Abandonment Issues & Other Party Tricks

Welcome to today’s episode, where we’re digging into Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD for short) and no, it’s not just about being “emotional” or “dramatic” (but thanks, media, for that stereotype). First, we’ll break down the DSM criteria, which is just the official diagnostic checklist. Spoiler: it’s more than just being “difficult” to deal with. There’s actual science behind it, and I'm here to translate it into something that doesn’t sound like a dictionary. Then we're going to talk about the media portrayal of BPD. If you’ve seen any film or TV show, you’ve probably been hit with the “crazy ex” or the “unstable mess” character. But guess what? That’s not how it actually works. BPD is way more nuanced and way less “dramatic movie plot” than Hollywood would like you to think. And of course, we have to set the record straight on what BPD is not. It’s not just being “moody” or “hard to please.” It’s not about “being a hot mess” on purpose. There’s a lot more to it, and we’re here to break it down without all the BS. So buckle up, because we’re about to talk all things BPD- the real deal, no Hollywood fluff. Let's get into it.

Alright, now that we’ve set the scene, let's start pulling the curtain back.

Borderline Personality Disorder—aka BPD—is one of the most stigmatized, misunderstood, and frankly, misrepresented diagnoses out there. It’s been called everything from “the emotional rollercoaster disorder” to “too much” to “manipulative,” which… yikes. Not only are those descriptions wildly unhelpful, but they also erase the very real pain—and humanity—of people living with BPD.

So today, we’re pulling back the curtain. We’re going beyond the DSM bullet points and the TikTok armchair diagnoses. We're talking about what BPD really looks like, why it's so often missed or mislabeled, and how healing is 100% possible—even if your emotional landscape sometimes feels like a category 5 hurricane with abandonment issues.

Let’s get into the nuance. The science. The symptoms. The resilience. The rage-texting. All of it.

Because understanding BPD isn’t just about knowing what it is—it’s about breaking the stigma that keeps people from getting the support they deserve.

So, what actually counts as BPD and what’s just being a little bit emotionally spicy with a dash of trauma? Great question. Let’s crack open the DSM like it’s a slightly outdated cookbook for chaos and see what it actually says. Because behind all the stereotypes and Tumblr-core trauma posts, there are real diagnostic criteria—and no, it’s not just “has big feelings” or “texts in paragraphs.” To meet the clinical threshold for Borderline Personality Disorder, you’ve gotta tick off five or more boxes from a list that reads like the greatest hits album of emotional intensity. Let’s dive into the DSM-5 checklist and see what it’s really serving.

Alright, grab your emotional flotation device—because we’re diving deep into the official DSM-5 criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder. And let me tell you, this list? It’s not for the faint of heart—or the emotionally repressed. BPD isn’t just a vibe or a buzzword—it’s a complex, deeply painful experience that’s often minimized, misdiagnosed, or turned into a walking red flag meme. But real talk? These criteria describe what it’s like to live in a world where everything feels too much, too fast, and always a little bit on fire. So let’s break it down, one messy, misunderstood symptom at a time:

1. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment

This isn’t just “ugh, I hate being ghosted.” This is “my brain interprets a late reply as a breakup and suddenly I’m spiraling.” People with BPD often live in constant fear that everyone will leave—emotionally, physically, or both. So they might cling, panic, text novel-length apologies, or even preemptively push people away just to beat them to the punch. It’s not manipulation—it’s survival mode. It's “please don’t leave me” wrapped in “I’ll leave you first just in case.”

2. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships

Ah yes, the human version of “this is my soulmate” vs. “I never want to see them again”—on loop. Relationships with BPD can feel like an emotional Tilt-A-Whirl. One minute you’re obsessed, the next you’re convinced they secretly hate you. This is called splitting—that black-and-white, all-or-nothing thinking that makes nuance feel like a foreign language. It's exhausting for everyone involved, especially the person experiencing it. Intimacy? Terrifying. Distance? Also terrifying. We love a lose-lose situation.

