Sometimes I react like a raccoon in a thunderstorm. Sometimes I say things that make people blink slowly and reevaluate their life choices. And sometimes I’m just… loud. Not cruel. Not unstable. Just emotionally spicy in a room full of beige.

So when someone flinches at my existence, or I feel the vibe shift mid-conversation, I ask the only question that matters:  

Well… what did I do?

And not in the “I’m innocent” kind of way.  

In the “I might’ve emotionally flash-mobbed someone’s nervous system while trying to be helpful” kind of way.

Diagnosis ≠ Deflection

Yes, I have BPD. Yes, my brain sometimes throws glitter at a fire and calls it a coping skill. But that doesn’t mean I get to emotionally detonate and call it “growth.” It means I pause. I reflect. I ask:

•  Was that me protecting myself?

•  Or was that me projecting like a trauma powerpoint?

Because there’s a difference between being triggered and being reckless. And I don’t want to be someone who uses my diagnosis as a shield. I want to use it as a mirror. Even when the reflection is… spicy

Accountability, But Make It Sparkle

I’ve ghosted people because I couldn’t regulate.  

I’ve snapped because I felt unsafe.  

I’ve emotionally monologued when a simple “I’m sorry” would’ve sufficed.  

I’ve used vulnerability like a sword and called it healing.

And when I do that? I don’t get to vanish like a moody magician. I get to sit in the mess, name it, and—ugh—repair it.  

Because accountability isn’t shame. It’s spicy growth. And I’m allergic to shame, but I’m not immune to consequences.

 Sometimes I Did Nothing. Sometimes I Did Everything.

Sometimes I was just direct.  

Sometimes I was just honest.  

Sometimes I was just… regulated enough to say “no” without a smile.  

And someone else didn’t like that.

That’s not my diagnosis. That’s their discomfort.  

I’m not here to be digestible. I’m here to be real.

Final Thoughts

So yeah—maybe I was “too much.”  

Or maybe I was just enough in a room that preferred silence.  

Either way, I’ll keep asking:  

Well… what did I do?  

And if the answer is “existed too loudly,” I’ll take that as a compliment.

But if the answer is “caused harm,” I’ll own it. I’ll fix it. I’ll grow.  

Because Split Happens—but I happen louder. And I happen with glitter, chaos, and a deeply inconvenient amount of self-awareness.