A pretty acurate snippet.

This is from TherapyDoc in Chicago who's probably the most 'real' mental-health professional I have come across in some time. She seems cool, so read her blog at http://everyoneneedstherapy.blogspot.com

"But people who suffer from BPD have a helluva time trying to reign in their impulsivity, and the folks who try to love them, who want to help them, get worn out by the drama. The truth is, most people with this disorder are smart, and they can really be very funny.
Traditionally with people who have Borderline Personality Disorder, once they're flying, meaning angry, there's no stopping them. The anger is a manifestation of pain. If you can't see that, then there's no helping your spouse, your child, your friend, your mother, whoever it is who is unable to regulate emotion. When the plate needs shattering, it will shatter. When they need love, they'll find someone to sleep with. When a car needs to be keyed, it will be keyed.

When it's all over, it's 'What's for Dinner?' As if nothing happened." -THERAPYDOC

Anger is definitely the fallback outlet for me. Doors, walls, newspaper boxes, parking meters, the hood of my car, several phones hurled into walls or sidewalks, a package of Huggies diapers.... I used to think that as long as I was destroying something of my own what was the big problem? I'm venting, leave me be. But it is something larger. The anger, it consumes you. It's as if you momentarily drift off to some other place while your body is taken over by a caveman that knows only one thing, "Hulk SMASH!" And you feel so foolish afterwards, when people you know are staring in disbelief.

This is also usually how my frequent fist-fights have occurred. The anger comes out of nowhere. I think a normal person experiences anger in a slowly rising wave, with plenty of time to think and avoid the situation. But I have never been lucky enough to feel that way. With me it's simply an arbitrary level. One moment I am in the slightly annoyed range, and the next I am swinging fists, kicking things, trying to leave this pure, white-hot rage into whatever/whomever I am trying to break at the moment.

For this, I have my mother to thank. Nothing says 'love' like coffee cups and fists on a Saturday morning.