3. Identity disturbance: Markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self

“Who even am I?” is not just a late-night existential crisis—it’s a daily reality. The person may change goals, values, or even aesthetic like they're switching Instagram filters, because their sense of self is like a poorly maintained WiFi signal—flickering in and out depending on who they’re with or what just happened emotionally. One day they feel like a badass future CEO, the next they’re convinced they’re fundamentally broken and directionless. It’s not flakiness—it’s a core identity trying to survive the chaos.

4. Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging

Think of it as emotional emergency exits—except the fire alarm is your feelings, and the exits are things like reckless spending, unsafe sex, binge eating, substance use, or speeding toward chaos at 90 mph. It’s not about thrill-seeking—it’s about relief-seeking. The impulsive behavior isn’t random; it’s a desperate attempt to feel something different or stop feeling everything all at once. Sometimes the brain says, “YOLO” when it really means “please make this stop.”

5. Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior

This one is heavy—and very real. People with BPD often experience chronic suicidal thoughts or engage in self-harm not to manipulate others (let’s throw that toxic myth in the trash), but to regulate unbearable emotional pain. It’s like their emotional volume is always at a 10, and this becomes a last-ditch coping strategy. These actions are red flags, yes—but they’re also cries for connection, for stability, for anything that feels like solid ground in a collapsing emotional world.

6. Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood

Translation: mood swings that make roller coasters look chill. One minor thing can flip the switch from “today’s going great” to “the world is ending” in 0.5 seconds. These aren't mood changes stretched out over days—they're emotional whiplash, often triggered by seemingly small things. A weird look. A change in tone. A shift in plans. This isn’t drama—it’s a nervous system on high alert, reacting like the stakes are always life or death.

7. Chronic feelings of emptiness

Not just boredom. We’re talking soul-deep void vibes. People with BPD often describe it as feeling hollow, disconnected, like they’re missing some essential piece of humanity. No matter how much they try to fill it—with people, substances, distractions—it lingers. It’s like being emotionally hungry no matter how much you eat. And the worst part? A lot of the world doesn’t even know this symptom exists, even though it’s often the most unbearable one.

8. Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger

This isn’t “I got annoyed.” This is “I flipped out and then hated myself for it five minutes later.” The anger with BPD often comes out of nowhere, explodes everywhere, and leaves the person wrecked with guilt afterward. It’s a defensive reaction to perceived threats, disrespect, or rejection—but the response can feel volcanic. Think full-volume outbursts, passive-aggressive digs, or seething rage that makes everyone else uncomfortable. And beneath that? Usually a whole lot of hurt.

9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

Under stress, reality can start to feel... wobbly. Some folks with BPD might become suspicious that people are talking about them, lying to them, or plotting to leave. Others might dissociate—mentally check out, feel detached from their body, or experience the world like it’s a dream sequence they didn’t sign up for. These episodes aren’t constant, but when they hit? They can feel deeply destabilizing. Like trying to stay grounded during an emotional earthquake with no warning siren.

Now before anyone gets carried away diagnosing themselves because they had one dramatic situationship and a personality crisis in 2019—hold your horses. The DSM isn’t describing a bad month or a rough breakup era. For it to count as BPD, this pattern has to be chronic, not seasonal. We're talking about behaviors and emotional turbulence that have been riding shotgun since adolescence or early adulthood, not just popping in when Mercury’s in retrograde. It’s not “sometimes I’m impulsive,” it’s “this has been my emotional baseline for years and it’s kind of wrecking my life.” The instability isn’t a quirky phase—it’s a long-term struggle that tends to show up in multiple arenas: romantic relationships that combust like cursed fireworks, jobs that implode faster than your motivation on a Monday, and a general sense that everything’s just a little harder than it should be. The point is: we’re not talking about a moment. We’re talking about a pattern—and one that’s made life feel like a high-stakes soap opera with no commercial breaks.

