Calm Down? Fuck Around and Find Out.
Telling someone with BPD to “calm down” is like telling a raccoon in a dumpster fire to “just breathe.” Babe, I am the raccoon. I am the fire. And I just found a half-melted Snickers bar of emotional instability. This post is a glitter-coated Molotov cocktail aimed directly at the phrase “calm down”—because when you say it, my brain doesn’t de-escalate. It escalates. Dramatically. Featuring sarcasm, spirals, and the kind of emotional intensity that could power a small city.
Split Happens, but I happen louder.