BPD: A partner's story

Before I even start this post, I feel the need to make a few things clear:

I'm not here to add to the stigma of this condition.
There's enough pain and bitterness out there in the world already.
The purpose of this post is to share my personal experience as a partner.
People with BPD are not all the same. My ex is not a template for anybody else.
My post includes descriptions of behaviours I experienced during splitting.
If you think that might upset you please stop reading here.
I'm not here to trigger anybody or ruin anybody's day.

With that said, here's what it was like to be me:

Normally, when you sense people are trying to flatter you or complimenting you, it comes across as kind of creepy.
Like they're talking to a version of you they're imagining instead of you.
They tell you things they wrongly assume you care about.
It shows that they don't really see you, and that's understandable. Only you will ever really know you.
But this time you meet someone different.
She perceives things in you that you thought nobody else would see or understand.
And it feels like you're doing the same for her.
You fall for each other, hard.

You feel like you found your home with each other.

She's upfront about having BPD.
You want to reward the courage she showed in being so open with you.
She tells you she's not worth it. She's never felt love.
People have told her they love her before, but that's been infatuation. It's never been real.
She longs for the feeling of unconditional love.
You want to let her see how you see her, all the way through.
You read things other people say about pwBPD: "Run and don't look back". "Avoid at all costs".
You refuse to give in to the stigma.
You want to be a good and supportive partner.
You read as much as you can about BPD, to try to understand what it must be like to live with.

She tells you she's struggled in the past but thinks she's grown and it will be different if you both try hard enough.

Things seem to be going okay. Great, even.
Out of the blue you get a message:
"You need to leave all our friend groups. Never talk to me again, or I'll tell everyone all your worst secrets".

You don't understand. You talk it out and she calms down.
"I was panicking that things could be ending and wanted to feel in control. I'm sorry."
You agree to end things.

She comes back, saying it felt like you had unfinished business. That she kept thinking about things.
You feel the same way. You both only want more.

The first time this happens, you think to yourself:
"This isn't a healthy, stable pattern. It's going to repeat and we're both going to get hurt again. Maybe worse next time".
You agree with that intellectually, the risk is there, but your emotions don't care.
You're still crazy about each other. You both just want to be close again.
You talk: "Okay but we need to be careful. If things look like they're destabilising, we need to end it with no hard feelings".
You both agree.

It doesn't help though. When that moment comes, and she's spiralling again, you talk:
This isn't stable, it's not good for either of us.
We still love each other, but it has to end.
You both agree.

You meet for one last goodbye.
You hug, cry together. You get in the car and look back, she's waving with a sad smile.
You think to yourself how grateful you are that you were both strong enough to end things the right way.
You feel at peace.

The next morning, you get a message.
You hope maybe it's going to be something like:
"This really hurts but it's for the best. Let's both go our separate paths and carry a piece of the other with us. I'll never forget you."

No such luck. We're in the bad timeline now:
"You're a piece of ****. You hate me. You used me. This is not over.
I get what I want and I want you. I'm going to ruin your life. I won't stop until you kill me.
Last time we were together I had a knife by the bed and you never noticed. Watch your back."
It's not stopping.

You summon the strength to overrule the way you would react to anybody else daring to insult and threaten you like that.
You suppress your ego, pride, dignity.
You suppress your darker urges: revenge, retaliation, manipulation.
As much as it hurts, you understand what's happening. She's splitting.

You try to imagine what it must be like to be her right now.
She's being tossed about in a storm of emotions. Her protector personality has taken over.
There's too much pain to bear, it has to come out, and it has to be offloaded onto somebody. You.

Her emotional system does not allow her to access any evidence that you still love her.
Anything that disagrees is a lie. A manipulation. It must be.
You imagine how horrible and terrifying it must be to experience that from the inside.
It gives you strength to endure whatever she throws at you with calm.

You have a very painful choice:
If you stay to comfort her, you anticipate her thinking "I would never tolerate anybody behaving like this towards me. Something's wrong. He must not be who I thought he was".
If you hold your boundaries, tell her you won't accept this treatment, block her until she's calm, you anticipate her thinking "There's the proof. I really am worthless. I'm being abandoned again".

But your job is not to manage her response or her emotions.
It's arrogant to imagine that's your responsibility or your right.

You want so badly to validate how much pain she is in, and let her know you understand.
You accept she will probably respond with malice no matter what you say, and prepare for it.

The splitting episode lasts for an entire week.
It goes on, non-stop. 500 messages.
Your online accounts start getting password reset notifications.
Suspicious packages arrive at your house.

Eventually, you get an email:
"Psychotic break over. I'm sorry for the pain I caused. Love you."

You know how difficult it must have been to bring herself to write even that short apology.
You want to say a million things but you're emotionally exhausted.

"Thank you for your apology. Please get treatment. Love you. Don't reply."

Now you get to look at yourself:
It feels intolerable to imagine her holding a false narrative of what happened. Convincing herself things that you know aren't true.
It feels intolerable to imagine her remembering a distorted version of you, or erasing you from her mind entirely.
These things feel like a desecration of something sacred you created together.
They feel like spiritual annihilation to you, and they cause a panicked impulse to reach out.
Somehow you resist.

You realise that these instincts are problems with you:
It's selfish to need to be remembered well, accurately, or at all.
It's selfish to need to control somebody else's narrative of your shared story.
You have to learn how to not allow your self-worth to depend on how other people think of you.

It hurts but you accept that nobody can manage how they are remembered by others.
You learn how to be okay if her truth remains:
"He's an asshole who broke my heart. He never loved me. He destroyed me."

Every day, for months, you feel the urge to reach out to her.
You see her posts. She's feeling worthless. Lost. She doesn't know who she is any more.

She's hurting and maybe hearing from you will help. Maybe she wants you to reach out.
Even if things are over, it costs you nothing to remind her she's loved.
You know last message did not say enough.
It's intolerable that you minimised your truth out of fear of her reaction.
You can't accept that how you witnessed her might never be known.
You didn't let her know she was seen. You could have done more to validate her pain.
You could have left the door open...

Again, you realise that these impulses are a problem with you:
It's selfish to need to polish the ending, to imagine that "the perfect goodbye" will somehow fix things.
It will never be good enough, and instead of healing, you know it will result in more pain for both of you.
Somehow you resist. What you already said has to be good enough.

You choose not to reduce your memory of her to just being abusive.
You choose not to erase the love you still feel in the name of self-protection.

After everything, you're left with one anchoring thought:
"Maybe one day she will remember that I did care".
That hope is enough for you to let go.

You'll carry everything you need with you.

You regret nothing.

Oh my!!

The threats are frightening... having a knife by her bed?

Yes, and there was more besides, along the lines of "I will kill you, I will not stop unless you kill me."

Frankly, I thought it was rather rude

Thankfully I'm not an easily intimidated type.

The threats she sent would have been enough to have her convicted for Threats to Kill as well as Harrassment/Stalking and Computer Misuse, which would likely have resulted in some non-trivial jail time.

I debated this with myself for a while. People with BPD often only change when they're forced to confront the consequences of their actions, and holding her accountable would have been fully justified. But ultimately I could see she ran out of steam, and legal action would have just kept a connection between us alive, which wouldn't be good for either of us. I also still felt compassion that she's not a monster, but a deeply traumatized woman who suffers from this terrible disorder and simply can't regulate her extreme emotions properly.

So I left us both to our peace.