And here’s where we channel our inner Dr. House and say: it might be BPD, but it could also be something else—so let’s not skip the diagnostic foreplay. Criterion C is all about ruling out other suspects. Just because someone’s emotionally all over the place doesn’t mean it’s automatically BPD. Sometimes what looks like BPD is actually untreated bipolar disorder, complex PTSD, schizophrenia, a substance use issue, or even just someone going through a legitimately hellish life chapter. This criterion is basically the DSM saying, “Don’t just slap a label on someone because they cried in public and sent a risky text.” You have to make sure the symptoms aren’t better explained by something else that can mimic the same chaos. Because while BPD does have its own specific flavor of emotional mayhem, it’s not the only disorder that can throw your life into a dramatic tailspin. Proper diagnosis? Crucial. Otherwise, you’re giving someone the wrong emotional instruction manual and wondering why nothing makes sense.

So, you’ve got the diagnosis. Or maybe a strong suspicion. Either way, you’re wondering: “Okay, now what? Is this just my life forever?” Short answer? Absolutely not. BPD might make you feel like you’re stuck in a 24/7 emotional tornado, but with the right support, you can build a life that feels way less like a crisis hotline on speed dial and more like… well, something you actually want to wake up for. Treatment exists, it works, and—spoiler alert—it’s not just about lying on a couch while someone nods sympathetically and hands you tissues.

Let’s start with the heavy hitter: therapy. Specifically, Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT)—aka the Beyoncé of BPD treatment. DBT is the gold standard because it was designed for BPD, by someone who understood the chaos from the inside. It’s like emotional CrossFit: you learn how to sit with feelings without letting them hijack your life, how to deal with distress without setting everything on fire, how to ask for what you need without passive-aggressively imploding, and how to be present without spiraling. And yeah, there’s a lot of acronyms and worksheets involved, but stick with it. It’s legit life-changing.

Other therapy options include Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), which is great for unpacking the toxic thought spirals that tell you everyone hates you and you’re unlovable. (Spoiler: They don’t. You’re not. Your brain is just being rude.) There’s also Mentalization-Based Therapy (MBT), which basically teaches you to understand your own mind and other people’s without jumping to catastrophic conclusions, and Transference-Focused Psychotherapy (TFP), which dives deep into the relationship dynamics you bring into therapy (and probably every other area of your life, tbh).

Now, about meds: There’s no magical BPD pill—sorry to disappoint—but medications can help take the edge off certain symptoms. If your anxiety is turning your brain into a hamster wheel of doom, or your depression feels like being emotionally ghosted by your own soul, meds like antidepressants, mood stabilizers, or low-dose antipsychotics might be on the table. They're not a cure, but they can make therapy way more effective by quieting the emotional background noise.

And finally, let’s talk support—because healing in isolation is a setup for failure. Support groups, family therapy, and community matter. Whether it’s a group of people who “get it” without needing a PowerPoint, or loved ones who are learning how to stop walking on eggshells and start actually connecting—this part is crucial. BPD often thrives in shame and secrecy, but support helps drag it into the light where you can actually work on it.

Because you’re not doomed. You’re not broken. You’re not “too much.” You’re someone with a deeply sensitive nervous system trying to survive a world that wasn’t built for that. And with the right tools, support, and a lot of patience (especially with yourself), you can build something solid. Something peaceful. Something that finally feels like a life.

Ready to throw that emotional grenade belt in the garbage? Let’s go.

Now that we’ve walked through the actual diagnostic criteria—and not just the internet’s hot takes or your ex’s dramatic post-breakup tweets—let’s talk about how Borderline Personality Disorder gets dragged through the pop culture mud. Because if you’ve ever watched a movie, binge-watched a messy series, or scrolled through social media for five minutes, you’ve probably seen BPD portrayed in one of two ways: either as a violent, manipulative villain with zero chill, or as the overly clingy, unstable ex who throws plates and cries during sex. Spoiler alert: neither of those is accurate. But they’ve stuck around like bad plotlines in a long-running soap opera.

So let’s break it down—what the media gets wrong, why it matters, and how these portrayals feed the stigma that keeps people with BPD from getting real help. Because let’s be clear: what you see on screen isn’t always a reflection of reality. Sometimes it’s just a screenwriter’s lazy shorthand for “unhinged woman with backstory trauma.” And we’re not having that. Not today.

