I met the girl in question after the death of my first girlfriend, in what was my second round of psychiatry for depression, something I thought I was recovering well from thanks to my one and only wholesome relationship with a member of the opposite sex. Upon her death, I went into meltdown (her dying on Valentine's Day did not help either) despite her dying words.
Enter gf2, who is as emotionally frail as an umbrella is useless in a cyclone (i.e. very). I was in a shit state and we met at the psych... place that we got therapy at. Became friends (same appointment time so seeing each other week in week out while waiting and leaving lead to much happenings), then each other's confidantes for about six months before realising that we sort of clicked. However, I was still hung up over the death of my first girlfriend, and most of our early discussions (arguments is perhaps a misconstrued word in this context) were centred upon removing my feelings of responsibility of her death. So, she accompanied me to her grave every so often and managed to persuade me not to stop, but to visit and say something beyond 'I'm sorry'.
Things got better, but we were never happy. 'Content' was as good as it got, and this was how it was for five years. Then, when we were twenty-two, everything crashed around us. We were in going into the final year at uni, and since money wasn't really going to be a problem, I suggested we try having a child, since if we knew we loved each other and yet were not happy, perhaps a child would give us what was missing. She agreed, but eight months later, our daughter (who was to be named 'Irene') was stillborn. She had an almost complete breakdown and we stayed together to see her better, but there was little improvement as she got manic almost whenever I was in the same room. We broke up, both of us feeling at absolute rock bottom.
I got a rebound (which in retrospect is the worst thing I did to us), which lasted a couple months, and I broke it off when I realised how much of a jerk I was being. I found out how she was doing via her brother and things were steadily improving, for both of us, and we started talking to each other again, just not that often. Over the course of the last couple years, we've started becoming friends again, but it seems that this was a curse in disguise. She was never really over me (and vice versa) and in probably the mistake of the year, I let her live with me for a bit. A couple months in, and she's getting manic again. After an hour of calming her down one day, we agree to have her quit her job and go back to her parents' place. It was too soon for us to see each other (in any context).
Then, I realise that I'd never come to terms with the miscarriage three years ago, as a dream (see somewhere in the Advice Forum for that) fucked me up a couple weeks ago. Now, I need to see her again so that we can sit down and actually talk about it (was supposed to yesterday, but both parties cancelled during the week, so we're going to meet in early July). Because it only just hit me that even though we went absolutely crazy (in our different ways) when we lost our child, we never spoke about it.
For a first hurdle to recovery, that's a fucking high one...