Lately I’ve started doing this thing where I watch random documentaries on Netflix every time I’m bored. I figure if I’m going to be binge-watching something, it may as well be educational. That, or I’ve made my way through everything else already. Can’t be sure.
As I trudged through a series called The Seventies, I came across a brief recap of that awkward point in time when a shitload of couples experimented with swinging. An “open relationship,” if you will. I’ve never tried an open relationship, and I wish I was cool enough to be so laissez-faire about the idea. But I’m not, and I could never partake in such a partnership, because I’m sort of a crazy jealous bitch.
The cheesy narrative explained that the couples who tried it said two things about their experience. The first was that they don’t regret a second of their swinging stint. The second was that they would never, ever try it again. The shot then panned to a turtleneck-clad psychologist who explained that people, by nature, tend to find somebody that they like and keep them close by. They become territorial when they feel threatened by someone who could hurt that bond, i.e., that swell of anger you feel when the Kylie Jenner lookalike asks your boyfriend where he’s from. The couples who watched their significant other bang another person realized how much they hated seeing their partner bumping uglies with someone else. They went into the situation with an open mind, but their inherent nature eventually told them that monogamy was the way to go.
I started to think, “Wait. Maybe I’m not crazy?!” After all, I don’t keep tabs on my boyfriend every second of the day. It’s not like I viciously attack every chick who comes in contact with him, or flip a shit if I think he’s talking to another girl. We don’t even text 24/7, and I would definitely describe our relationship as generally laid-back. Why is it that I automatically assumed I was crazy, just because I occasionally feel jealous or threatened by another girl?
Maybe what really marks how “crazy” you are is how you deal with your jealousy. So like, if you make a point to quietly avoid that bitch Amy because she won’t stop eye-fucking your boyfriend, you’re in the clear. But if you’re straight surveilling your boyfriend and accusing him of cheating because he gave waitress a polite smile, you definitely need to calm the fuck down.
Wouldn’t that be a more accurate depiction of what crazy actually entails? If we’re aware that humans are instinctively intimidated once and a while, shouldn’t we ditch the idea that everyone who sometimes gets a little jealous is undoubtably insane? I was quick to put myself down for feeling a dash of jealousy, when I should’ve been patting myself on the back. Yay for me, sticking up for my man ‘n shit.
Next time someone tells you that you’re crazy for hallucinating flashing sirens when you see a hoe give your boyfriend the world’s longest hug, tell them to take a lap. You’re not crazy, you’re invested. You give a shit about your relationship and don’t want to see it virtually destroyed by a girl whose tits are twice the size of yours, which is actually pretty commendable. You go, Glen Coco..
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