Fury.

[Beware of Junk Psychology...]

I am so angry I feel physically sick to my stomach. I was ok somewhat this weekend and last week after the cervical procedure but it's got me today and I can't shake it.

I won't lie: I was triggered by the thread about first date with new person after breakup. And OP of that thread, it wasn't because of you. I just remembered my own first reaching out, after the first breakup years ago. He broke up with me to pursue a pretty younger colleague at his work, someone who lived locally and looked just like his ex wife. An accomplished younger woman whose face looked full of mischief and spite. Some young thing with massive breasts, the kind he liked, like his ex wife's, and still longed for. My beautiful but smaller frame, even with a breast job, still would never support the fat enormous mammaries he'd once held and been convinced by pornography were normal.

He broke up with me and I was clear I was dying from it. I rebounded instantly with a tall fit older guy I'd known for a few months. He seemed placid enough from my direct experience and he looked respectable on paper. BPD ex in my inbox and text messaging through all of it, angry at me and calling names. Betrayer, whore. Sexting. Me still in love with him and unsure what to do.  Two months later, in Carribean Mexico with the guy I didn't love one bit, I understood the rebound was rubbish, and when I got home and found the birthday email message from my love, I wept the entire sea. When love texted me again I begged him to just tell me to stop. To stop with the other guy. He told me to stop and two weeks afterward I broke up with the rebound. But BPD ex was involved with the colleague finally.

I told him to stop, equally fervent. I said so many vicious ugly things about that other woman's body and sex. It was hideous but it was all true: that wasn't love, and it wasn't me, and I knew. And he didn't stop: she did. Or that's what he said. My young daughter opined that he had lied about all of it in the first place. That he said it to hurt me because I had hurt him.

The rebound, who had known me less than four months, was vile. He called constantly and one night he threatened to rape me. I tore into him with all the fury and evil stillness of a woman who had already been raped, not just once, but three times in a single younger year, and all the power of a raped single woman who was mother to a young girl. I called the police and made reports. I had a phone trace put on my phone. He harassed me by email. This went on for four months, at the end of which I declared once and for all that if he ever contacted me or came anywhere close to any person or place in my life, I would take legal action and also immediately send my entire reporting of his harassment to his employers and every organization he so respectably belonged to.

And my BPD love and his son came out to us at Christmastime and I had never in my life felt so happy at Christmas, as I did with my intended husband and our two children. Never, ever, in all my life. People don't believe me when I say that but if you wore my brain for even one minute you would know it was full well 100% true. It took me over forty years to feel that beautifully on Christmas.

This time, this past year, the breakup was different. I broke up with him. I did it because he was shoving me away SO HARD and I couldn't do it again. So I folded and admitted total defeat, and left him to do whatever he would do in his new life.

I said I would never rebound again. I didn't completely; I took up with a person I newly worked with, who somehow looked and was just like him, but different: older, happier, more grounded, secure. That older man was my saving grace. He knew my heart was distant; he helped me process it all in my own strength, guarding me as if he would throw everything back in the BPD ex's face. He explained the insecurity of the younger man. He fortified my sense of my own beauty. He was good to me, without getting too deeply involved. He was such a blessing.

He wanted to take a photo of us in carnal embrace and send it to BPD ex and assure him I'm doing fine. This man was athletic, big and strong and fit, self assured. When he made plays at me, I'd come home to email from the BPD ex, telling me sarcastically that he hoped the new guy was nice and big and treating me well.

He was. And I don't know how the BPD ex ever was so timely, almost like he'd heard the conversation I'd just had elsewhere, in person with someone new, no phones or devices anywhere nearby.

Because of the support of the new older man, I was able to stay NC. But that ended in December, and by January, fresh with the hope of the new year, I created a dating profile. It was witty and taut and attracted abundant attention. But none of the quality language of me, of my BPD love. So I redirected to where he lived, where I was supposed to live, and his was among my first five matches there.

I didn't know he had a dating profile. I felt sick and sickly elated, reading it and seeing his beloved face again, the place where I'd loved so long. And felt angry at his banal writing, and what he seemed to be asking for: anyone at all, no special parameters. And the photograph of a landmark not 45 miles from my own home.

So he was looking too.

Only one local guy sent a quality message to me. The local guy was similar in stature and coloring and career, education, income, to my BPD love. His interests were the same that I'd known in my BPD love, and the places he'd been, the things he'd done, were similar to my own. He had quality language, which I can't live without. I was thrilled and I wrote this attractive local guy back nicely and as soon as I did, I swear I *felt* him respond with total outraged, pained shock: "Oh, you *f!cking*!BITCH!" As if I'd damaged him, or my BPD ex somehow. Which was weird, because, I was sure I hadn't, and because he never responded at all.

