**I originally posted this in /r/breakups, but it also has to do with BPD. This is also my first post in /r/bpd.**

Just a preface, I'm mostly writing this to get this out of my head, to have it in front of me, and for me to externalize it.

I'm male, 25 years old, living in Midwestern America; this is my story:

A little over a month ago I experienced a traumatic break-up. It was traumatic not due to the regular circumstances of breaking up with a significant other, but in a much more intense and psychological nature. I would later find out why.

During the time I was dating my ex-girlfriend (let's call her Kate, not her real name, obviously), she started to take pole dancing classes. Not for stripping, but for exercise and for something to do. She's always had a hard time making friends and being social. She's basically a book-worm (in a good way) and an introvert. I was very happy and supportive of her (plus all the benefits of watching her practice). There's a whole sub-culture of pole dancers, especially now since it's become more of an acceptable form of exercise and not necessarily seen as something smutty.

Like I said, Kate is a bit of an introvert and a book-worm. But I always supported her trying out new things, socializing with new people. That isn't to say I never got jealous. I did. I would, again, find out why. Anyway, Kate was toying with the idea of going to graduate school to get a Master's in publishing. It made sense, she loves books, she's a great editor, she would fit right in with the publishing world. But it also meant she would have to move a long ways away for school. And not just anywhere. She applied to New York University. That terrified me. I felt like I was going to lose her.

I had no real big plans yet. I was working part-time, just kind of chugging along. Like a lot of people in their 20s, they don't know what they want to be yet. But Kate, she knew what she wanted. Nothing has ever really stopped her from pursuing what she makes her happy. So, I did what I thought made sense at the time: ask her if I could move with her to New York City.

We talked it over and she had her reservations about it. In fact, she was shocked to think that I would give up everything about the place I was living (I'd been living in the Upper Midwest all my life) and pack up and move with her to the busiest, perhaps scariest place for a Midwesterner. But, in the end, she agreed to it.

I decided to add a full-time job to my part-time job in order to save money. I started work at a hospital, cleaning and sterilizing surgical instruments. I hated it. I had to wake up at 5 AM and be there by 6 AM. I had to stand in one spot all day, hunched over, cleaning blood and tissue out of medical instruments. This had nothing to do with my Bachelor's Degree in Sociology. But, I felt like the sacrifice was worth the 60 hour work week.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I became emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. I started to lose my nerve and I could no longer see the light at the end of the tunnel. I started having panic attacks at work and slumped into a self-loathing state of mind. I was worried that I'd be working at the hospital all my life. I forgot I was doing this to leave the Midwest and start a new life in New York City.

I was also becoming paranoid about the status of my relationship with Kate. I felt like she never reciprocated the love and affection I exhibited toward her. I would tell her that I loved her and she would say nothing. I would tell her how much I cared about her, how much she meant to me, and I would hear nothing in return. I felt isolated and alone at first. Then I felt desperate.

Kate and I started arguing more. It was rough, to say the least.

One evening, Kate invited me and her family to an open house at her pole dance studio. We all had a lot of fun and Kate was showing off the moves she had learned. Afterward, Kate suggested we go to the local strip club to see if the strippers had any good pole-dancing moves. I felt very uneasy. I don't know if I'm just a prude or what, but I don't like looking at other women when I'm already involved in a relationship. It's just not my style. But...I agreed to it. I would find out why later on.

At the strip club, I decided to have a drink to calm my nerves. But instead of being calm, I started to pick a verbal fight with Kate. I half-jokingly asked if she would ever become a stripper. And it blew me away with what she said: "I'd consider it". I was filled with anger, hurt, betrayal, and disbelief. She could have been sarcastic, but I couldn't see it. I was already on edge. I called her a whore and told her that she might as well fuck all the men in the club. I stormed off.

She ran behind me, begging me not to leave her there, or else she'd have to walk home. She didn't have her keys, so she was worried about being locked out of her apartment, and it was cold out (since it was in November). I left the club, leaving her to walk by herself back to our apartment.

I stood in the entryway of our apartment building and waited for her. I wasn't going to lock her out. When she arrived she was furious and in tears. I let her in and we walked into our apartment and all hell broke loose. She screamed at me and wanted to kick me out.

Suddenly, I realized how horrible of a person I was and how alone I'd be without her. I became desperate and took a knife, rolled up my sleeve, and slit my wrists. I started carving my forearm. I lay in the kitchen with a bloody arm, sobbing about how right she was and how fucked up I was.

Kate was terrified. She got me to drop the knife and rushed me to the ER. My parents came and Kate left.

I was admitted into a psychiatric hospital. I had been there before, five years prior due to another suicide attempt.

Two days later, the in-house psychiatrist diagnosed me with borderline personality disorder (BPD). It suddenly all made sense:

I feel emotions much more intensely than normal people, there seems to be no middle ground with it. I'm either raging mad, incredibly depressed, or absolutely happy. When Kate said she wanted to break up with me, it hit me so, so hard.

Moreover, people with BPD tend to make frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. I felt that Kate was abandoning me when she was accepted to graduate school in NYC and moreover when she was breaking up with me. Which lead me to my suicide attempt.

People with BPD have recurrent suicidal behavior. This was my second time in the psych ward for suicide, so it was recurrent.

I am also a notorious people pleaser. I do anything to make people like me because I don't want to be alone, disliked, or even worse, abandoned. So I agreed to going to the strip club, even though I felt uncomfortable and uneasy about it, just so I could make Kate happy.

It all came together in this neat little box.

Now, I'm trying to put my life back together, but it isn't going well. At 25, I've had to move back home with my parents, something I'm particularly ashamed of. I'm dealing with thousands of dollars worth of medical bills. I'm trying to figure who I am (people with BPD have problems with identity and we tend to have unstable self-image or sense of self). And I'm trying to get professional help.

Despite all this, I feel like there may be hope. I still am not over Kate. I don't know if I ever will. But I do know that I'm afraid of wasting my life and I know I'd sure as Hell be wasting my life if I couldn't try to pick up the pieces and move on.

Thanks for reading this. It's a huge relief to spill it all out.
