In September, I moved to a new house with my boyfriend in his hometown. The day we got there, he took my car and ended up picking up fentanyl. I didn't know, I don't do drugs. He was supposed to pick me up that night at 7 p.m. and just never showed up, didn't even call to tell me. I was in a new city, where I knew no one and he just forgot about me, just never came. For two days, he was more irritable, angrier, moody and more aggressive. I told him I was scared, and asked him what was going on. I sat on the couch shaking. He told me I was overreacting and blowing things out of proportion. He threw my keys down. The next night, he said he was going to take a shower. I had a bad feeling so I opened the door to find him blue and purple on the floor. He was dying. I screamed, called 911, slapped him, shook him, rolled his limp body on his side. The paramedics showed up, used the spray, didn't work. They used the paddles and luckily he survived. They told him that he'd died and it's only because I found him right when I did that he survived. A few days later, I tried to talk to him about how I was feeling. He took off and just left, I found him high at some guy's house. He agreed to go to rehab, and agreed to leave that city and move back to where we'd just come from. We got a hotel room and the next morning he asked me to go get a pack of cigarettes. Told me I needed to learn to trust him again. I said ok even though I was hesitant. I got back to the hotel room door bolted shut, to find foil and stuff all over the counter. I was on my knees in the hotel hallway begging for him to let me in after what I'd already been through. I called 911, they came. They were sure he'd been using, he denied it. He finally went to rehab.   


While in rehab he promised that once he was out, he'd attend the meetings and do the work the counsellors gave him. In the months after he got out, he didn't do any of it. He didn't feel like it anymore. He'd make promises and consistently break them. We'd fight, argue. I'd try to sit down with him to discuss our issues and problems, he'd just keep playing on his phone or staring at the TV. It hurt. We stopped having sex, maybe 3 times in 4 months. He decided to move out, back to his hometown with his parents where he OD'd. He said it was to better himself and for work, and that he wanted to still be together. Since then, we've fought more, I have panic attacks and flashbacks, I have PTSD from what happened and BPD and this has taken such a toll on my mental health. He'd promise to call or text in 15 minutes or that night, and he'd just 'forget' and not do it. Then the other day, we got into an argument. He told me to 'grow up' and that something I said was 'stupid'. I did snap at him, and I said things I shouldn't have. I understand if he's hurt. Except, I haven't heard from him in 2 days. I have begged him to just tell me one way or another if it's over, not to leave me in the dark. It hurts. But nothing.   


I think it is over, or it should be. I read this back and think this is terrible and if someone told me this story, I'd tell them to get out. I don't think I deserved all of that. I think I really just need some validation that this isn't just in my head, and it really is terrible how I was treated. And how to just let it go. Let him go.