First things first: the vlog returns next week. Balthazar is back up and running, things are smooth there, and I have plenty of spoons to illustrate the Spoon Theory for folks who are unfamiliar. So, stay tuned for that.

At the expense of being blunt: I trigger people.

People’s feelings are not invalid. Nor are their triggers. Bad experiences take all forms, be they an early childhood trauma or an extended period of abuse or neglect. And if a triggering incident happens, regardless of its intent or motivation, you have every right to speak up about it. No one can or should blame you for it.

And if they do, they’re an asshole. Period.

Being told I triggered a friend is how I discovered my borderline personality disorder.

The two biggest red flags are pretty severe abandonment issues and, tied to that, flashes of irrational rage.

Now, thankfully, training and experience (especially over the last few months) have helped me see that rage as irrational, pull back from it to reclaim space for myself and my own health, and analyze its source from an objective standpoint. I have, for the most part, curbed my knee-jerk reactions of pushing people entirely out of my life when they trigger these things (because I have triggers too). I may back away, but cutting things off entirely has never been my style in the first place. The people I care about deserve to have their space, as well. And I hold some for them on my end. Because they deserve that, too.

There are other lovely elements of garnish BPD has sprinkled on my bipolar that I’m now aware of: extreme emotional connections & reactions, self-torture (previously self-hatred), and periods of intense mood on either end of a cycle. I’ve also gotten geared for self-harm or become suicidal when bad news or a low point of a cycle hits, and in hypomanic states I am reckless and impulsive.

You know how I’m doing better? My last hypomanic period was pretty fucking baller, and I made zero horrible decisions.

Now, like bipolar, BPD has no cure. And it’s also one of the most stigmatized disorders in the entire world. It leads directly to places of self-harm and suicide, and coupling it with bipolar aggravates both of those things. Left unaddressed and untreated, it is a death sentence.

It’s hard not to feel like a monster when you become aware of this aspect and realize people see you, perhaps solely, through that lens. That you cease to be a person worth caring about, and become simply a disease to be eradicated.

I try to forestall those feelings. To imagine others complexly. To realize that their perspective is neither willful nor their fault; that this part of me, nor any other part of me, makes me a monster, or unworthy of affection, or bereft of recourse in terms of recovery or mitigation.

Note the word “try” in that previous paragraph. I do not always succeed.

In the past, when I’ve fucked up, I’ve asked for, and in some cases anticipated, forgiveness from friends and loved ones. I ask that the courtesy of understanding be extended to me. It’s very helpful to me when it is, as I do my utmost to expound upon the motivations behind my behavior, the role played by my head weasels, and what my intentions might have been.

Not having the courtesy extended to me has, in the past, hurt me deeply.

And there are times when I have not extended that courtesy to others. Which is unfair and extremely selfish.

I’m meandering away from my point.

The point is that as much as I do my utmost to put myself in another person’s shoes, there are times when others cannot or refuse to do that for me. And that is okay. That is what they need to do. I do not blame them, nor do I hold onto the anger that wells up from the irrational and instinctive portions of my Shadow. Those emotions are there to protect me from hurting. That is their root. Hot feelings of anger cauterize wounds, stop the bleeding, shove away sources of pain.

Their result, however, is something that is neither constructive, nor helps me build or rebuild healthy relationships.

I’d rather live with the hurt.

This is something else I should file under “shit I should have known a year ago.”

But. Life goes on. The world won’t stop turning. Nothing gold can stay.

Best I can do is go on in attempting to do things with kindness, take care of myself, and internalize whatever it is I learn every day, by myself, for myself. That’s how I keep from swimming in my own bullshit. From returning to the status of being a garbage human. From utterly failing those I love, even if they’ve had to let me go.