The Destroyer

I should have listened. Because he did tell me. He laid it out for me, with head hung low, eyes brimming remorse and shame. Sitting close, grasping his hands, with his body slack against mine, he said: "I'm a destroyer. I destroy people's lives." 

My heart swelled and ached for him. My mind raced to think of ways to comfort and reassure him. I gripped his hands, tearful, and implored him not to say or think that about himself. Everyone made mistakes. Everyone had flaws. That did not make him a destroyer. And if he had personal things to work on, it was ok. I would be there for him. But he was NOT a destroyer.

I'd walked right in to it. Seated myself right in its center. Trusting, loving. Right into his trap. He'd given me a last chance to escape, openly telling me he destroyed lives. With great sorrow, he'd asked me if I understood what I'd be taking on, and if I really believed I could handle it. With blind love, and in absolute ignorance, I said yes. The permission he needed to slam shut and lock his trap.

How was I supposed to know? How would I have known? He knew what he was, and he was telling me. But how was I supposed to know he'd been telling the truth, and not just being hard on himself? Being harshly critical of himself at some low point in his life? I'd never heard of a person being this way. A narcissist, luring, trapping, devaluing, destroying. I'd never learned that this was something to watch for, someone to avoid.

So that's what I'm looking into now. That piece that was missing in me, to alert me to his danger. It may seem pointless, or trivial. But if it's possible, I'd like to find out.

There has to be a way to know about this, before falling into it. Before being trapped. Before having to go through it, and suffering.