5150 and proud of it
12 Oct 2012
I admit it, I’m crazy. But here’s the thing—I like it. I won’t be doing anything to change it.
I’m not talking the full 72-hour-hold type of crazy, the I’m-going-to-slash-my-wrists-the-right-way-in-someone-else’s-bathtub kind of psychosis. I’m talking the little bit wild, free-spirited, different thinking, kinda awesome type of crazy. The kind that fuels incredible, gut wrenching works of art, inspires amazing novels and films, and gives you the fearlessness you need to leap over anxiety-inducing obstacles. The incendiary kind of crazy that reminds you that you’re alive.
This delicious but volatile state can drive a relationship to the fiercest places imaginable—that tumultuous rollercoaster ride they call crazy love. We’ve all taken that journey at one time, evolving into that lunatic of a girl that an angry or overwhelmed boyfriend deems crazy. Boiling bunnies and ferrets aside, yes, women may be a little bit crazier than men. Is that really such a bad thing?
Ultimately, we’re often classified as loca simply because we’re different from the opposite sex—we are so completely disparate in the way we act, think and love. We often wear our emotions on our sleeve and may sometimes act on them irrationally. Yet how boring would our world be if we all just upped our testosterone and jumped into the boxing ring when we were feeling emotional?
It’s easy to understand why a crazy episode can scare a man back into the cave that he came from. How can they comprehend a flood of emotions that grips your entire being? The kind that makes you disappear into a blur of white flashes and adrenaline rushes, sticky sweet one moment and pure scalding fire the next. That wave of lunacy that pulls you out into a deep, invisible ocean where you ride wave after crashing wave, until you suddenly wake up and no longer recognize yourself.
If you haven’t experienced your crazy side, you’re truly missing out—or you’re in denial. If I didn’t embrace mine, how else would I give birth to the twisted screenplays that pay my bills, write deviant reflections on life and devise innovative ways to publicize the other writers and clients I represent? How would I creatively solve business problems that require more abstract, out-of-the-box thinking? Where would I escape from the tragedies and danger that life confronts me with? How would I be able to fend off the zombies that attack me in an apocalyptic quest to consume my scrumptious brains?
Life is just too short to bottle it all in. I’m not saying bust out the machete and let loose on the neighborhood—just that it’s not so bad to indulge your inner lunatic every once in awhile. Who cares what anyone else thinks? The opinion of some random truly has no effect on your life—only you can give them that power. What’s most important is what you think and what the ones you love think. And if they love you too, I guarantee they will accept you for all your craziness. They might even like it.
The next time someone calls you crazy, psycho or loca, smile sweetly and thank them. Then go ahead and flash them that deranged glint in your eye.
