In middle school and high school, I was always the one in the long term relationships. And they were good relationships, with really good guys. Sure, there were some arguments, but nothing to write to Jerry Springer about. Then I started college, and that is when the polar ice caps must have shifted, because my happy go lucky relationships started taking a turn for the worst.
My college boyfriend was somewhat of a gambler. He would stay up all night playing online poker. One night, I woke around 3AM to find him hyperventilating and running around the room shouting that, “we’re all going to die!” and “how can you lay there sleeping, knowing that eventually we’ll all be six feet under?”.. I quickly looked around the room for sharp objects. None. Phew. Now, I’m no stranger to mental illness, but I made a deal with God years ago that I experienced enough crazy in my childhood, and my adult life should be a little less One Flew Over the Coo Coo’s Nest, and a little more Brady Bunch- minus the maid. I like to clean. So, I walked Crazy Pants outside and calmed him down, returned him to his room, and prayed that the voices in his head would keep quiet for the rest of the night.
The thing with this relationship was that I stayed with him long after I should have, only because I felt needed. I thought he needed to be with someone who had my mental illness expertise and understanding. I thought “wow, I must be in his life for a reason”. Well, I thought wrong. Apparently, I was only needed as his therapist, because I soon found out that he was sleeping with a few of the waitresses and mostly all of the hostesses at the restaurant where he worked… And that is when I switched my major from Psychology… to Accounting.
Crazy #2 was a gentleman who owned pugs. Enough said. Well, not only did he own two pugs, but they were un-potty trained pugs. Oh wait… there’s more. These two mongrels, which to me, looked like a mix between a pig and an uncircumcised penis, would run around the house, going to the bathroom everywhere; on my new furniture, on the radiators (that was a lovely smell when you turned the heat on), in the kitchen (would you like a side of urine with your meal?) … and do you know what eligible bachelor number 2 would say??? “I’m pretty sure it’s not pee, they probably just spilled their water.” Yes, folks. These pugs must have been able to carry their water dishes into the living room, pour it on the couch and radiator, and deceptively add an artificial urine smell. Call Guinness!! This sounds like one for the books! I should have known Pug Lover was crazy after I saw his collection of WWE action figures. Never, I repeat never, stay with a man who owns more dolls than you ever did.
And that brings us to Crazy #3. Fun. Outgoing. Charismatic. Handsome. And, oh yeah, a klepto. I don’t know if you’re aware, but kleptomaniacs come in many forms, depending on their needs. My klepto was addicted to prescription drugs (since it’s legal in a few states, I’m adding marijuana to that category, too). This brought up a slew of other issues though because since he was always high on xanex, hydrocodone, or the gonge, he never felt like going to work. He eventually lost his job, and felt that this entitled him to what was in my wallet. I found $30, my credit card, and about 18 pills missing (Yes, I needed prescription drugs at one time… did you read the first half of this article???). In addition to stealing from me, he also took 30 hydrocodone pills (yes, there’s only 30 in a bottle) from my family member, who by-the-way is a cop. So now I don’t only have a klepto on my hands, but he’s a really dumb one. It was icing on the cake when I was in the living room one day and yelled down to the basement, “What are you doing down there?” His reply: “laundry.” My reply: “Well, the marijuana smell is coming through the vent, so you should do your laundry outside next time.” And then I sent him packing to his mom’s house.
Crazy #4 was a different breed. Disguised as a sensitive, caring, sweet guy, this whack was actually in need of some serious mental help. Abandonment issues didn’t even crack the surface of his problems. It started out with him getting mad at me for making a comment or two that he didn’t like, and he’d stay mad all day. It was like- Okay, tell me why you’re mad, I’ll apologize, and we’ll get on with our day. Don’t be a girl about it!
Then there was the time he went away for the weekend on a fishing trip. I offered to dog sit for him, and said if he didn’t mind, I’d do some decorating for him. His last girlfriend took every last picture off the wall when she moved out, so it looked like he was living in a recently burglarized home- although it had been that way for about two years. I bought over $200 of decorations, brought over a floor lamp I had at my place, and rearranged the furniture to look aesthetically pleasing. Needing a flashlight to do some arranging of cable wires, I sent him a text asking where his flashlight was. He responded with, “It’s in the cabinet by the sink. It’s small and purple, just like my D”… Come again?? I looked around for the hidden cameras in case this was a taping for a bloopers show, but I didn’t see any. I asked him if he was serious, or maybe drunk? He said no, he wasn’t drunk, but yes he was serious and I should just fess up and tell him how small his.. parts.. were. Thinking back over the last month, I realized I hadn’t gotten many chances to see his parts, which was odd. But from what I recalled, I didn’t have any issues with them. I should have realized then that this drought had no end in sight. He continued to rant about his size, his inability to please women, and his lack of self-worth for hours. Mostly, I questioned why he thought his “D” was purple… was it losing circulation?? I think in this case, the circulation to his brain was really the problem.
These accusatory rages continued over the next few months, it was like walking on eggshells all the time. He would accuse me of cheating, accuse me of being shallow, accuse me of being an alcoholic… but only one of those things was true… and I wasn’t giving up my wine for him. I did however, re-home my two cats because he was so allergic to the dander on me that it would give him trouble breathing. Even that gesture wasn’t enough to make him stop with the foolish accusations. Note to self; when someone’s literally allergic to you, it is God’s way of saying, “BREAK UP!”
So, the ending was inevitable, but the finale is truly the best part. I e-mailed him months after the breakup asking for my floor lamp, my cooler, and my camping chairs back. I asked if he could leave them on his porch before work the next day. His reply was, “I’ll leave them by the trash.” Well, as thoughtful as that would be, I responded with, “Just leave them on your front porch, thank you.” He basically wrote back that I would be waiting a very long time, as he planned on using the chairs and cooler that summer.
There are other stories, but I tried to pick out the cream of the crop. My new theory is; having these experiences with the Crazies will only force me to appreciate the Non-Crazies even more. And if my stories here make you appreciate your Non-Crazy man or woman more than you did, then I made a difference today. And… if you can relate to these stories with the person you’re with today… run. Run far. And don’t leave a forwarding address.