The Crazy

We are all a little bit crazy. There is no way around it and there are no exceptions. We freak out when someone eats all the frozen burritos, we have a melt down when our friends make us late to the movies, we slam doors and throw tantrums when someone erases Lost from the DVR. What I have discovered, though, is that certain people bring out the crazy more than others...

When I was in high school and living with my parents, I was like a time bomb waiting to explode on whomever was in my proximity... I mean, yeah I was hormonal and going through puberty like all high schoolers but everything about me screamed "bitch". Every word that came out of my mouth dripped with sarcasm, disgust and hatred... Especially when I was talking to my family. I hated my sister for being so skinny and blond, I hated my brother for never having to do chores around the house, I hated my dad for never being understanding and I hated my mom for over cooking the steak (or something else ridiculous)

I had a pretty normal family. We were middle class, my mom stayed home for most of our childhood, we went to church every Sunday and we had family dinners on a regular basis. And like most families, ours went through a divorce. I mean, yeah it sucked but I don't blame any of my problems on it. I don't blame my depression, my bulimia, my neuroses or anything else on it. We were still a family and we still loved each other. But I think it's funny that the people who are supposed to love you the most are the ones who bring out the absolute worst in you. And they judge you the harshest and the wounds they inflict on you last the longest.

There is no question that my family tip toed around the house when I was going through the worst of my Crazy. If you mentioned one word about me eating too much pizza I would scream and throw things, then go to the bathroom to throw it all up. Then I would scream at you for not stopping me. It was always your fault. I would run away from home and if you tried to stop me I would drop kick you in the driveway and pull out all your hair. For real. Crazy.

After I moved out of my moms house in 2005 my whole life changed. The control I now had over my life made me feel empowered... I didn't have to purge all my food. I didn't have to scrub the floors with my toothbrush, I didn't have to agonize over my sisters clothes being strewn all over my bedroom. My life was all mine. I didn't have to share it. The best part, though, was that I had more respect for my family... I loved them more.

As time went on, the memories of my Crazy became less and less clear; I morphed into a a productive, caring, normal person and I never had to worry about hurting the people I loved. Until one day...

Christmas 2009. Recently. We were supposed to be happy, and drunk on champagne and full of fatty foods while we opened presents. But no. Drama. All of a sudden, I lost control of who I was. I shouted,I struck, I hurt the people I loved. It scared me because I never wanted to see this side of myself again. I especially never wanted Will to see it and I think that scared me the most. I was afraid he would never look at me the same way. But he calmed me down, my family left and I went back to normal. Thank God.

Will brings out the best in me. Will makes me be a better person without even trying. I guess the point I am trying to make here, is that no matter how much you love someone or how much they love you back, there is always a part of you that can't help but act irrationally when you're around them. Less is more, in a sense. And it doesn't mean that's the "real" you.

Anyway, the reason I bring all this up is because I used to think that I suffered in this alone. But I talked to my sister-in-law the other day and it turns out, this is more common than I thought! Anyway, thanks for listning to my rant :)