When BPD pops up in film and TV, it’s not so much portrayed as it is paraded around like a cautionary tale in heels. The character’s name might not be “Borderline Personality Disorder,” but you can hear the diagnosis whispering through the eyeliner and impulsive plot twists. We’re talking about the trifecta of tired tropes: the manipulative femme fatale, the emotionally unstable girlfriend who cries, screams, and probably burns your stuff, and the unhinged villain who’s one bad day away from a Dateline special. They’re intense, seductive, and about as subtle as a chainsaw in a therapy session.

And sure, these characters are entertaining—Harley Quinn, Alex Forrest, Lisa Rowe? Iconic in their own chaotic way. But they also send a message that people with BPD are dangerous, volatile, and beyond help. Their storylines rarely include anything resembling nuance or recovery. Instead of showing the internal war—the fear of abandonment that feels like oxygen is being cut off, or the identity crisis that makes waking up a mystery—they focus on the explosion, not the cause. The emotional dysregulation is treated like a plot device, not a symptom of deep psychological pain. It’s like watching a house burn down while blaming the wallpaper.

And what’s worse? These portrayals often center women—young, emotional, sexual women—reinforcing sexist and ableist stereotypes that reduce mental illness to "hysteria with cleavage." They get painted as seductive sociopaths or emotionally rabid wolves in lipstick, when in reality, most folks with BPD are trying to manage relationships, hold down jobs, and keep their brains from dragging them through another emotional gladiator match by 9 a.m.

This isn’t just inaccurate—it’s harmful. It turns real mental illness into clickbait. It makes people with BPD feel ashamed to seek help. And it teaches the public that someone with this diagnosis is a walking red flag instead of a human being with intense feelings and a hell of a lot of resilience.

So yeah—give us messy, but make it real. Give us a character who panics over a text, splits on their best friend, learns boundaries in therapy, and still shows up for life anyway. Give us recovery arcs, not just breakdown montages set to dramatic violin. We’ve had enough of the “crazy girl” trope. It’s time for the complicated, healing, still-human one.

And then there's the glittery, glitchy world of social media mental health™, where awareness and misinformation do the electric slide together under mood lighting. On platforms like TikTok and Instagram, BPD has become part of a digital identity buffet—equal parts solidarity and spectacle. There is incredible content out there: creators who speak openly about trauma, share their recovery stories, break down DBT skills like emotional influencers, and create space where people with BPD can finally exhale without judgment. That’s the good stuff. That’s visibility with a pulse.

But then there’s the dumpster fire side of the algorithm. You know the one: cinematic trauma-core photo dumps with captions like “I love you more than I hate myself” in lowercase letters, set to sad girl indie tracks. A rain-streaked mirror selfie does not a diagnosis make, but somewhere along the way, BPD got aestheticized into a moody lifestyle brand. It's not “I’m struggling with emotional dysregulation,” it’s “I am the main character and I might cry on your voicemail.” BPD gets stripped down into vibes, vibes get turned into trends, and suddenly mental illness is being curated like an Instagram grid.

Worse still? The rise of casual self-diagnosis culture, where every bad day or intense emotion is suddenly labeled “my BPD acting up,” often by people who’ve never been evaluated, let alone sat through an actual therapy session. And look, yes—mental health gatekeeping is gross, and access to care is broken. But casually mislabeling normal human suffering or unrelated disorders as BPD not only invalidates the lived experiences of people who actually have the diagnosis—it reinforces the worst stereotypes: that people with BPD are just manipulative, toxic, or unstable drama bombs in winged eyeliner.

When BPD becomes an aesthetic instead of a condition, the nuance disappears. The pain gets romanticized. And the people living in the thick of it? They’re left cleaning up the mess while the internet reposts another quote about being “too much for the wrong person.”

So yes, social media can be a tool for connection—but it can also be a funhouse mirror, reflecting someone else’s trauma back at you in neon text and sad playlists. Use it wisely. And if you’re going to post about BPD, maybe make sure you know the difference between being emotionally dysregulated and being on your period while watching a Nicholas Sparks movie. Just saying.