I stayed active on the dating site for only another few weeks, maybe not even one. I was sore about the failed local connection and wondered what the hell I'd done wrong. I don't date; I don't do dating sites. Maybe I was just as bad at that as I am at texting properly.

I also wondered if it was possibly just a fake account created by my ex. This hurt deeply and I had to look again at the guy's photographs to assure myself no one could fake those: the local guy pictured had been to all those local places, and the far ones too. And I know you can't really tell from looking at someone, but, he looked like a good person.

In the end I threw out the idea of dating, and came into the new year just as a BPD failure, a widow in my heart, and as my child's mother. Then the call from the clinic came, then the exam, then the biopsies. Then the letter that said I needed surgery right away to remove pre-cancerous cells.

Then two emails from my BPD ex, the first contact in months, finally saying he missed us. Then his text inquiry. Then a resurrected email I had sent months before: a bad one. And when I responded, on a Friday night, he was oblique and unforthcoming until Sunday when I pushed and asked a direct question, and he told me he is living with someone now.

It STILL has not been a full month since he said it. I hate even the thought of it and I hate that I can't undo anything. I've sent gorgeous emails, I've said good right things. But I can't call him, at all, because I don't want to hear her in his airspace or thinking; I don't want to hear the too often heard tones of rebuke in his voice.

I hate her. I have no idea who she even is or where she came from but I know enough to know she is younger and a professional photographer and in his line of work. I know she is "pretty" although I don't know her face or her last name. Just the sleek dark hair and half smile behind the big lens, in the photo connected to one of his social media channels -- one which I was horrified to discover still in one of my own, having overlooked it last month when I raged through everything electronic, cutting contact.

Most of the time lately I have managed to be ok, and not ever thinking of them. But this afternoon on only two hours of sleep last night, i was browsing in our grocery store and had to straighten as a song played out over the PA. It was an old rock song, like the classic rock of our childhoods, the music we listened to in his home. It sounded like one of our mutually favorite old bands, really classic. But I couldn't figure it, in the store, couldn't recognize it; it was one that he would know, he being the deeper fan. And suddenly I freaked out, as if he were right there in the store, laughing in the aisle just adjacent, with her. With his happy new life.

I looked at my child and just said ok, let's get out of here. And she has seen this happen several times in the past few weeks, and she knew: it's the music. I paid for the one essential thing and we left.

I have been so angry since. Angry at his timing, at his actions, angry that even the email that seemed good now seems to have been just the stage setting for his horrendous reveal. Angry that he did this to me. Angry that he erased me in only months. Angry that he felt the need to tell me. Angry that he said it.

Angry that he won't stop this time. That he has moved someone in and that obliterates seven years of my loving him and makes it all a lie. That he made me nothing, in the end; that he made sure I knew.

I haven't done this to anyone since I did it to first love at 19. I haven't had it done to me since first love did it back to me then, either, until now. No one in almost 30 years has tried to hurt me this way. No one ever succeeded, if they even thought about it.

It isn't that I didn't love, before this. It's that I didn't Love, until him.

I am livid and exhausted, and no longer want to remember anything. I saw old texts from us today and I don't understand why any of this had to turn into last month and him living with someone else. Some of our disputes were completely elegant, and I love what I see in them, the sharpness of language, the play in it, like two tigers wrestling for fun.

I hate that this has all gone wrong. And God help me but I hated him SO. MUCH. TODAY.

Did he have a first date with her?

Did he feel awkward? Or sad?

Did he even think of me at all?

Did he care?

Or did he just decide, and chose one, and moved it right into his house, his home, our home, our bed.

[semantics]

I am so angry I feel physically sick to my stomach. I was ok somewhat this weekend and last week after the cervical procedure but it's got me today and I can't shake it.

I won't lie: I was triggered by the thread about first date with new person after breakup. And OP of that thread, it wasn't because of you. I just remembered my own first reaching out, after the first breakup years ago. He broke up with me to pursue a pretty younger colleague at his work, someone who lived locally and looked just like his ex wife. An accomplished younger woman whose face looked full of mischief and spite. Some young thing with massive breasts, the kind he liked, like his ex wife's, and still longed for. My beautiful but smaller frame, even with a breast job, still would never support the fat enormous mammaries he'd once held and been convinced by pornography were normal.

