PITCHFORK ME TO THE HIGHEST MOUNTAIN

A Short Story Satire on Narcissists

Have you ever been married to a demon…I mean, a narcissist? No?
Well, let me tell you about it, and it ain’t going to be pretty. Grab a glass of wine—trust me, you'll need it.
I’d always been drawn to the charismatic types. You know the kind—loud, brimming with confidence, and always wearing a smile that could charm the Satan himself. Little did I know, I was about to sign a lifelong blood contract with one who truly might.
Now, being married to a narcissist is a lot like organizing a circus. At first, you’re thrilled to be part of something that excites so many people; then you realize you’re actually in the middle of a three-ring disaster. I was the juggler, trying to keep my sanity intact while he was the ringleader, ensuring all eyes were on him. Our conversations often felt like a mental game of chess, where I was blindly moving pawns while he was casually a queen—invincible, roaming the board, pillaging my self-esteem and leaving my mental faculties to rot in the gallows.
The joke was on me, of course, as I realized my reality had become an endless comedy of errors. A routine of him talking about his achievements—he completed a triathlon while I was at home organizing our entire life—of course, prompting his incredible stories while I simply fed him my applause like a trained seal.
Eventually, I found my way out.
It was a complicated knot of lies and revelations, but one day, I finally cracked the code. In the midst of another one of his overwrought monologues, I simply leaned back and asked, “What about me..?”