I’ve been very much in my own head today. The hip thing the kids are into these days is narcissistic gaslighting. Everyone’s a narcissist who gaslighted them. But there’s a difference between some asshole lying in a relationship and narcissistic abuse.
I didn’t fully grasp the level of psychopathy in my relationship with {D} until today. It was bad. Really bad.
I’ve been thinking about the disbarment, and maybe I’m wrong. I shouldn’t get my hopes up that this is going to happen anytime soon. I was shopping for suits for a hearing, running through what I might be asked, what they would want to know, and what defenses might come up. That spiral led me somewhere else—into a rabbit hole of our relationship.
The Hat → Gaslighting in motion
There was a women’s wide-brim sun hat in {D}’s closet, sitting on top of the guns. Early in our relationship he put it on and said he got it in Mexico—some sort of fruit picker’s hat. He gave me a Spanish word for it.
One day, the hat was gone. I asked where it went. He said, “What hat?” I reminded him—the hat over the guns. He pulled down a fedora with a greenish band, set it on the guns, and said, “There it is.”
I said no, that’s a fedora. The other was wide-brimmed, and I repeated his fruit-picking story. He doubled down: “There was no hat.”
For a split second, I questioned my sanity. But I have a photographic memory. I knew what I saw. That was my Spock moment. I wasn’t upset; I just thought it was illogical. Why did he not know what I was talking about? Even the last time we spoke, he insisted it was never real.
That hat is the perfect metaphor for our relationship: he dictated reality, and I got blamed for reacting to it.
The Relationship → Rules and Rituals
From the beginning, our relationship escalated fast. Suddenly I was at his house five nights a week. I thought we’d be dating casually—Saturday nights, maybe a midweek dinner. Instead, I was effectively living there, expected to show up except Mondays and most Thursdays.
Life with Dave was boring. I’m the type to wake you up at 3am and say, “Get your shit together, we’re driving to Tijuana.” He was regimented. Midnight bedtime. Condo shutdown ritual. Food Network obsession. Creature of habit, through and through.
we had an open relationship. We both were allowed to have sex outside of our relationship with some simple rules
- Mondays were for our “other partners,” limited to two each. Mine were {S} and {R}. He named one attorney.
- Out-of-town sex was allowed, but only one-night stands—no overnights.
Monday → Neglect and Control
One Monday, I was with {S} and had a neurological episode during sex. It took two hours before I could move. I panicked and it was a little after 11 when called {D}—twice—and then texted him into the early morning. He never answered. The next day, he said he went to bed early and didn’t hear his phone. I don’t believe that. I believe he ignored me on purpose, letting me spiral watching it unfold
Gordon Lightfoot → Jealousy and Humiliation
One day, he was texting with his friends and someone brought up Gordon Lightfoot. Now, coming from a good pedigree, my mom fucked Gordon Lightfoot and there is a song and poetry and whatever. I had told {D} about my horror when my mother told me that. So {D} sends in his group text: “I once fucked a girl whose mom fucked Gordon Lightfoot, so I am only 2 separations.”
Funny—he thought he was hilarious. I thought it was cute, but why didn’t he call me his girlfriend instead of just someone he fucked? He told me he didn’t want his friends to think his girlfriend was a whore.
The “Faithful” Announcement → My Struggle
One night {D} randomly and gleefully announced that he hadn’t been sleeping with anyone but me for months. I immediately told him he was full of shit, but he doubled down.
That announcement hit me hard. It was almost {S}’s birthday. We had plans, because {D} and I had an agreement, and I never agreed to end that part of our relationship. I had to do some soul-searching. If {D} and I were really doing this, I had to let {S} go.
I didn’t know what to do, so I did what any sane, rational person would do: I posted anonymously on Reddit’s Am I the Asshole? and asked if I would be the asshole if I saw {S} one last time. The verdict came back overwhelmingly: yes, I would definitely be the asshole. So I cut {S} off.
A week later, {D}’s girlfriend was in town. Hats and all.
Lies, Destabilization, and Calculated Harm
Over and over, I told {D}: “You are destabilizing me. Just tell me if there’s someone else. I’ll walk away. I don't want to compete. I’ll love you through anything, I’ll forgive anything—just don’t lie to me.” I said this verbatim at least once a week. He just kept lying. And when I reacted, I was jealous.
That’s who he was. Manipulative, evasive, cruel in ways that seemed small at the time but added up to a total war on my reality.
Looking back, I wonder if the destabilization was deliberate. Not just residual damage from constant lies, but an actual calculated assault. That’s what a psychopath would do.
It’s like the rape, but stretched across daily life. I begged him to stop. He didn’t. I told him after the apocalypse the only thing I knew was true was that he lies. After the video, he told me the screaming was the part he liked. Was destabilizing me the part he liked too? Was it sadistic pleasure? I think yes. He liked hurting me—physically, mentally, emotionally.
The timing proves it. He only finally showed interest when my life was crumbling from my diagnosis. He saw the weakness, found the cracks, and exploited them. That’s what predators do.
I thought I could love him through it. That was stupid. You can’t love psychopathy out of someone. It isn’t about trauma or lack of affection. It’s brain structure—the prefrontal cortex, and amygdala, and the organ's inability to regulate chemicals. I know that. I've taken graduate level courses on brain development and psychology. This is something a stoned high school sophomore could tell you after the first semester of psych. I’m smarter than that. So why did I think I could change it?
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