fucking rent for her. This was three years after I paid for her first semester at dance school, using money I borrowed from the finance manager at the job I apparently didn’t have, which I then had my wages garnished to pay back, because why? Because my ex wife didn’t repay the loan, even though that was deal in getting the loan in the first place. So, not only was I busting my gut for her career in a myriad of ways, I was earning less for the last two years of our marriage because I was paying back her loan. After our separation, I tried to get her to reimburse me, but was told that “that’s just what spouses do in a relationship.” But I had nothing to lose, huh?

I figure that these commenters are, if not members of her family, then new acolytes or a new paramour joining the space junk in her orbit. I recognise the pattern. To suck them in, she’s gotta give them the sob story. The long, sad story of three partners one after the other treating her so badly and accusing her of such horrible things. Well, commenters, where there’s smoke, there’s some fucker with a burned match behind their back screaming, “FIRE!” Guess who the fucker is?

If these commenters are her family, then fuck off, I have nothing to say to you. If one of these commenters is a new paramour, well, buckle in, sweet cheeks. Let me tell you what you’re in for. Some of it may already sound familiar.

I stumbled across a video I had made the other day that featured us and our friends being idiots. Most of it was filmed during the first year of our relationship. The love bombing stage; that stage when she pursued me mercilessly, when everything I did was a source of fascination to her. That hazy, beautiful time when the world was ours. Of course I look back now and feel ill because it was all lies and oily, smarmy seduction, but there was one part of the video where she had her arms around me from behind and she actually looked like she was in love. It confused me, because narcissists don’t know what love really is. But there it was. She looked like she was in love with me. At the time, I believed it. It made me feel so good. So safe. Like I was finally home.

To be honest, her constant need to be with me bugged me. I’m very used to being comfortable with my own company, but her need was insistent. It was exhausting, actually, but I figured it would even out. She was young, I was older, I was set in my ways and she was discovering herself. I made all the excuses.

It didn’t even out. It got more uneven, and then I moved in with her and slowly her life became mine.

But that first year was wonderful. We were in love – well, I was because I believed that the personality she was presenting was real. But then things changed, and I can tell you exactly when that was: the first Christmas after my mum died.

Christmas Eve. I was not coping. Mum had been gone just over a month and I missed her and my brothers badly. My dad was out of town somewhere, so I just had my ex wife. I was grieving and I couldn’t stop crying. She – my new wife of 20 days – got shitty with me and went to bed, leaving me on the couch with my mum’s nursing medals, sobbing and group chatting with my overseas-dwelling brothers because I felt so fucking alone. And she was sulking in our bedroom with the door closed because my inability just ‘get over it’ for one night had ‘ruined’ Christmas. She made me feel so bad for having the audacity to be grieving my dead mother a month after losing her. Especially given that the year before was the last Christmas I had spent with her in New Zealand. She never apologised for that. It was referenced maybe once thereafter, in which she admitted that she had “fucked up.” But no apology. From then on, my grief – amongst other things I couldn’t control – would be blamed for our failed marriage.

That, my dears, is abuse. And it was the beginning of another three years of it.

I should have left. But I didn’t leave. Just like I didn’t leave all the other times she emotionally abused me. I tried to be understanding. I tried to be accepting… Fuck that, I didn’t try, I was understanding. I was accepting. I did realise that she was young and I made so many excuses for her and her behaviour because I thought I was leading by example. I knew she’d eventually grow up. I believed that she was essentially a genuine, caring, loving, generous person if a little misguided. She had me fooled. My god, did she have me fooled.

So that was it. That was the first event that set alarm bells ringing, but I ignored them. I ignored everything that told me our relationship was a bad idea, even her ex who I treated so badly by denying her claims. I honestly didn’t care, because I wanted her. I wanted her and when she wanted me back, all bets were off. So, I wilfully disregarded all ensuing red flags and alarm bells (if you want to know about them, commenter, read a few of my previous posts) and continued to excuse her behaviour.

To be honest, I stayed because I loved her. I stayed because I believed in her. I used to miss that love. I used to miss that person I believed in every damn day. What is truly heartbreaking is that she turned out to be everything she tried so hard to convince me she wasn’t. And she’s still doing it. Still skipping down the narcissist highway, baiting new young things to write comments on her ex’s posts, just like she baited me. Oh, and she never comes right out and asks you to do it. You, commenter, are supposed to get so incensed with those of us that came before that you gallantly defend her honour for her. She’ll never actually plainly state anything. That way she can’t be held accountable, see? Clever little dropkick.

I used to think I was a fool for falling in love with her. But I wasn’t. You can’t help falling in love, especially when what is presented to you is as attractive and charming as she can be. But it’s not foolish. What was foolish was staying, because she drained me dry and it’s taken me this long to fill myself up again.

Huh. Wow. I guess you’re right, commenter. I did have nothing to lose. She took it all from me before it was over; money, love, time, energy, talent, skills, my vacuum cleaner. All of it. But see, in being far away from her, I now have everything. I have my freedom, I have my own business, I have my cats, I have my acting career, my music career. I even have a goddamn podcast, bitches! Oh, and I have a new car. And I got it all on my own.

But back to you, commenter. I’m concerned. If you truly think the measure of a marriage is money and material possessions, then I’m sorry to say, your priorities are fucked up. If you think it appropriate to comment an ignorant and misinformed statement on my blog, then you’re an idiot. I mean, really. How dare you come on to my blog where I tell my truth and presume to know the “real” story that you’ve “heard” from a manipulative, abusive narc? You’re being a troll for a fucking narc, dude! There’s no joy down that road.

Trauma may have made me selfish, but it’s ensured I’ll never get sucked in that hard again.

I hope you don’t have to experience what I did to learn the same thing.