This isn’t just about bad representation—it’s about real people being set up to fail. The damage from these portrayals doesn’t end when the credits roll or the meme gets reposted. For people actually living with Borderline Personality Disorder, the stigma isn’t theoretical—it’s the air they breathe. It’s internalized, reinforced, and weaponized. Imagine navigating life with a brain that already screams “you’re too much, no one will ever stay, everything you do is wrong”—and then turning on the TV only to see yourself portrayed as a knife-wielding nightmare in fishnets. Awesome. Thanks for that.

This kind of public perception has a ripple effect. It seeps into therapy offices, into diagnosis hesitations, into whispered warnings from misinformed clinicians who’ve bought into the same stereotypes. Some providers won’t even treat BPD because they think it’s “too hard” or “untreatable.” (Spoiler: that’s a provider problem, not a patient one.) And for the person on the receiving end of all this? It becomes terrifying to even seek help. No one wants to be that person—the one therapists dread, the one portrayed as emotionally radioactive.

Meanwhile, the truth is sitting quietly in the corner like, “Hi, BPD is absolutely treatable.” With the right therapy (lookin’ at you, DBT), people with BPD can regulate their emotions, build healthy relationships, stop ghosting their therapist every three weeks, and develop a level of emotional insight that most people never even attempt. They’re some of the most self-aware, fiercely empathetic, and growth-oriented humans out there—but you’d never know it from the way the world keeps painting them as ticking time bombs in lip gloss.

So yeah, it matters. Because when media gets it wrong, it doesn’t just misinform—it alienates. It adds fuel to the fire of shame and fear that people with BPD are already trying to crawl out of. And it robs them of the one thing that actually makes recovery possible: hope.

It’s time to stop writing people off as the villain in someone else’s trauma narrative and start telling stories where they get to be the main character of their own damn healing.

What we actually need isn’t another knife-wielding villainess sobbing in her lingerie under mood lighting—we need real representation. Characters who live with BPD instead of being reduced to it. People with messy feelings, yes, but also depth, self-awareness, and maybe even a therapist who isn’t written as a lazy plot device. Imagine seeing someone on screen navigating their relationships, dropping the occasional impulsive bomb, going to therapy, screwing up, apologizing, trying again—and not being punished for being emotionally complex. Wild concept, right?

We need narratives that aren’t afraid to show the full arc: the healing, the relapse, the group therapy breakdowns, the quiet victories no one claps for. Because that’s the actual story of BPD. It’s not just crying on bathroom floors and throwing phones into traffic—it’s learning how to regulate a nervous system that thinks every text is a threat to your existence. It’s unlearning survival strategies you picked up as a kid just trying to feel safe. And it’s doing that work over and over again without the world giving you a damn trophy for it.

We need to hear from the people who’ve lived it—not influencers turning BPD into an aesthetic, not screenwriters recycling the same tired "crazy ex" trope with a fresh coat of eyeliner. We want lived experience, not diagnostic cosplay. Give us nuance. Give us complexity. Give us someone who feels like an actual human and not a walking red flag with a soundtrack.

Because the truth is, people with BPD aren’t cautionary tales—they’re survivors. They’re people who’ve felt everything too much for too long and are still showing up, still trying, still building lives that don’t collapse every time someone takes too long to reply. That story? That’s not destruction. That’s resilience. That’s healing. And it deserves a hell of a lot more screen time.

If the media ever decided to stop fear-mongering and start storytelling, we might finally see a BPD character who doesn’t come with a warning label and a restraining order. Because real representation wouldn’t look like a Lifetime villain in smudged mascara—it would look like a complex, emotional human being trying to make it through their day without imploding over a vague text message or misinterpreted eyebrow raise. Imagine a show where emotional intensity isn’t equated with danger, but explored with nuance. Where someone with BPD can cry in their car over a weird interaction and not immediately become the antagonist in someone else's life. Big feelings aren’t inherently threatening—they’re just big feelings. And last time I checked, that’s not a crime.

Now picture this: a character who desperately wants to be loved but is also convinced everyone’s going to leave. So they swing between clingy and distant, ghosting and double-texting, and yes—it gets messy. But instead of writing it off as “irrational,” we see the why behind the behavior. The vulnerability. The childhood wounds. The nervous system trained for betrayal. Show us the push-pull dynamic with context, not just chaos. Emotional whiplash is way more compelling when you understand the origin story.

