I remember when nearly all I could think about for a straight year and a half was this girl, does she even know what she took from me or other guys like me? Sure we were gullible and desperate at the time perhaps. Maybe it was our punishment for other things, she was obviously in pain herself searching for some way to mend the wound, the loneliness.

Yet looking back and remembering the agony that was, it's almost a nostalgic melancholy for the delusion, the fool who thought she cared. This is the same emotion BPD women have for abusers I suppose. A longing for the familiar...

Even now that I'm doing better much better, I feel wounded, it was my fault for being so stupid, do mentally ill, so simply, i wish so badly that i never even saw her.