She wasn't like other girls. She didn't like most of my music and she made fun of how I was dressed. She had read more books than I had and had more interesting, more humanitarian opinions about nearly everything. She was smart, witty, worldly, utterly fascinating. She could be confident to the point of brashness, some would say shamelessness, or seemingly so delicate you just wanted to hold her and tell her that everything would be alright... if she would let you. She was the toughest, strongest, sexiest woman I have ever known. I fell in love with her at first sight and my feelings never wavered. Years later, I still can't help but compare every other woman to her and find them wanting.

Of course, this is all in the past tense.

Despite strong apparent mutual affection and very similar attitudes and interests, our relationship did not go well after the honeymoon period. In fact, for most of our years together she pretended that I was her roommate or friend or business partner. The extent of our relationship was always a secret, even to each other, and she was always running off with someone else, then coming back for a few days, then running off again. She messed around with my friends, acquaintances and enemies, and anyone with a hint of notoriety. She could be mean, neglectful, thoughtless, narcissistic and a relentless, obsessive workaholic. Pathologically productive, I called her. Most of the time, I didn't know whether she loved me, hated me or thought about my existence at all, beyond any immediate utility I provided. It seemed impossible to know. Words and actions were completely unpredictable, yet she was almost always around. Again and again she would contrive to have us live together, only to start seeing someone else the next week or do something else equally humiliating, heartbreaking and seemingly malicious. It was always like that. One step forward, two steps back.

After seven years on and off and some fairly heavy drama, a friend of mine counseled me to break it off due to it's arguably abusive nature. At that point, the combination of events, overreactions and frustrations was enough that I actually did. It wasn't the first time we had broken up, of course, but it was arguably the first time I had done it. It was a big deal to her. She's hasn't really spoken to me since, years now, and the last time we did she made it clear that she never intends to again. 

She was never diagnosed with anything. We never sought group counseling, though we did discuss it. I didn't do the research to know that she fit all the criteria until well after, by accident. Reading this sub over the past few days has been the worst kind of eye opener. I thought I could never understand. Then I read the things that go through your heads, and for the first time, horrible, horrible understanding came. This was her. This was what she felt like.

It hurts so much to think that she probably felt all the confusion and guilt that you talk about. To imagine that maybe she did really love me after all, and how much I must have hurt her. To remember that I promised that I would do anything for her, and to know that I didn't listen to her when it mattered the most.

I've never really been able to forgive myself for having to live the rest of my life without her. I don't know how to process my feelings about it. Years later I still don't. I don't even know whether I should have stayed or left. All I know is I miss her everyday.

So what does r/BPD think? Does any of what I described sound similar or reminiscent to your experiences? What would you have done? Is it really possible that this person loved me? I don't even know if that's better or worse... I just want to know. This isn't for any kind of diagnosis as we don't even speak. I don't expect we ever will again. I just want to understand. Or try to. Just for my own theoretical peace of mind. 

Please.