Three nights ago, as I’m spooning in bed with my ex-boyfriend/current fling (the lines are a little blurred), he, out of the blue, drops a line that no ex-girlfriend ever wants to hear spoken about herself: he called me crazy.
I was speechless. Everything had being going rather well all night: I looked super-hot, we were flirting like mad and we had just engaged in a no-fuss, delicious two-hour romp on his blow-up mattress, resulting in the big “O” for both parties.
And then he had to go and ruin our post-coital snuggle session with the dreaded “C” word.
Now, let me set the record straight. This is definitely not the first time a male in my life has called me crazy. Everyone from my dad and brother to my high school gym teacher has felt the need to express their opinion about my level of sanity.
I can’t deny that maybe, they were right to drop the C-bomb. Let’s just say that high school was rough for me. I was involved in a serious relationship, which led me to act like a serious fool. I yelled really loud, pushed really hard and generally caused extreme amounts of unnecessary stress for everyone involved in my life. But hey, I was sixteen, riding high off the fumes of sweet adolescent hormones, and I didn’t think – I just DID.
Of course, douchebag ex-boyfriend heard all the juicy details of my teenage drama during our first year of dating. I mean, if I had to endure all the pain and horror – it was only fair that I pass it onto him, right? (Note: I realize now this was a huge mistake and that some skeletons really are better kept in the closet – forever.) So, after I got upset about a girl attempting to kiss him in front of me after a little too much jungle juice, he decided it was time to break out the one insult he knew would cut straight to the heart.
Okay, back up and let’s examine this. I don’t have a Psych minor for nothing.
Recently, a fellow CC blogger discussed the legit-ness of the idea that “once a cheater, always a cheater”. I’m here to tell you that cheating is not the only habit that can be broken, so is psychotic-obsessive-crazy girlfriend syndrome.
I was psycho/obsessive/crazy because I was one thing and one thing only (and it wasn’t crazy). It was insecure. I was blatantly, unabashedly wearing my insecurity on my sleeve, much like Brit or LiLo. I didn’t really know or understand that I was insecure, but all of my behavior stemmed from the little insecurity seed that had at some point sprouted in my impressionable brain.
So, many years (and cocktails, therapy sessions, The Secret-esque books,, and Positivity Blog entries) later, I find that a lot of my craziness has kind of…vanished. Poof. No more obsessively calling my boyfriend twenty times when he doesn’t answer. No more late-night drive by’s of his apartment to see if there is a girly-looking car in the driveway. No more incessant complaining and/or crying when a boy doesn’t respond to my every beck and call.
Nope. I, my friends, am cured. I am secure. I am confident. I am happy. I am whole. And most importantly, I am NOT f-ing crazy!
Some people (namely, the douchebag ex) will argue that craziness is something that doesn’t completely go away. And maybe, to an extent, this is true. I think we all have a certain amount of craziness in us. But, thankfully, L-O-V-E is probably the only thing that brings it out in most of us – and only if we let it.
But, for the most part, I don’t see myself engaging in crazy behaviors – at least to the level I did before – ever again. I have realized that if a stupid boy makes me feel crazy, or makes me feel that I need to act crazy, he is just not worth it. My sanity is much more important than some relationship that is (obviously) not even worth fighting for.
I encourage all of you to let go of all the ‘labels’, all the names you might have been called over the years – whether that be crazy, slutty, weird, prude, whatever – because in the end, we can all change. As humans, our personalities and our behaviors are not set in stone. Yes, it can be hard to change. But if you want something – you can have it. And remember, the labels other people give us mean absolutely nothing if we know in our hearts what we really are.
So, I let the douchebag ex call me crazy. I bit my tongue and pulled the covers slightly tighter around my body, letting him know that whatever other activities he had planned were officially cancelled…and let him whine and moan and complain. And, frankly, act a little crazy himself.
Funny how the tables can turn.
[photo from the talent pool company]