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An imperfect life guide for women
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According to Him, I’m Crazy

I was certain my relationship with him was over. That morning, I scanned my being searching for a feeling that might save whatever it was that attracted me to him in the first place, but nothing happened. I drank coffee, finished breakfast and headed to work, but the general consensus still amounted to a sterile sensation of nothingness. He texted me like he usually did, I texted back, and then came the guilt. After all, I was the “crazy” one in the relationship, the woman who was unpredictable and selfish.

Partners use the word “crazy” to control their relationships because the thing we all fear most is being out of control. I remember the first time he called me crazy, he told me he was joking and I shrugged it off. He was pissed off and being childish because he wasn’t getting his way. The next time he said it, I kind of believed him. Maybe I was crazy? He reminded me that another guy wouldn’t bother like he did. Men hate crazy women, after all…

The hardest part of breaking up with a prick is figuring out how to end it. I knew he wasn’t a morning person but I didn’t want to hold off any longer than I already had. So I did what I felt was the right thing to do: I texted him before breakfast and told him to call me so we could talk about it. After a long period of silence, he texted me back and asked me, “Are you serious right now?” I was, in fact, very serious. And I wanted to do this in a way that felt right, regardless of how he felt about it. I knew that I was one step away from mentally erasing him like Kate Winslet did to Jim Carrey in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Before I continue this story, I need to remind everyone that I am not a crazy woman; I am a woman who left a relationship I didn’t want to be in, which is why we needed to break up.

Ultimately, I woke up that morning and felt like throwing our relationship into the garbage can where it belonged. I was tired of being the woman that needed him so badly. In the past, I wished he would dump me first so I could run away and not feel so guilty about staying with him. This wasn’t the first time we broke up, but it was the first time I had come to my senses about why our relationship had become a burden, despite his effort to show me how fantastic we were together. Often times, we fell back into the delusional routine of seeing each other out of habit. So this time I wanted to seal it, set it on fire and flush it down the toilet. We had a bad run and now it was over. The crazy woman was finally ready to leave him.

Before the breakup, I mentally mapped out my escape method. I knew he wasn’t happy and he made the mistake of thinking he could “fix” me because, to him, I was a half-formed fetus. Our relationship was fuelled by our shared fear of being alone, of loneliness. We stayed together because we believed we were better off in a dysfunctional relationship than no relationship.

I came to realize that pretending to be in love is worse than being single. At dinner, he would ask me to kiss him but I didn’t want to. I wore lipstick to avoid making out with him. He grabbed my hand when we jaywalked and I immediately pulled away. We disagreed on every topic, and he made all the decisions when we went out – where to eat and what to drink. He worked most nights so my schedule revolved around his two nights off. When I expressed my feelings, he told me I was cute and proud of me for sharing a deeper side of myself like a condescending elementary school teacher. He went to bed late and I woke up early. The opposite parts of us never attracted, only when we were drunk and fighting liking pigeons in the street.

When things didn’t work out the way he wanted, he showed me his sensitive side by reminding me how much he cared about me. He texted me, called me, requested we hang out on his days off because he was the one with the busy schedule and I was the freelancer. Under the influence of hard alcohol, it was easier to find the redeeming qualities of him. He was sweet, passionate about things and polite. He held doors for people, tipped generously and smiled at strangers. Like me, he had a good side and a bad side. But this didn’t change the fact that we were wrong for each other. I’m sure he made excuses to stay with me too. Nobody’s perfect.

After I ended it, he gave his point of view: he was the sweet one and I was the one who needed help. I was the one that made him feel unwanted, insecure and paralyzed by anxiety. There’s always a “bad” person in the relationship and pointed the finger at me for treating him so badly when he treated me so good. I told him I was sorry he felt that way and I wanted to end it. Within an hour, he blocked me on Facebook, unblocked me on Facebook, called me on Facebook, then told me he needed closure. I agreed, and he called me, mostly to tell me that he also wanted to break up and I was a shitty person. I sat in silence, agreeing with him and comforting him as he told me how much it bothered him that I never danced with him and that I have no rhythm. We hung up the phone and said goodbye.

No matter what, he always found an opportunity to lecture me on how “crazy” I am. His favourite thing to say was, “I know you better than you know yourself!” I retraced our relationship together and wondered how we ended up like this. I was his cute little plaything, a crazy woman who needed his guidance to navigate the world around her. I liked to believe this on occasion because I wanted to be taken care of and protected. Ultimately, the words he used to describe me gave me the confidence to dump him.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is: yes, I might be crazy, but I’m not crazy enough to stay in a relationship with a prick.

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