I was just telling my friend about this but he fell asleep as I was getting to the point.


So 8 years ago I met a girl that I really liked. We had a really good time but she ended up leaving me for someone 10 years her senior that taught at our university. This was understandable because I knew she needed some balance and help with study. By the end of our 3 month relationship she let me know she wanted to be with him and we said goodbye. By the end of this I loved her, I loved her to the extent I wanted what was best for her. 


Over the next 5 years we messaged now and then, I tried to stick to my guns and to my current life, but increasingly thought that the feeling was mutual. She 'broke up' with the older guy on the 1st year after separating and we slept together again. I knew she had BPD from when she initially told me. As an early 20 yo I didn't truly know what that meant but I knew a bit from my psych degree. 


5 or 6 years later, after on and off messaging, where at one point I went on exchange to Sweden (which stopped us catching up), I finally saw her. I was happy, she came to my place, with my mum that's always drinking but still always kind. As soon as she arrived she wanted shots of vodka. She asked me to do a bunch and I obliged. We went outside with my mum and she told us she was kidnapped. "what does kidnapped mean?" My mum asked. "I was kidnapped by men" she said. And went into detail about what happened to her. I was stunned, smoked more weed, drank with her, spooned her for 3 days in my bed (after she told me the first morning that I could), and carried her to bed when her body started failing her, something I still don't know the cause of. 


This event fucked up my understanding of empathy, I felt bad for feeling so bad about what happened to her. I knew anything I felt couldn't surmount what she went through. I drank and smoked though those feelings, which didn't help. I became depressed for almost 2 years but just kept on trying to work through it and ignore it, moved to my dad's. 


I don't know what I'm trying to say, it's always hard to encompass emotions like this. But my depression led to mania 20 months ago. I saw the love of my life a bit over 2 years ago for 6 months. It just compounded the depression. Her drinking and suicidality consumed me and I couldn't keep the old thoughts out of my head about what happened to her. It was tough but eventually I reached mania and was happy. For the circumstances, I am so fucking glad I had that way out to rescue me from the rut I was in. I'm now euthymic and haven't had another episode, taking my lithium, studying social work master and volunteering to build my career after years of smoking weed. 


I think after writing this I feel a bit better. I still don't know the answer to the title but I know as long as I'm working forward the pain will become less and less. Thanks for reading if you got this far