He broke up with me and I was clear I was dying from it. I rebounded instantly with a tall fit older guy I'd known for a few months. He seemed placid enough from my direct experience and he looked respectable on paper. BPD ex in my inbox and text messaging through all of it, angry at me and calling names. Betrayer, whore. Sexting. Me still in love with him and unsure what to do.  Two months later, in Carribean Mexico with the guy I didn't love one bit, I understood the rebound was rubbish, and when I got home and found the birthday email message from my love, I wept the entire sea. When love texted me again I begged him to just tell me to stop. To stop with the other guy. He told me to stop and two weeks afterward I broke up with the rebound. But BPD ex was involved with the colleague finally.

I told him to stop, equally fervent. I said so many vicious ugly things about that other woman's body and sex. It was hideous but it was all true: that wasn't love, and it wasn't me, and I knew. And he didn't stop: she did. Or that's what he said. My young daughter opined that he had lied about all of it in the first place. That he said it to hurt me because I had hurt him.

The rebound, who had known me less than four months, was vile. He called constantly and one night he threatened to rape me. I tore into him with all the fury and evil stillness of a woman who had already been raped, not just once, but three times in a single younger year, and all the power of a raped single woman who was mother to a young girl. I called the police and made reports. I had a phone trace put on my phone. He harassed me by email. This went on for four months, at the end of which I declared once and for all that if he ever contacted me or came anywhere close to any person or place in my life, I would take legal action and also immediately send my entire reporting of his harassment to his employers and every organization he so respectably belonged to.

And my BPD love and his son came out to us at Christmastime and I had never in my life felt so happy at Christmas, as I did with my intended husband and our two children. Never, ever, in all my life. People don't believe me when I say that but if you wore my brain for even one minute you would know it was full well 100% true. It took me over forty years to feel that beautifully on Christmas.

This time, this past year, the breakup was different. I broke up with him. I did it because he was shoving me away SO HARD and I couldn't do it again. So I folded and admitted total defeat, and left him to do whatever he would do in his new life.

I said I would never rebound again. I didn't completely; I took up with a person I newly worked with, who somehow looked and was just like him, but different: older, happier, more grounded, secure. That older man was my saving grace. He knew my heart was distant; he helped me process it all in my own strength, guarding me as if he would throw everything back in the BPD ex's face. He explained the insecurity of the younger man. He fortified my sense of my own beauty. He was good to me, without getting too deeply involved. He was such a blessing.

He wanted to take a photo of us in carnal embrace and send it to BPD ex and assure him I'm doing fine. This man was athletic, big and strong and fit, self assured. When he made plays at me, I'd come home to email from the BPD ex, telling me sarcastically that he hoped the new guy was nice and big and treating me well.

He was. And I don't know how the BPD ex ever was so timely, almost like he'd heard the conversation I'd just had elsewhere, in person with someone new, no phones or devices anywhere nearby.

Because of the support of the new older man, I was able to stay NC. But that ended in December, and by January, fresh with the hope of the new year, I created a dating profile. It was witty and taut and attracted abundant attention. But none of the quality language of me, of my BPD love. So I redirected to where he lived, where I was supposed to live, and his was among my first five matches there.

I didn't know he had a dating profile. I felt sick and sickly elated, reading it and seeing his beloved face again, the place where I'd loved so long. And felt angry at his banal writing, and what he seemed to be asking for: anyone at all, no special parameters. And the photograph of a landmark not 45 miles from my own home.

So he was looking too.

Only one local guy sent a quality message to me. The local guy was similar in stature and coloring and career, education, income, to my BPD love. His interests were the same that I'd known in my BPD love, and the places he'd been, the things he'd done, were similar to my own. He had quality language, which I can't live without. I was thrilled and I wrote this attractive local guy back nicely and as soon as I did, I swear I *felt* him respond with total outraged, pained shock: "Oh, you *f!cking*!BITCH!" As if I'd damaged him, or my BPD ex somehow. Which was weird, because, I was sure I hadn't, and because he never responded at all.

I stayed active on the dating site for only another few weeks, maybe not even one. I was sore about the failed local connection and wondered what the hell I'd done wrong. I don't date; I don't do dating sites. Maybe I was just as bad at that as I am at texting properly.

I also wondered if it was possibly just a fake account created by my ex. This hurt deeply and I had to look again at the guy's photographs to assure myself no one could fake those: the local guy pictured had been to all those local places, and the far ones too. And I know you can't really tell from looking at someone, but, he looked like a good person.

In the end I threw out the idea of dating, and came into the new year just as a BPD failure, a widow in my heart, and as my child's mother. Then the call from the clinic came, then the exam, then the biopsies. Then the letter that said I needed surgery right away to remove pre-cancerous cells.

Then two emails from my BPD ex, the first contact in months, finally saying he missed us. Then his text inquiry. Then a resurrected email I had sent months before: a bad one. And when I responded, on a Friday night, he was oblique and unforthcoming until Sunday when I pushed and asked a direct question, and he told me he is living with someone now.

