Batshit Crazy Is As Batshit Crazy Does

"To love is to burn; To be on fire." -Jane Austen

We were laying on his living room floor, white wine cursing through our blood, his stereo blaring classical jazz. We got into a discussion about a much-younger girl who he had dated prior to dating me. Crazy, he called her, shaking his head.

"Just because she loves you and said so, that doesn't make her crazy," I said. We had already split and gone our separate ways, remaining good friends, but I couldn't help but wonder if in my absence, I was referred to as "crazy," too.

He chewed on that one for a while, and then nodded.

"I think everyone in the human race is a variable level of crazy. Ranging somewhere from mildly nutty to batshit crazy. But I think we're all there."

I couldn't help but ask, because I knew he'd tell the truth.

"So where do I fall on the scale of 'mildly nutty' to 'batshit crazy?'" I braced myself to hear something that I knew would hurt my feelings.

But he just smiled. "D, you are not crazy. You might be saner than all of us. Your problem is that you share. You talk about things. Our culture doesn't want to talk. Perception is everything, and if everyone perceives us as happy, functional, human beings, we'd rather just believe it whether it's true or not. I think you might be such an open book that it is off-putting to most people. They fear your honesty. They prefer blissful ignorance."

He paused. "You are...you were too much for me. I don't always know what to say to you, and it's exhausting."

I pouted, because I knew he was right. I am nothing if not self-aware.

"I think maybe you could close it off a little. Not talk about things. Not be so incredibly raw that it scares people."

He held up his hand as I opened my mouth to object.

"I KNOW you're about to accuse me of asking you to change and that you're about to tell me that people who love you shouldn't want you to..." Shit, he knows me too well. "But maybe use that surplus of compassion that you're carrying around and consider that maybe you need to take it down a notch to be courteous to those who aren't as...FEELING...as you."

Oh, now there's my soft spot. I wouldn't want to be discourteous. I beat myself up sometimes over how I've made someone feel. He got me with that one.

I closed my eyes and thought about it. I went to bed that night and continued to think about it. I woke up the next day still thinking about it. I resisted the urge (then) to write about it. And when I started talking to/seeing someone a short while later, I put it into practice.

I closed off. I did not talk to friends about him. I did not talk to family about him. I did not talk to Facebook about him. I did not blog about it. I just rode it out, with a smile on my face, never over-analyzing, not losing sleep over things, not venting to girlfriends. I put a cap on that "surplus" of emotions so as not to inconvenience or "put off" this person who I was developing such an affection for. Some time later, after riding the middle of the relationship road and keeping as private as private could be, I found myself face-to-face with a man who, for the first time in my entire life, accused me of being indifferent and frigid (emotionally, not physically). He lamented never being able to tell what was on my mind. He puzzled over how I never made a big deal out of anything (how very un-female of me). He doubted that I could commit, emotionally or otherwise, to anyone.

Insert exasperated sigh here.

So, there I was at an impasse. Me in my cement shoes, standing in the middle of relationship purgatory. I behave how "normal" people behave, and all of a sudden I'm frigid? At that juncture, if I had suddenly uncapped and verbalized my thoughts and feelings, it would have come off as exceedingly phony and well, CRAZY. Of the batshit variety. The equivalent of going from 0 to 80.

So we went our separate ways. Him thinking I was flighty, indifferent and commitment-phobic. Me never having the opportunity to tell him that he was the first person I had been truly READY for in quite some time. And just like that, it was over. And like always, I learned something. And that's where this turns into a quasi-rant.

No, people DON'T talk a lot about how they're feeling. Especially now that they can hide behind monitors and all manner of electronic devices and not say "boo" to another person EVER. Social retardation is spreading like wildfire. I get it. Cap and filter, appear normal, don't talk about how you feel, and if you're perceived as perfect/normal/happy/etc., you will eventually truly become what you've perpetuated, right?

NO, guys. No. You. Won't.

In my normal state, I have a bad day at work, lose my child support, lose a friend, get a speeding ticket, get puked on by a 2-year-old or get into a fight with a significant other, and I talk about it. Yes, sometimes I talk it to death, but I get it out. It doesn't fester. I vomit all of those words up right into the bucket by posting a blog or calling my dad or friends or venting on Facebook, and then it's done. My belly is empty, I hear some words of wisdom or support, and I tackle the next challenge.

Done.

And people call me erratic, or crazy, or whatever the hell it is that people say when they're self-righteously hiding behind their monitors and reading my blog.

But the guys/gals who shoot up their workplaces, schools or grocery stores? They cap and filter EVERYTHING. And the news stations interview their peers and families after the fact and everyone is SHOCKED. "Everything seemed fine. Everything seemed normal. He/she was such a good boy/girl." Because perception is everything.

I want to shake them and say, "You only saw what took the LEAST ENERGY AND EFFORT to see! You didn't want to ask questions, because you didn't want to pry! You didn't want the incovenience of hearing someone else's woes! You made it NOT OKAY to talk about feelings of rejection, anger, frustration and melancholy!"

Those who cap and filter...when they finally snap, it's never small. They straight up LOSE. THEIR. EVERLOVIN'. SHIT.

Why? Why not talk about it? Why not listen to it?

Is being vocal and passionate really CRAZIER than that?!

I have said this more than once in print and in live words: We do each other a tremendous disservice by putting up facades and making conscious efforts to be phony.

You are not really fooling anyone. Not even yourself. Be real. Be alive. FEEL something. TALK about it. You don't have to tell ME all of your business, but don't front either.

Crazy or not, I have concluded that I can really only be myself. I am open, I'm honest, I'm passionate about things, I am raw, and I will rarely-to-never leave you guessing about how it is I'm feeling. But you know what I'll NEVER be?

-The nut that shoots up a Target for not giving her a refund.
-The sad soul who swallows an entire bottle of Ambien after losing her job.
-The frigid mom who never lets her kids see that she has struggled and survived.
-The middle-aged woman who moves out of the country on an effing whim just because her suitor doesn't propose on New Year's Eve as she thought he should (Sounds like a Diane Lane movie, no?).

Call me mildly nutty or even batshit crazy.

I can only be me. And I KNOW who I am.

Do you? Does anyone else?

Remind me to never again try to be anything else.