And for the love of serotonin, can we get a plotline where therapy isn’t a one-episode gimmick? Give us someone in DBT, awkwardly trying to name their emotions without sounding like a walking Pinterest quote. Show them screwing up, rage-texting, owning it, repairing, trying again. Let recovery be part of the arc—not just something mentioned in passing during a character redemption montage. Healing isn’t cute and clean. It’s clunky, inconsistent, and sometimes includes crying in a Trader Joe’s parking lot while repeating “wise mind” to yourself between bites of a protein bar.

Also—and this is important—can we stop reducing people with BPD to just their symptoms? They’re not walking diagnoses. They’re teachers, artists, bartenders, chaotic best friends who make the world more vibrant (and occasionally more dramatic, yes). They’re funny. They’re insightful. They notice things about people that most miss entirely. A real portrayal would show that intensity doesn’t cancel out humanity. It deepens it.

So yeah, if the media got it right, we’d see less fire-starting and more feeling-processing. Less “crazy ex-girlfriend” and more “complicated human who’s doing their best not to spiral on a Tuesday.” Give us the breakdown and the breakthrough. The anger and the softness. The fear and the fight to move forward.

That’s not a warning sign—that’s a story worth telling.

Alright, let’s talk about the algorithm-fueled jungle where misinformation thrives: social media, aka the Wild West of armchair diagnostics and trauma-core content. If you’ve spent more than five minutes scrolling TikTok or Instagram, you’ve probably seen BPD reduced to a handful of dramatic buzzwords, a moody playlist, and a sad selfie captioned “I’m too much and I know it 💔.” Cute aesthetic, terrible clinical accuracy. So before we accidentally convince the entire internet that sending three texts in a row means you have a personality disorder, let’s pump the brakes and get into some good old-fashioned mythbusting. Because the amount of nonsense floating around these platforms is enough to make your therapist spontaneously combust. Let’s blow up the biggest lies and half-truths making the rounds—and replace them with something way more useful (and way less cringe).

Myth #1: “People with BPD are manipulative.”

Let’s go ahead and toss this one straight into the dumpster where it belongs. The idea that folks with BPD are out here plotting emotional sabotage like some Disney villain in therapy is not only lazy—it’s flat-out wrong. What often gets labeled as “manipulation” is really just raw, panicked attempts to survive emotional freefall. It’s not calculated—it’s desperate. When someone with BPD fears abandonment, their brain doesn’t calmly strategize. It screams “Do something—anything—before they leave and I disappear into a pit of shame and existential dread.” So yeah, maybe they send the intense text. Maybe they over-apologize. Maybe they test someone’s loyalty in a way that’s messy as hell. But that’s not because they’re trying to control—it’s because they’re terrified. Of being left. Of not mattering. Of confirming the belief that they’re inherently unlovable. It’s not manipulation. It’s emotional CPR with no training and a lot of panic. And most people with BPD? They’d do literally anything to feel safe in relationships without having to spiral into survival mode every time someone takes too long to reply. So let’s stop pathologizing fear and start recognizing what’s actually going on underneath.

Myth #2: “BPD only affects women.”

Ah yes, the classic “hysterical woman” diagnosis myth, back again like a bad ex who refuses to go to therapy. This one is rooted in decades of dusty gender bias and lazy diagnostic habits. The reality? BPD affects people of all genders. Men, women, nonbinary folks—no one’s immune to emotional dysregulation just because of what’s in their pants. The reason women are more frequently diagnosed isn’t because they magically cornered the market on big feelings—it’s because the mental health system has a long, proud history of slapping women with “borderline” when they’re emotional, and slapping men with “antisocial” or “substance use” when they’re the same level of emotionally wrecked but with a side of repressed rage and whiskey. Basically, if you cry, you’re “borderline.” If you punch a wall, you’re “just stressed.” Make it make sense. Gender bias in mental health? Shocking, I know. Maybe instead of diagnosing based on outdated stereotypes, we could look at actual symptoms and treat humans like—stay with me—humans.