It STILL has not been a full month since he said it. I hate even the thought of it and I hate that I can't undo anything. I've sent gorgeous emails, I've said good right things. But I can't call him, at all, because I don't want to hear her in his airspace or thinking; I don't want to hear the too often heard tones of rebuke in his voice.

I hate her. I have no idea who she even is or where she came from but I know enough to know she is younger and a professional photographer and in his line of work. I know she is "pretty" although I don't know her face or her last name. Just the sleek dark hair and half smile behind the big lens, in the photo connected to one of his social media channels -- one which I was horrified to discover still in one of my own, having overlooked it last month when I raged through everything electronic, cutting contact.

Most of the time lately I have managed to be ok, and not ever thinking of them. But this afternoon on only two hours of sleep last night, i was browsing in our grocery store and had to straighten as a song played out over the PA. It was an old rock song, like the classic rock of our childhoods, the music we listened to in his home. It sounded like one of our mutually favorite old bands, really classic. But I couldn't figure it, in the store, couldn't recognize it; it was one that he would know, he being the deeper fan. And suddenly I freaked out, as if he were right there in the store, laughing in the aisle just adjacent, with her. With his happy new life.

I looked at my child and just said ok, let's get out of here. And she has seen this happen several times in the past few weeks, and she knew: it's the music. I paid for the one essential thing and we left.

I have been so angry since. Angry at his timing, at his actions, angry that even the email that seemed good now seems to have been just the stage setting for his horrendous reveal. Angry that he did this to me. Angry that he erased me in only months. Angry that he felt the need to tell me. Angry that he said it.

Angry that he won't stop this time. That he has moved someone in and that obliterates seven years of my loving him and makes it all a lie. That he made me nothing, in the end; that he made sure I knew.

I haven't done this to anyone since I did it to first love at 19. I haven't had it done to me since first love did it back to me then, either, until now. No one in almost 30 years has tried to hurt me this way. No one ever succeeded, if they even thought about it.

It isn't that I didn't love, before this. It's that I didn't Love, until him.

I am livid and exhausted, and no longer want to remember anything. I saw old texts from us today and I don't understand why any of this had to turn into last month and him living with someone else. Some of our disputes were completely elegant, and I love what I see in them, the sharpness of language, the play in it, like two tigers wrestling for fun.

I hate that this has all gone wrong. And God help me but I hated him SO. MUCH. TODAY.

Did he have a first date with her?

Did he feel awkward? Or sad?

Did he even think of me at all?

Did he care?

Or did he just decide, and chose one, and moved it right into his house, his home, our home, our bed.

[Heldfast]

Firstly, the whole of it sucks, the person you had turning on you, the others not measuring up, the cancer... .I've had a year like you. Abandonment was Christmas 2014. Tried to date a little but had a few triggering moments or dates, and had a tumor found in December, now removed, and doctor's think good things. Go ahead and feel anger a little longer, it's a healing stage. Anger burned out my self pity. Anger gave me a strong enough push to move myself past her and dwelling on her. I have become more me through time, but it requires me burning her out of me. Now the advice, let the past be the past. Delete the old texts and emails, delete the pics on social media and block his accounts and phone number. Someone else said it on here, but some paths must be ripped up and destroyed so that you don't feel tempted to go down them again. Then focus on you. Not the new relationships, but your relationship with yourself. If you need something new, take it up. If you love an activity you do, explore it, get better at it. Say yes to new experiences, and don't worry about falling in love again. I find dating websites to be a broad but shallow pool, meeting real people while doing real things is so much better. I've only recently started dating again, someone with shared interests, taking it slowly. I feel ready for such because I spent a great deal of time working on me. Good luck, hope some of that is encouraging to you, and that the anger breaks soon. It's a necessary stage, but one I've found better in my past than my present.

[Herodias]

I agree with Heldfast... .this all sucks! I know how you feel... .maybe you should give men a rest... .I watched a great movie last night called "Elizabeth" about Queen Elizabeth... .with Cate Blanchett. She is told she needs to marry someone- they set her up with all kinds of crazies... .she ends up holding strong to her beliefs. I don't know, it resinated with me. We don't have to have someone like our pwBPD do! Remember it does not make you any less of a person to not have someone in your life.  It certainly doesn't "complete us" like my exes gf says! Sometimes it's good to get strong on your own and focus on friendships and family. I miss male companionship, but not enough to put up with all the crap that goes with it,  Try not to let your ex get to you and try to learn what you can about mental illness. It is what is helping me cope with mine getting a younger girl with big breasts   pregnant! I can relate! I am glad to not have him constantly playing with mine    Hope your day gets better... .xo