It’s hard to admit – for me at least – that you’re a little crazy; that you have issues. However, I started this blog thinking I’d use it to work through some of this, talk about it some – even if only to myself. So when it shows up, it’s not right for me to censor…as bad as I may want to. I don’t want others to know about the crazy, but it’s real and it’s honest so here it is.
Now, my kind of crazy isn’t that scratches-down-the-car-bust-out-the-windows kind of destructive psycho. Mine tends to be more of an inner turmoil with a side of ranting-crazy-psycho emails/texts/phone calls. It’s not a cake walk for anyone involved, but I have a feeling I really get the worst end of the stick.
Anyway, this week has been somewhat strained between myself and Playboy. I was pretty emo starting off because of the giant Valentine’s fail, and his week has been pretty rough having returned from the long weekend to a laundry list of complaints, catch-up work, and general BS. When he’s in a stressful mood like that he’s not giving up much of the love and in fact, can be pretty salty at times. Pair that up with me being emo and looking for comfort, and you can see why it’s been a little tense.
The day before we had a little altercation when he decided to spend his drive home, which I absolutely consider my time, talking to her. Somehow he reasoned it was ok because she wasn’t ‘a complete stranger’. Fail. And when I asked why he would do that, he responded with a huge huff and a ‘Why not?!?’ Quadruple fail. I am sure his salty mood clouded his rational mind at the time, leading him to believe this was a worthwhile response. Or maybe his motivation was to hurt me as he can sometimes lash out when in the right mood, or when being pushed. Regardless, fail. Fail, fail, fail.
He did do a little good though. He knows from past experience that leaving when we’re mad at each other is really hard on me, so though he wanted very badly to just get off the phone and step away from the situation, he stayed on until I had my peace with it. I want to give him credit for that because it did help.
We head into the next day with things ok but I was still upset about his choices the night before, and his responses. We end up in another discussion – not entirely related – that boils down to him not putting any effort into things with me. It’s one we’ve had before as I feel like, if there is anything involved that might incite the slightest question in her mind, I can forget it. And look…I’ve said this to him as well…I don’t want her to ever find out about us. My ideal situation would be of course, for him to be with me, but I don’t want it to be a situation where she ends things with him and I’m left to wonder if he’s with me because he wants to be or because I’m there. So I’m not wanting him to be suspicious or make stupid choices by any means.
He arrives at work and we’re still mad but get off the phone. About two or three hours later I send him a message ranting. I explained my hurt regarding both situations. I know it’s going to piss him off to read what I say, but I want him to understand my side of things and he’s not much for heated discussions.
An hour after this I still haven’t heard from him and this is where the crazy starts stretching its legs ready to pounce. It begins with me being mad at him, thinking he’s not contacting me to hurt my feelings or make me mad…whatever I come up with at the time, this happened to be my idea this week. At this point I still have some semblance of self-control in the situation. I have a nearly constant inner dialogue going that goes between ‘I know he’s read that message. He’s just avoiding me. Asshole.’ and ‘Where is he? Why won’t he contact me?’ This probably lasts 20 minutes or so.
I send him a text – a frustrated one. My self-control is pretty tentative by now. My mind is racing but I do try to fight it off. I try to focus on my work, not going to send any more messages. The frustration is still there. I have glimmers of being able to calm down, maybe lasting a few minutes at a time.
Probably 15 or 20 minutes later I send the next text. I would assume this is the point where my self-control loses any stronghold it may have once had. My mood has switched from frustrated to anxious. The worry starts to slide in and my mind is going a million miles a minute. I am visibly down and/or agitated.
Maybe 10 minutes passes before the next one goes out. I guess I did have a little self-control left because I fought with myself and didn’t send the message 5 minutes earlier. This message is a little more desperate, practically begging for some response from him. By now I’m fighting tears.
Probably another 10 minutes later, text number 4. I say please. Tell him he’s scaring me. Ask him to say something. I am convinced he’s getting the messages and just ignoring me. Fighting tears, visibly upset, can’t really focus on anything but the fact that he hasn’t responded, why he hasn’t responded, and what is going on. Self-control is but a dream. There is none of that left.
Text numbers 5, 6, and 7 are beyond desperate. I am officially freaking. the. fuck. out. By now I’m basically convinced he’s never going to speak to me again. Category 5 despair. I am begging for some response. Anything. At some point in the midst of these three messages I also try to call, more to see if his phone is off than expecting an answer. To say my mind was racing would be an understatement. Reasons..what to do..send another message..don’t send another message..what is he doing..what do I do..he hates me..why did I push so far..how can I fix this.. There was some logic flitting through there as well but those thoughts were small and weak. Discarded almost as quickly as they arrive. Beginning to lose my fight against the tears, my face is red and hot to the touch, I’m jittery, my mind is a jumble of hot mess.
Then within a few minutes, a response. That’s all it took to chase the crazy away. I immediately calm down, my mind clears. It’s a big enough change that I mentally take notice of it. Huge difference. I suppose I could say I was on a bit of a high though I was far from giddy. It was more of a sigh of relief. Welcome back, sanity. Turns out his boss was in, he had a meeting, and he couldn’t contact me. He did not get my messages until after the boss left.
After that “high” wears off a few minutes later, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I have very little energy and I’m just there. I spend the rest of the day like this.
When Playboy started responding, we had a conversation about what happened. He suggested things like, ‘Just stop thinking about it. Focus on something else. You shouldn’t do this to yourself.’ I told him he didn’t understand what it was like for me.
Trying to explain to him, I likened it to a phobia. It makes no rational sense for a 5’6″ person to be afraid of a 1/2″ spider. I’m sure the person knows that. I’m sure, much like me, the logic runs through their mind and they do realize it doesn’t make sense. I assume they have no control over it though. The fear controls everything in that moment. And that is what happens to me. I have no control when it gets to a certain point. I try to fight it but there is a line where there’s no fight I can make that will stop it. Certain triggers make it worse. Things to do with arguments – not good. Being ignored – even worse. Leaving – oh, you can forget it. Leaving is the worst of the worst for me. My own personal hell on earth.
So there’s my crazy. Laid out bare for you to see. It’s ugly, but it’s me.
Side note: It turned out fairly well though. That night Playboy spent his overtime talking to me on the phone, light banter-y conversation, instead of messaging like we usually do. It was like the salve I’d been looking for to heal my emo from this week.
He didn’t say as much, but I have a feeling that’s why he did it. Maybe he felt sorry for what I went through. Not necessarily his fault, but he manned up and took care of his girl when she needed it. He may lash out, and he may hurt me sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he will take a step back and make it better. I hope that never stops because it means the world to me.