Myth #3: “Everyone with BPD is abusive.”

Let’s shut this one down immediately, because yikes. This myth is not just inaccurate—it’s dangerous, stigmatizing, and drenched in bad-faith hot takes from people who watched one TikTok and decided they were qualified to diagnose red flags. Yes, emotional dysregulation can create turbulence in relationships—but that’s not the same thing as abuse. Let’s be real: people with BPD are not inherently abusive any more than people with anxiety are inherently annoying or people with depression are inherently lazy. The reality is, many folks with BPD are painfully aware of how their behaviors affect others. They’ll replay conversations on a loop, spiral into guilt for a tone of voice, and beat themselves up for days over something most people wouldn’t blink at. They often carry an Olympic-level amount of shame—not entitlement. Abusive behavior is a choice. BPD is a mental health condition. And conflating the two is like saying “having asthma means you’re bad at relationships.” No. It means you’re navigating a disorder that impacts your emotional regulation—not auditioning to be the villain in someone else’s breakup story. Let’s call this myth what it really is: stigmatizing nonsense dressed up in fake concern.

Myth #4: “BPD can’t be treated.”

FALSE. Wrong. Try again. This myth is basically the mental health equivalent of yelling “There’s no hope!” during a fire drill—unhelpful, dramatic, and objectively incorrect. BPD is one of the most treatable personality disorders out there, especially with the right therapy—and by “right therapy,” we mean Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), aka the emotional bootcamp that teaches people how to stop going from 0 to existential crisis in 2.5 seconds. DBT isn’t some fluffy, talk-about-your-feelings-and-light-a-candle nonsense. It’s skills-based. It’s structured. It’s hard work. And guess what? It works. People with BPD can and do recover. They build healthy relationships, learn to ride the emotional rollercoaster without launching into space, and create lives that are stable, meaningful, and not powered by chaos. Is it easy? No. But is it possible? Absolutely. And perpetuating the idea that it’s hopeless is not only insulting—it’s wildly irresponsible. So unless you’ve got updated facts and a therapy license, maybe don’t tell people their recovery isn’t real just because it doesn’t fit your doomscroll narrative.

Myth #5: “Having mood swings means you have BPD.”

Okay, let’s pump the brakes on this one, because if mood swings alone meant you had BPD, then literally everyone with a uterus, a coffee addiction, or an iPhone with read receipts would be diagnosed. Mood swings are part of the human experience—like craving chaos during Mercury retrograde or crying because your toast fell butter-side down. BPD is not just “I had a dramatic Tuesday.” It’s a pattern of intense emotional dysregulation, unstable relationships, identity whiplash, and impulsive behaviors that show up consistently over time and cause significant distress or dysfunction. We’re talking about a full-blown identity and emotional rollercoaster that doesn’t just happen during PMS or after watching a sad movie—it happens all the time, across multiple areas of life. So no, having a meltdown over brunch plans or overanalyzing a vague text doesn’t mean you have BPD—it means you’re human in late-stage capitalism. Let’s stop reducing real mental health diagnoses to TikTok-level hot takes and start treating them with the nuance and respect they deserve.

The thing is, Borderline Personality Disorder is basically the human nervous system on hard mode. It’s a long-standing pattern of emotional instability, identity confusion, and relationship whiplash—kind of like living inside a soap opera written by your inner child and directed by your abandonment issues.

People with BPD often feel like they’re on an emotional roller coaster that won’t stop, didn’t ask for consent, and keeps switching tracks mid-ride. One moment: deep affection. Next moment: crushing fear that everyone you love is about to disappear forever—because maybe they didn’t text back in the exact right tone or moved slightly different when they hugged you goodbye. The fear of abandonment? It's not dramatic flair—it's a core feature. Real or imagined, emotional or physical, it hits hard. And the brain doesn’t go, “Hmm, let’s think this through.” It goes, “Code red. Panic. Attach or retreat—NOW.”

