Surviving Narcissistic Abuse: How Escaping My Mind Became My Power

eveningreigns
Sep 24, 2025
4 min read

There were nights when silence felt louder than screams. Nights when I couldn’t sleep because my body refused to believe it was safe. While other children dreamed, I built worlds in my head—worlds where justice existed, where love was safe, where I was more than the fear I lived in. Those worlds saved me. And in many ways, they still do.

If you’ve ever lived with narcissistic abuse, you know what it’s like to exist in a state of constant fear. For me, that fear followed me everywhere—even into the night.

Sleepless Nights, Restless Mind

As a child, bedtime wasn’t safe. I’d lie awake long after the house was quiet, my body refusing rest because it didn’t feel like rest was allowed. Insomnia wasn’t just sleeplessness—it was survival. My nervous system had been trained to stay alert, waiting for the next storm I couldn’t control.

So I escaped the only way I could: into my imagination.

At night, I built stories in my head and played them out with my Barbie dolls by day. They were my actors, my stage, my chance to rewrite reality. I also wore out Disney princess movies, watching the same ones again and again.

Familiarity was my comfort. Predictability was my safety net.

And every time, I imagined myself as the princess who endured pain but still found freedom and justice in the end.

From Dolls to Digital Worlds

As I got older, my escapes evolved. Barbies gave way to the internet, where dress-up games and virtual worlds pulled me in.

Online, I wasn’t the scared kid who didn’t belong at school—I was someone else. Someone in control. And in those spaces, no one could hurt me.

It wasn’t about play. It was about survival.

At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought I was just “different.” But in reality, I was protecting myself.

PTSD vs. C-PTSD: Why It Matters

Most people are familiar with PTSD, which often develops after a single traumatic event—a car accident, natural disaster, or assault.

Complex PTSD (C-PTSD) is different. It forms after years of ongoing trauma, especially in childhood, when escape isn’t possible. It’s not just the memory of one event—it’s the body and brain learning to live in constant defense mode.

That’s why my symptoms looked different. For me, it wasn’t flashbacks of one incident—it was hypervigilance, sleeplessness, and a mind that never stopped running. It was escaping into fantasy because reality felt unbearable.

Abuse rewired me to believe danger was everywhere—even in silence.

How I’ve Grown Stronger

For years, I carried shame about my coping mechanisms. I thought my need to escape meant I was weak. But now I understand the opposite is true: I wasn’t weak—I was surviving something many adults couldn’t endure.

And as I’ve grown, I’ve learned to take those survival tools and shape them into strength:

Therapy gave me language for what I went through and reminded me that healing isn’t about erasing the past but learning how to live beyond it.
Friendships showed me that connection is possible. After years of isolation, I’ve let people in who see me for who I am—not who the narcissist told me I was.
Acceptance has been hard, but vital. I can’t change what was done to me. I can’t rewrite the cruelties. But I can refuse to carry them forward.
Reframing the abuse: I now know the narcissist didn’t target me because I was weak—he targeted me because he saw my strength. He worked so hard to break me because he feared what would happen if I ever discovered it for myself.

He feared my strength before I ever recognized it. That truth alone keeps me moving forward.

Claiming My Power

What once kept me alive—imagination, escapism, fantasy—is now what fuels me. My creativity, my storytelling, my art… they’re not symptoms anymore, they’re strengths. They’re the proof that my mind didn’t just survive—it adapted.

I refuse to let the narcissist defeat me. He took so much, but he didn’t take everything. He couldn’t take my ability to dream, to create, to fight for the life I deserve.

Survival didn’t just protect me—it built me.

A Message to Fellow Survivors

If you see yourself in my story, I want you to know this: you are not weak, and you are not broken. The ways you’ve coped—whether through fantasy, art, books, or online worlds—are proof of your resilience. They kept you alive. And those same skills can grow with you. They can become your creativity, your voice, your power.

Healing from narcissistic abuse and C-PTSD is not linear. Some days are heavy. Some wounds never fully close. But strength isn’t about pretending the scars don’t exist—it’s about carrying them with dignity, refusing to let them define us.

Survival taught us how to imagine. Now we get to use that imagination to build lives we no longer need to escape from.

💌 If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your story. Leave a comment, send me a message, or simply know you’re not alone. Sometimes the most healing thing is realizing someone else gets it.

🌸 About the Author

Elizabeth is a survivor of narcissistic abuse and a writer, artist, and creator dedicated to turning pain into purpose. Through her storytelling and creative work, she explores themes of healing, resilience, and self-discovery. She believes imagination is not just an escape, but a source of strength that can help survivors reclaim their power. When she’s not writing or creating, she’s building her brand EveningReigns, sharing art and stories that inspire others to find beauty after hardship.