Fourteen years ago, tomorrow, I met a woman who turned out to be a narcissistic abuser. She fed me some cock and bull story about having a boyfriend and she wasn't happy and that they were too different to understand each other and she didn't know what to do. At the time, I was isolated and I didn't know I am autistic.

What didn't help was, at the time, I had had a breakdown, and my parents were not supportive of me seeking help. My father told me not to take antidepressants as they'd harm me (not true) and my parents didn't accept that I was more comfortable with a Chinese doctor (Western educated and who prescribed medication not herbs) than a Caucasian. That's not because I'm a reverse racist (I'm NOT) but because I felt marginalised and could better connect with other marginalised people. This was my analogy of how it went. (A person is in a company and they'd had a Holden Commodore which they didn't like, as a company car. When they retired they went and bought a Corolla 4WD. My mother said, "But that's cars.")

This particular abuser threatened to kill herself if I didn't go back to her.