When the “Crazy” Came Out

In the news, as I started to write this, was the release of body cam footage from police officers who pulled over a young couple during their van trip. The girl, Gabby, was distraught, in tears and nearly charged with assault on her boyfriend. But she took the blame. She blamed her mental health. The fact that she was emotional and had OCD. She couldn’t stop crying. 

Her boyfriend seemed fine. Maybe a little nervous. But composed and worried more about himself than Gabby. She seemed….a bit “crazy” to the public. Clearly the one to blame for their problems…If we knew nothing else anyway.

All I saw was a girl pushed to the absolute edge, her breaking point. I could almost see the abuse she had been suffering for the days and weeks before. I know too many women who’ve gone through it.

She went missing soon after that incident with the police. Her boyfriend returned home without her. But it wasn’t even him that reported her missing. It was her family. 

Gabby was found murdered a month later. Her boyfriend fled, and was later found dead as well.

I saw my “crazy” side once and decided I wouldn’t be involved with anyone that would take me out of my peace like that ever again.

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I’m a crime junkie at heart. I listen to true crime podcasts regularly and can easily get sucked into dramatic crime stories. Listening to these stories is honestly a weirdly calming habit of mine, and I know I’m not alone in that (shoutout to fellow crime junkies!).

And one thing I’ve learned over and over in these podcasts is that so many people, especially women, are silently suffering. 

I remember the day my “crazy” came out. Where all that suffering quietly on the inside bubbled up to the surface, surprising those around me. It felt like a person I didn’t even recognize had taken over my body and was standing in my shoes while I was lost deep, deep within. 

I was at my tipping point with my ex. The day had already been a struggle. We had a newborn baby and a toddler. Honestly I dont’ even remember the details, but I do remember we were at his mom’s house when I had had enough. 

I let it out. 

I made sure my kids were in another room and I yelled at him. I told him he wasn’t right and I didn’t deserve this. 

And he just ignored me. Acted like nothing had happened. Rolled his eyes and continued on like I was crazy.

I think my mother in law was completely thrown off guard. She knew things weren’t great, but she had never seen me like this. 

And I don’t remember exactly what she said to me, but it made me feel minimized.

It made me feel crazy. 

So I said fuck it and left. 

And as I walked away, I realized I was being made out to be the crazy one in this story. Because she hadn’t seen all the yelling and evil that he had shown me in our own home. He kept that hidden out in public. 

She didn’t know that he would follow me out of our bedroom, enraged, leaning into my ear from behind me to whisper that I was a “lying bitch” as I carried our newborn baby in my arms.

She didn’t know that he yelled at me about un-ironed clothes. 

Not enough milk in the fridge. 

The way I put the leftover pizza away. 

The way I drove the car. 

The way the GPS didn’t lead us to the right turn.

The dark beer I ordered when we went out (it was, obviously, too manly)

No one saw those things. 

So when all that bubbled out of me because I couldn’t hide it anymore, I looked like the crazy one. 

I realized then that I was changing. I was being reduced to an angry shell of a person and I wouldn’t let that happen. It wasn’t who I was. I knew the beauty that I held inside and I couldn’t let that disappear.

I wasn’t crazy.

Neither was Gabby. 

Neither are you.

But we’ll be made to feel crazy over and over again if we stay. There’s no convincing someone who reduces us to that. My only option was to leave. 

And leave I did.