The relationships? Whew. Picture this: putting someone on a pedestal in the morning, and by nightfall, you’re questioning their entire existence because they forgot your favorite snack. That’s called splitting, and it’s the emotional equivalent of whiplash. It’s not manipulation. It’s a trauma response with a marketing problem.

Then there's the self-image, or more accurately: the lack of a consistent one. People with BPD often don’t have a stable sense of who they are. Their goals, values, aesthetics, and even favorite foods can do a complete 180 depending on the day, the relationship, or the existential dread level. One week they’re on track to be a therapist. The next? A tattoo artist. Or maybe just living in a van by the ocean because capitalism is a scam and identity is a prison.

And let’s not forget impulsivity. When your emotions are always at a 10, sometimes your brain just wants a quick exit ramp. So you might make some... questionable choices—spending sprees, reckless sex, dangerous driving, binge eating, quitting your job on a Tuesday because your coworker looked at you funny. It’s not about being reckless for fun—it’s about trying to feel different or just feel something when the emotional volume gets unbearable.

Now here’s the thing—none of this means someone with BPD is “too much” or beyond help. Quite the opposite. These behaviors aren’t character flaws—they’re survival strategies that made sense at some point in a chaotic, invalidating, or emotionally neglectful environment. The brain learned to protect itself in extreme ways. That doesn’t make it broken—it makes it brilliant and exhausted.

Which brings us to treatment. And no, it’s not just journaling and hoping for the best.

The gold standard here is Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT)—aka the emotional bootcamp you didn’t know you needed. DBT helps folks with BPD learn how to:

• Regulate emotions without exploding, imploding, or ghosting everyone they’ve ever loved

• Tolerate distress like a champ instead of rage-quitting life

• Communicate needs effectively instead of panic-texting or bottling it up until it explodes in the middle of brunch

• Be mindful of their thoughts, feelings, and actions without getting swept away by the tidal wave

Other therapies like CBT, MBT, and TFP can help too, but DBT is the GOAT. Pair that with community, support, and sometimes medication (for the depression, anxiety, or rage that tags along like emotional baggage with legs), and guess what? People heal. They build stable lives. They stop white-knuckling every relationship and start learning how to stay, how to trust, and how to live with a nervous system that doesn’t treat every text message like a threat to national security.

So yeah—BPD is intense. But so are the people who live with it. Intense love. Intense loyalty. Intense empathy. And with the right tools? They’re not a walking red flag. They’re a walking recovery story in progress.

And that, my emotionally intelligent legends, brings us to the end of today’s deep dive into Borderline Personality Disorder—a.k.a. the diagnosis the media loves to butcher and the internet loves to misunderstand. If you’re walking away from this episode thinking, “Wow, that’s way more complex than I thought,” good. It is. BPD isn’t a personality flaw or a plot twist—it’s a real mental health condition. One that’s rooted in deep pain, shaped by survival, and absolutely treatable with the right support.

If you’ve seen yourself in anything we talked about today—first of all, take a breath. You are not “too much.” You are not broken. You’re just someone with big emotions trying to exist in a world that often rewards numbness. Whether you’re in therapy, thinking about starting, or just now realizing that DBT doesn’t stand for “Don’t Be Too much” (though, wow, relatable)—you’re allowed to grow. At your own pace. With compassion, and maybe a few rage-texts along the way.

Let’s be real: healing isn’t linear. It’s messy, it’s exhausting, and sometimes it feels like your feelings are feelings about your feelings. But it’s possible. You can build relationships that don’t self-destruct. You can develop a sense of self that doesn’t change based on who you’re with. And yes—you can have a stable life without sacrificing your intensity or your spark.

So thank you for pushing play on Shrink Wrapped. If this episode made you feel seen, understood, or just slightly less like an emotional dumpster fire with a WiFi connection, do me a favor: share it with someone who needs it, rate and review the show, and subscribe so you don’t miss next week’s truth bomb. And if you want to keep the conversation going, download the O’Neil Counseling app—link’s in the show notes—where you can connect with other listeners, share your story, or just lurk until you’re ready.

You’re not alone in this. You’re not beyond help. You’re just human—and that’s more than enough.

See you next week when we're diving into just how damaging the sentiment "you just have to want it enough" is.