Crazy is in. Crazy is what’s hot these days. When Britney shaved her head and Lindsay Lohan fell off the deep end in the late 2000s, they were shunned. But if they were to have their breakdowns now, they would be regarded as the heroes that they are. Crazy girls are running the world. The less boundaries you have, the more power you possess. There is a competition of who can be the wildest, bitchiest, and the most shameless. And I am losing miserably.
Most women get their crazy out in high school. This is when we first discover drama and how addicting it can be. We throw shade for no reason, we date our friends’ exes just so we can dump them, we make Facebook burn books at sleepovers, and we test the limits of human emotion so that we know where the line is. But this is not what I did. For most of high school I dated the same guy, and after texting him to confirm, I did not pull a single crazy stunt. I never picked a fight in public for no reason. Even after we broke up, I never even tweeted his deepest darkest secrets. Not a single drunken Facebook status (because I didn’t go out much). One time I made out with five guys in one night and got strep throat. Whoopty freakin’ doo. It sounds tame compared to half of the girls that I know.
During a conversation at TSM HQ, we were all swapping stories about our craziest moments. Veronica yelled at her boyfriend for bringing the wrong kind of cheese to a BBQ. Cristina met up with her ex in a Bass Pro Shops parking lot and slapped him right in the face before breaking down into tears. Rachel Page tried to “John Tucker Must Die” some fuckboy in high school. Rachel Varina made her ex give her his phone records, made him delete every girl from his phone and on Facebook, didn’t let him to talk to girls, and made him gave her the milage on his car when he went somewhere. What did I have to bring to the table? Nothing. I sat there in complete silence while the conversation went on around me. I could pipe up and talk about the time that I freaked out because I saw the guy who just broke it off with me making out with the girl who lived upstairs. But that would pale in comparison. There was no vicious attack or arson or any police involvement. They would look at me with disgust. At that moment, I was of no use to them. All I wanted was to be able to reference a time that others were worried for their well-being, but I had nothing.
When it comes down to it, everyone loves crazy girls. They are the first ones you call when you want to go out. They are the life of the party. They keep life interesting. Guys love crazy. Do you know where you find girls like me? Planted firmly in the friend zone. They complain to me about how crazy girls are, only to turn around and find an even crazier one. Guys aren’t friends with crazy girls, because they would ever subject themselves to that. But they date the fuck out of them for reasons I completely understand. They crave crazy. It keeps them interested. There is never a dull moment when you are always worried about what your girl will do next. They used you want a lady on the streets but a freak in the sheets, and now they want a lunatic on the streets and a nymphomaniac in the sheets.
I went home that night and wracked my brain for crazy. I double text sometimes, but only within a few minutes of each other. I overshare on Twitter, but only for the sake of humor. I throw myself at guys, but only if I’m pretty sure he likes me back. I talk about sex constantly. But who doesn’t? I can drink, but not, like, *drink.* I searched the depths of my soul to find the craziest version of myself, only to come up short.
What happened? When did crazy become the preferred personality? All my life, I’ve been told to be considerate and calm, not rude and reckless, but here I am, an outsider. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was being the best version of myself. It’s like I’m in an alternate universe where every day is opposite day. Every morning I wake up hoping to be just like the cool girls. I so desperately want people to walk on egg shells around me. I want to wear my short fuse on my sleeve and let everyone know that I could ruin their lives at the drop of a hat. This is something I have never experienced before.
My generally laidback personality is something that I’ve always taken comfort in. I knew no matter what happened, I’d be able to go with the flow. But now, going with the flow is boring and predictable. When faced with the flow, you are supposed to go against it while making a huge scene. That is so unnatural for me. My feeble attempt at crazy is searching a guy on Facebook by using his phone number so I could find out his last name and get dirt on him. Amateur bullshit. There are little to no Snapchat stories of me blacked out and crawling around. I’m not a liability to the chapter. I’ve never been called to standards. But you know who has? All the popular girls. All the girls who frats love to hang out with. All the girls who get invited to date parties. All the girls that have friends in every sorority. All the girls who you know whether you want to or not. Crazy girls have it all.
No matter what I do, I am never crazy enough, and I will never be. I’m a little bit dramatic. I can be quick-tempered. I overanalyze every situation that I’m in. But all of that is not enough for me. Call me crazy, but I wish I was..