I fully believe there are two kinds of crazy women in the world. Not saying that ALL women are crazy. I have a few friends that I would label as ‘not crazy’ or ‘mostly not crazy’. But the ones that are, they can be grouped into two separate categories.
If I had to assign the names of these two categories of crazy, I think I’d call one the ‘physical’ crazy. These are the women who get aggressive. They’re the ones that throw punches, scratch, pull knifes and break all kinds of shit. I dated a guy once who told me about an ex-girlfriend who got angry with him on the way home from this party. Now, in this woman’s defense, she was evidently drunk, so alcohol on-top of anger, for any one person, is never a good combo. So they’re on their way home and she’s angry and tells him she has to pee. He says they’re like 3 min from their home and tells her to just hold it. Supposedly, she pulled down her pants in the passengers seat and proceeded to pee in the car. When they got home, she got out of the car and broke his side mirror off. Another instance is they were arguing over what show to watch so she got up and pushed his TV off the stand, breaking it.
I think these types of women have some anger issues. They’re the loud ones. They’re the fighters. They’re the bad ass bitches you want as your friend in a dark alley next to you in the middle of the night because you know, YOU KNOW, if someone tries something, these girls that will go all. I’m picturing a fight scene in a Jackie Chan movie with a woman that some how managed to get on top of the ‘muggers’ shoulders, legs wrapped around the mans neck, frying pan being forcefully smashed onto the top of the head until the would be mugger collapses.
These women have this tough outer shell that I envy. I often wonder what exactly happened to them to create such a tough armor. Ya they might be crazy but GD are they tough.
Then there’s this other group of crazy. I would lump myself into that group. I’m not sure exactly what to call it. Maybe invisible crazy? We do everything low key. We are cautious and plan our crazy out. Unlike the ‘physical’ crazy, it’s not anger that is behind our behavior, for me at least, I’d say it’s insecurity. We do things like FB stalk, physically stalk, hack email accounts, look at cell phones when they’re not around, plant tracking devices, listening bugs and find ways to eliminate threats (real or made-up). I can’t say for others in this group of women, but for me, it’s part of my OCD. Except instead of washing my hands 17 times a day, I drive by a house to make sure no one is over that I don’t know about. I didn’t even know it was an OCD thing until reading something once. Might have been a blog about how people mis-label OCD when they refer to a habit. Anyways, the blog or whatever said something about it’s the compulsion that is the biggest thing for OCD and that they act on it to relieve a thought or a feeling. That’s what those things did/do for me. I’m not even sure how I’m triggered still. I just know that when I drive by the house and see just his car, it’s a huge relief. I used to wait for an ex to be done at work on top of this hill in my car to see if he’d lie about how late he worked till. He lied a lot, said he was still working and then I’d see him leave and go to a bar or smoke pot in his car.
The build of anxiety, it almost reminds me of the first hill you go up on a roller coaster. My stomach starts to get butterflies and the feeling works it’s way up to my throat. When it gets to my throat then this pressure starts to squeeze my chest tighter. It’s almost like my body is telling me that I HAVE to do something. I need to go check to see if he’s lying because my body is telling me he is and I have to prove to it, to myself, that he is. It’s a sick and twist thing, to pick apart someone’s action. To be searching for evidence that you were right. They were cheating, they were lying, you’re not important. It’s also exhausting. The elaborate ways to find information or get rid of ‘threats’.
I sent a text to this girl he slept with that I knew he still talked to saying ‘hey it’s xxxx, I got a new number, please delete the old one”, then I sent him the same text (obviously using an app for a new number). I knew he’d never text the new number. I knew she was always the one to reach out. When she would, I’d respond with short answers until she stopped completely.
I know I have this ‘fear of abandonment’. Logically I know things but my emotions are so unbelievably intense. Like right now, I sent a text over an hour ago asking how he’s days going and I have no reply. Logically I know he’s busy at work and logically I know I shouldn’t be getting upset over something as stupid as not hearing from him but I am. I feel that chest tightness, I know the automatic thoughts that are probably jumping around in my head are saying something like “Ya, he saw that text, he chose to ignore you because you’re not important to him. He probably looked at it and then replied to someone else who texted him. Why do you think he didn’t reply yesterday? Because he doesn’t care.” and it’s like I almost need him to care need him to give me attention to want me just to prove…….idk……something.
If I ever get over him. I need to promise myself to never fall for anyone again. I’ve gotten really good at putting up walls now. I just wish I could do it with him but I think because I let him in it’s so much more difficult.
I’ve tried different ways to work on this. A newer way I’ve been trying is ‘accepting things for what they are’ and I think that’s what I’ve done with people in the past but it was easier with them because they weren’t friends with me first. So it wasn’t hard for them to ‘ghost’ me or not respond for a day or whatever. The most F’d up thing is, a few, not all but a few, I’ve reach back out to over the years. It’s really strange because it’s like once I’ve gotten being done being super super super depressed and I’ve picked myself back up and kept on living, I can be friends with the guys. I mean, I knew I liked their personality when we were dating but once things end and I’m over them, I can’t ever love them again. It’s like that part of me died or never existed. I mean I care about them and I love them as friends but I don’t know…..
I can’t describe it so much in words but the image of me standing inside an old underground cellar is in my minds eye. It’s walls and curved arch entrance are made of old light grey stone staggered like bricks.The floor under my bare feet is a large slab of cold, smooth concrete and I’m standing in the center of this room. Where the walls and the floor meet around the room is visible dampness. Creating those areas of stone to look a few shades darker than the rest of the room.The air smells musty, like wet leaves after it rains in late September. Above me and slightly diagonal from my right shoulder is an old bulb that hangs down from just this black emptiness that is above me where a ceiling should be. I’m in a old, white cotton nightgown. It has thick shoulder straps and goes down to the middle of my shins.
When I finally do stop loving someone it’s like this mental image of me in my mind just slowly reaches up and pulls the chain that dangles next to the bulb, turning off the light. I hear the distinct clicking of chain hitting the bulb as I lower my hand back down and I’m watching this image of me from behind, seeing the bulb swinging slowly back and forth. It’s not pitch black in the room but almost like the light from a full moon is somehow shinning in and that room gets sealed up with that part of me in it.
I know this is all over, I’m just so tired.