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    Can You Handle My Crazy

    My fight with an eating disorder and self-mutilation

    Can You Handle My Crazy

    I am constantly told how great of a person I am. I'm so smart, talented, kind, funny, strong, pretty, thoughtful, the list goes on. I'm told this so often, sometimes I believe it. But then, as soon as I begin to believe it, something happens which makes me say to myself, "No. That is not you."

    I think the thing I'm best at is shutting people out of my life. When I meet and befriend someone, I almost immediately decide how much of me they will really know. I've got dark secrets like everyone else. I can let people in very easily, but the criteria I have for letting them in is this: as easy as I let them in, I have to be able to shut them out. I have an uncanny ability for seamlessly ending friendships. I pick and choose who remains close to me and typically those people are people who I can easily drop. I know this makes me sound like a horrible person, but I think what it comes down to is this: People just can't handle my crazy.

    I have come to the conclusion to the fact that I'm crazy. I am finally accepting my insanity. People who don't really know me wouldn't believe it; people who think they know me wouldn't believe it either. People who do know me tell me this: "You need to talk to someone." They don't realize that I am talking to someone; I'm talking to them. A few days ago I was having a hard time with life. I was at school, walking from my class, just feeling like I was a car in a trash compactor. Have you ever watched the episode from Breaking Bad, where that gross (strangely knowledgeable) old man destroyed the RV in the trash compactor? It crushed it all at once, the walls on all four sides just moving in, obliterating the RV. Well, that's what I felt like. I always hear from people, "Just remember: I'm always here for you." I couldn't talk to my father, he was at work. I couldn't talk to my mother, she was grocery shopping. I couldn't talk to my friends from home, they were at school. I texted a total of five people and they all told me the same thing: "I am really sorry, but I can't help you. You should talk to someone." Don't you realize?! I'm talking to you! People just don't know how to handle my crazy.

    I am a realist. I know how things end up and the pain people go through and think to myself, why would I knowingly put myself through this? For this reason, I don't get into many romantic relationships. Yes, I may be happy for a short period of time, but they always end the same way. Someone gets hurt. Why would I intentionally put myself through something that would hurt me? It takes a lot for me to open up to a guy and let him in in that way. Usually it happens when I am struggling with life, because I don't think straight and jump for the chance to feel better.

    I'm that girl in class who always makes the bad jokes (that you still laugh at). That girl who gets up to go to the bathroom, trying to be inconspicuous but trips on every desk on the way out, can't manage to open the door without falling out, upon returning, walks into the wrong classroom, manages to get to the correct room, but then as she sits down, knocks all her papers off the desk and falls down trying to retrieve them. This happens to me nearly on a daily basis. I laugh it all off and just go along with it. I have a constant smile on my face; my intention is to brighten the day of everyone around me. I am selfless, devoting hours of my time to help others. I'm ditsy and clumsy but act like I haven't a care in the world. I spend a total of about 5 minutes on my appearance. This involves me parting my hair in a semi-straight line if it's wet, if it's dry, wrapping it up in a bun or ponytail, grabbing the closest pair of yoga pants I can find, a shirt, and a sweatshirt. No shoes, no makeup, no jewelry, no fancy shmancy anything. I don't care what people think of me.

    Still, I care what I think of me. Right now, only three people in the world know this: I am borderline anorexic. Not because I think others think I am fat, but because I think I'm fat. Another thing, I cut myself. I'm addicted.

    This all began senior year of high school, when I was 17. I noticed a dramatic change in my body from when I started high school. I started off weighing 87 pounds. For swimming, we were required to get physicals before the season began. My brother and I both went in and got our body composition and weight and all that good stuff. I had two papers in my hand and looked at the top one. It said I weighed 121 pounds. I was crushed. I already felt like I was fat, but now I had proof. I was. The next week, in my anatomy class, we had a nutrition project. This required us tracking our food intake for seven straight days. For those seven days I did not eat over 500 calories in a day. It just spiraled down from there. I made close friends with this girl who also had an eating disorder. She suffered from anxiety and depression, would cut herself and had attempted suicide three times. We encouraged each other, spending lunch together so no one would tell us to eat. Her best friend was the guy I had liked since sophomore year. I found out he liked me and soon the three of us were inseparable. He quickly picked up on what I was doing to myself and tried to stop me. I resisted. We never officially dated or did anything, but we hung out all the time. He came to my swim meets and I went to his band competitions. At the second to last day of school, right before graduation, he told me he didn't like me anymore, that he liked someone else. I was crushed. I immediately came to the conclusion that it was because I was too fat, and not pretty enough. This girl didn't even like him. His other best friend just thought the two of them would go better together and practically brainwashed him into liking her and not me. We were still close friends and had a strange, flirtatious relationship, but it always boiled down to me being too crazy. He was the first that couldn't handle my crazy.

    I reached college, and looking back, I don't think I could have been less ready to leave home and be on my own. I was cutting myself, my self-esteem was rock bottom, I was itching for a way to eat less, and so stressed out. I quickly created my identity, but still had my dark secret. My grades were crap, I couldn't attend classes because I had no energy and chronic migraines. I got a boyfriend, someone who gave me attention, and made many poor decisions that I will regret until the day I die. My grades were so bad that my school decided that I was not fit to attend. I wrote a letter of appeal and was denied. The school told me that I needed to take a semester off and prove to them that I was "Capable of being a successful student" there. They made me get help and do a whole bunch of things to prove myself. They couldn't handle my crazy.

    Needless to say, I completed the required tasks and worked hard to get back into the school of my dreams. I did not get into a relationship my sophomore year because I didn't want to go through that pain. I did pretty well that year, only cutting myself once, having a few down swings, but being mostly up. The summer was great. I made myself insanely busy and enjoyed every second of it. I didn't focus on my weight or anything, just on having a great time. The school year started off great, with me applying myself for the first time. But then my crazy kicked in. When I'm up, I don't even remember being down. When I'm down, I fall hard. I began cutting myself and stopped eating to lose weight. I don't do it for anyone else, I do it for myself. I started this thing where I would weigh myself and if I weighed more than 110 pounds, I would cut myself. For me, it was an "either/or" situation. Either I cut myself and ate normally, or I starved myself and didn't cut. However, both are addicting. I stopped being 110 and started falling. I now find excuses to cut myself. I liked this guy for a while and he told me he liked me. I made the decision to open up to him and give him a chance, knowing the definite outcome, but still hoping for the best. First I tried to scare him away by telling him my crazy, but he stayed, saying that he wouldn't run away. After a small few weeks of flirting and limbo, I asked him what was going on. He told me that he was having issues and wasn't ready for anything and still wants to be friends. I was initially crushed. But I immediately remembered that I knew this was coming, that I was expecting it. The way I got over it was by cutting myself. It wasn't his fault that I cut myself. I didn't even do it for the main reason that I was hurt. I used our failed relationship as an excuse to cut myself because I had secretly been craving it for weeks and was dying to find a reason to do it. I think even he couldn't handle my crazy.

    I don't think I will ever find someone who can completely handle my crazy, but when I do, when they can, I will be happy. My question to you is this: can you handle my crazy?