More About Bob -- BPD Drama

For those of you that have not followed the blog or don't remember earlier posts, before I was in the relationship with the BPD, she dated someone else, let's call him "Bob," for three years. Her relationship with Bob was, let's say, quite eventful:

- she had an affair on her husband with Bob -- they were from the same neighborhood

- she told her husband about the affair with Bob

- her husband died in a drunk driving car accident while they were still married, but she was having an affair with Bob

- after her husband died, she and Bob continued their relationship

- she was scorned by her neighbors about her relationship with Bob. Her neighborhood knew both her and Bob. They also knew both of their spouses.

Looking back and thinking about the true drama that this woman was able to conjure in her life, it was amazing. I always felt bad for her, and this is one of the major contributors for me feeling bad for her. She had so much drama in her life, obviously her making, but so much drama. Then I come along and I try to diffuse the drama, day in and day out.

I thought about something a while ago. I think that, in the end, she rejected me, not because of her perceived attitude towards me being a bad person, but rather that she didn't like how I operated. I refused to live in the drama, and I fought it every step of the way. I know that in itself was drama, but I believe that in the end, she had to reject me because she needed the drama.

Maybe I'm wrong. When I moved out, she told me, in no uncertain terms, "I don't want you to leave." But maybe she didn't want me to leave for the wrong reasons -- because she was afraid of being alone. Not because she cared for me. It was clearly no-win -- stay with someone who thinks you're evil, or be alone. I'd rather be alone, thank you.

Back to Bob. She told me all these things that she did with Bob and to Bob -- from cheating on Bob (uh, wait, she was married then, so she cheated on her husband and her lover and felt bad about cheating on her lover -- how whacked is that?) to seeing him on the road and giving him the finger. She told me that someone was trying to pick her up at a bar and he freaked out -- that made her feel good.

Looking back, I feel bad for Bob -- because I lived the life that he lived. Always trying to get close to someone who constantly pushes you away, and the only place you can connect with them is in the bedroom.

Constant drama. Eventual self-alienation where she felt so uncomfortable that she moved out of town.

You reap what you sew.

In the end, she was calling me the names and telling me that I was the narcissist. Bob was just a sick pervert in her mind.

In Bob's mind, he was planning on moving into the house that she bought out-of-town. In her mind, he was never moving in, or that's what she told me. He thought that was their dream house.

Poor Bob.

The entire Bob incident culminated one evening in October (I think she said that it was October 18) in a firehouse. Read about the culmination in an upcoming post.