might suffer from narcissistic personality disorder, or NPD, which is on a spectrum with antisocial personality disorders that are often blamed for these behaviors.”
I shrugged, glancing at Nick, who continued to frown at me.
“...Either way,” I added. “He didn’t want my help. He wanted to play games. When I wouldn’t do that, I became another of those ‘bitches’ who needed to be put in her place. Any attempt to confront him or puncture the delusion that he was fine and everyone else was crazy just infuriated him. It caused him to escalate, not reassess, and he fed off the drama. The relationship became completely unworkable as a result. In the end, the only solution was no contact. I had to opt out of his game totally.”
Still thinking, I added, “I think a male counselor would have had most of the same problems, truthfully... but a male counselor would also be less likely to be putting himself at risk of physical danger as a result, since Norberg’s specific issue was with women. They also would be able to monitor him for signs that his illness might be escalating.”
Glen nodded, scribbling down notes on the yellow legal pad in front of him.
He looked like he followed me just fine, and I felt a little guilty when I realized I’d been doc-speaking him, with a thread of underlying hostility I wasn’t proud of.
Worse, I had no idea what that hostility even stemmed from.
I liked Glen. I always had.
“So what did he do when you terminated the relationship?” Glen said.
That time, I answered in more of my normal voice, throwing up my hands.
“Pretty much exactly what you would expect,” I said, my frustration at Norberg coming out more directly. “He told me I was being ‘emotional’ and that I was directly harming his clinical program. He accused me of acting ‘unprofessional,’ ‘delusional’ and ‘crazy.’ He called a few of my colleagues to lie about me before he filed a formal complaint with the practice board. He told at least one of them we were sleeping together. He told a few others that I’d grown obsessed with him and was sexually harassing him. He claimed I’d shared his psychological history with people at his work. He claimed I’d threatened his wife. He found ways to falsify emails from me that hinted of illegal or highly unethical activity and forwarded those to colleagues, often with lines supposedly written by me that insulted or lied about those same colleagues. He photoshopped naked pictures of me and put them up on revenge-porn sites.”
Hearing a disbelieving sound from Nick, I let out a humorless snort.
“...Luckily, I know someone who fights against those sites, so I was able to get those down pretty quick. If it had continued much longer, I would have obtained a restraining order for the day-to-day harassment stuff. He called my personal and work phones at all hours of the day and night, claiming he was in ‘crisis’ and was considering suicide. When I referred him to a suicide hotline, he told me I was a cold, heartless bitch and that he’d destroy my career if it was the last thing he did.”
Nick let out another incredulous sound. When I glanced at him, he was staring at me, his eyes holding disbelief. Glen raised a hand again to silence him.
“Is it possible he would have gone through with an attempt?” Glen said. “At suicide?”
I rolled my eyes––I couldn’t help it.
“Highly doubtful. Of course, he probably would have faked an attempt, both to garner sympathy and to be able to log it in at the emergency room to prove emotional hardship for when he filed a lawsuit. I expected him to try something like that and then to sue me for malpractice or criminal negligence or something similar. He had the money and he was the type.”
“You’ve dealt with this type before?”
I nodded, exhaling again. “It’s been awhile, but yeah. Occupational hazard.”
Glen glanced at Nick.
I noticed only then that Nick was still staring at me, his
I shrugged, glancing at Nick, who continued to frown at me.
“...Either way,” I added. “He didn’t want my help. He wanted to play games. When I wouldn’t do that, I became another of those ‘bitches’ who needed to be put in her place. Any attempt to confront him or puncture the delusion that he was fine and everyone else was crazy just infuriated him. It caused him to escalate, not reassess, and he fed off the drama. The relationship became completely unworkable as a result. In the end, the only solution was no contact. I had to opt out of his game totally.”
Still thinking, I added, “I think a male counselor would have had most of the same problems, truthfully... but a male counselor would also be less likely to be putting himself at risk of physical danger as a result, since Norberg’s specific issue was with women. They also would be able to monitor him for signs that his illness might be escalating.”
Glen nodded, scribbling down notes on the yellow legal pad in front of him.
He looked like he followed me just fine, and I felt a little guilty when I realized I’d been doc-speaking him, with a thread of underlying hostility I wasn’t proud of.
Worse, I had no idea what that hostility even stemmed from.
I liked Glen. I always had.
“So what did he do when you terminated the relationship?” Glen said.
That time, I answered in more of my normal voice, throwing up my hands.
“Pretty much exactly what you would expect,” I said, my frustration at Norberg coming out more directly. “He told me I was being ‘emotional’ and that I was directly harming his clinical program. He accused me of acting ‘unprofessional,’ ‘delusional’ and ‘crazy.’ He called a few of my colleagues to lie about me before he filed a formal complaint with the practice board. He told at least one of them we were sleeping together. He told a few others that I’d grown obsessed with him and was sexually harassing him. He claimed I’d shared his psychological history with people at his work. He claimed I’d threatened his wife. He found ways to falsify emails from me that hinted of illegal or highly unethical activity and forwarded those to colleagues, often with lines supposedly written by me that insulted or lied about those same colleagues. He photoshopped naked pictures of me and put them up on revenge-porn sites.”
Hearing a disbelieving sound from Nick, I let out a humorless snort.
“...Luckily, I know someone who fights against those sites, so I was able to get those down pretty quick. If it had continued much longer, I would have obtained a restraining order for the day-to-day harassment stuff. He called my personal and work phones at all hours of the day and night, claiming he was in ‘crisis’ and was considering suicide. When I referred him to a suicide hotline, he told me I was a cold, heartless bitch and that he’d destroy my career if it was the last thing he did.”
Nick let out another incredulous sound. When I glanced at him, he was staring at me, his eyes holding disbelief. Glen raised a hand again to silence him.
“Is it possible he would have gone through with an attempt?” Glen said. “At suicide?”
I rolled my eyes––I couldn’t help it.
“Highly doubtful. Of course, he probably would have faked an attempt, both to garner sympathy and to be able to log it in at the emergency room to prove emotional hardship for when he filed a lawsuit. I expected him to try something like that and then to sue me for malpractice or criminal negligence or something similar. He had the money and he was the type.”
“You’ve dealt with this type before?”
I nodded, exhaling again. “It’s been awhile, but yeah. Occupational hazard.”
Glen glanced at Nick.
I noticed only then that Nick was still staring at me, his
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