u/MimiTiny

My narcissist ex partner of 6 years, have been sleeping with her psychiatrist. My ex potentially has BPD, saying potentially as the doctor was supposed to assist with her diagnosis. They started meeting in June and in Aug they started sleeping together. I lived months of hell as my ex used to say that her doctor told that we were not going to end up together, that I was not a good fit, among other things. In Dec she had an aneurysm and almost didn’t make it. I had to make all the calls to save her. She has been sober for almost 10 years and I can believe that she will stay sober for long as she keeps losing herself. She was extremely abusive towards me. Hitting, struggling, verbally and financially yet the trauma bond is strong. I want to report the psychiatrist but I’m unsure about what to do. They are living together now.

[supprimé]

Five years ago, I met someone who seemed to need support, understanding, and a fresh start. Instead, I slowly found myself trapped in one of the most confusing and painful experiences of my life.
Throughout our relationship, I experienced physical violence, emotional abuse, financial manipulation, intimidation, and constant blame shifting. Looking back, the red flags were there from the beginning, but they were hidden beneath elaborate stories and endless explanations.
Within a few months of living together, I began noticing inconsistencies in what I was being told. My partner claimed to be separated from their ex-wife, yet I would often find them communicating in secret. One day I overheard a conversation about purchasing an apartment for the ex-wife. When I asked about it, my concerns were immediately dismissed and minimized.
For nearly six years, they lived with me. During that entire time, I paid the household bills and carried most of the financial responsibility. They traveled overseas with me to meet my family, flew first class multiple times, and benefited from a level of support that I willingly provided because I believed we were building a future together.
What I didn't realize was that they were carefully controlling information between their ex-wife and me, ensuring neither of us understood what was really happening.
Their ex-wife struggled with addiction. My partner knew about those struggles from the very beginning. Yet rather than encouraging treatment or rehabilitation, they remained passive while continuing to manipulate both of us.
My partner often justified their behavior by pointing to the hardships they had experienced growing up. They spoke frequently about generational trauma and the challenges they faced as an Indigenous person. While those experiences deserve compassion and understanding, they never justified the abuse that followed.
I supported them through a PhD program, spending hundreds of hours helping with translations and academic work while they completed their dissertation. I genuinely wanted them to succeed.
As the violence escalated, I finally gave an ultimatum: get professional help or the relationship would end. They eventually found a psychiatrist, but by then I would later discover they had already been involved in an affair for more than ten months.
Then came a medical crisis. They suffered an aneurysm that nearly took their life. I was the person making the calls, coordinating care, and helping them through recovery. Yet on the very first day after leaving the hospital, they nearly became physically violent toward me again.
That was the moment something finally broke inside me.
Instead of gratitude, the abuse intensified. I was called crazy, unstable, a lunatic. I was repeatedly told to "go back on medication." Every concern I raised was twisted into evidence that I was the problem.
Then I learned something that left me struggling to process everything that had happened.
After their ex-wife passed away, my partner inherited everything.
All the while, this was someone who had known for years that their former partner was battling addiction and deteriorating. Whether through neglect, indifference, or self-interest, they chose not to intervene in any meaningful way.
By the end of the relationship, I genuinely questioned my own reality. I was exhausted, isolated, and beginning to believe the version of me they described.
Leaving was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
What still haunts me isn't just the abuse itself. It's realizing how easily some people can maintain multiple versions of themselves depending on who is watching. The person I defended, supported, loved, and sacrificed for was not the person they presented themselves to be.
Today, I'm no longer in that relationship. I'm rebuilding my life one day at a time.
But some days I still struggle with the fact that people can cause so much harm while appearing completely normal to everyone around them.

Five years ago, I met someone who seemed to need support, understanding, and a fresh start. Instead, I slowly found myself trapped in one of the most confusing and painful experiences of my life.
Throughout our relationship, I experienced physical violence, emotional abuse, financial manipulation, intimidation, and constant blame shifting. Looking back, the red flags were there from the beginning, but they were hidden beneath elaborate stories and endless explanations.
Within a few months of living together, I began noticing inconsistencies in what I was being told. My partner claimed to be separated from their ex-wife, yet I would often find them communicating in secret. One day I overheard a conversation about purchasing an apartment for the ex-wife. When I asked about it, my concerns were immediately dismissed and minimized.
For nearly six years, they lived with me. During that entire time, I paid the household bills and carried most of the financial responsibility. They traveled overseas with me to meet my family, flew first class multiple times, and benefited from a level of support that I willingly provided because I believed we were building a future together.
What I didn't realize was that they were carefully controlling information between their ex-wife and me, ensuring neither of us understood what was really happening.
Their ex-wife struggled with addiction. My partner knew about those struggles from the very beginning. Yet rather than encouraging treatment or rehabilitation, they remained passive while continuing to manipulate both of us.
My partner often justified their behavior by pointing to the hardships they had experienced growing up. They spoke frequently about generational trauma and the challenges they faced as an Indigenous person. While those experiences deserve compassion and understanding, they never justified the abuse that followed.
I supported them through a PhD program, spending hundreds of hours helping with translations and academic work while they completed their dissertation. I genuinely wanted them to succeed.
As the violence escalated, I finally gave an ultimatum: get professional help or the relationship would end. They eventually found a psychiatrist, but by then I would later discover they had already been involved in an affair for more than ten months.
Then came a medical crisis. They suffered an aneurysm that nearly took their life. I was the person making the calls, coordinating care, and helping them through recovery. Yet on the very first day after leaving the hospital, they nearly became physically violent toward me again.
That was the moment something finally broke inside me.
Instead of gratitude, the abuse intensified. I was called crazy, unstable, a lunatic. I was repeatedly told to "go back on medication." Every concern I raised was twisted into evidence that I was the problem.
Then I learned something that left me struggling to process everything that had happened.
After their ex-wife passed away, my partner inherited everything.
All the while, this was someone who had known for years that their former partner was battling addiction and deteriorating. Whether through neglect, indifference, or self-interest, they chose not to intervene in any meaningful way.
By the end of the relationship, I genuinely questioned my own reality. I was exhausted, isolated, and beginning to believe the version of me they described.
Leaving was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
What still haunts me isn't just the abuse itself. It's realizing how easily some people can maintain multiple versions of themselves depending on who is watching. The person I defended, supported, loved, and sacrificed for was not the person they presented themselves to be.
Today, I'm no longer in that relationship. I'm rebuilding my life one day at a time.
But some days I still struggle with the fact that people can cause so much harm while appearing completely normal to everyone around them.