my name is Coby, and I am a crazy bitch. (no, my blog wasn’t hacked.)

We’ve all been there. The 1:00am Instagram session. The “innocent check-in” on that person that strikes an irrational chord in our brain by simply tickling our fancy. The flirty comment from an obviously feminine username under the picture of him holding a fishing rod next to a “no fishing” sign. The complete lack of self-control when you click on that person’s handle so as to glance at their gallery of hashtagged pictures depicting a life you begin comparing yours too. (Still with me?) Then, before you know it, 20 minutes has gone by. By this time you’re waist deep in someone’s virtual slideshow. You begin to think that your own life lacks something, all-the-while feeling ironically ashamed that you just pissed away part of a perfectly adequate evening. You might not make it a habit, but you’ve likely been there once or twice. Right? Or are you going to pretend that you haven’t and leave me all alone in this pathetic vulnerability? (I thought we were bros.)

I confess this to you to reveal something deep within me. Something that not everyone knows is there and few people get to meet. It festers there, made from years of experiences, words, and the baggage we all carry through our stories. We lock it away and hide it in fear of making anyone uncomfortable with it, but every now and then it’s poked and wakes from hibernation. This something answers to many names, phrases and metaphors but the one I will use is this. You might recognize it. It’s called the crazy bitch. There is a crazy bitch inside of me, you guys. Before you lose interest, hear me out. I neither say this to disrespect social media stalking, to glorify the term, to make excuses for this behavior, or to offend any feminists. I use this term because I stand firm in believing that that there is a paradox of strength and weakness attached to that particular phrasing. More so, I choose it with a spirit of humor as I approach the topic. (And probably also because I enjoy gangster rap.)

“That crazy bitch.” It’s probable that when you hear this you immediately think of a psycho-texting, eyeball gouging, drama queen. It’s been associated with that for a long time through the vernacular of fed-up men and on the show Cops. However, what some of us don’t admit is that there are other, less extreme versions of this as well. You ladies might even feel this every 28 days. But the truth is, the curse of Eve is not only vaginal bleeding and labor pains. It’s also that we’re big messes a lot of days. We feel things so strongly sometimes that it literally seems as though our heart is bursting from its cavity. Yes, I am going to make a police officer uncomfortable when I get pulled over and ugly cry. Sometimes, don’t even ask me to look at a picture of puppies unemotionally. And ya know what? I DO get my panties in a twist over “it’s not what you said, it’s how you said it”. I truly am a walking, talking cliché of womanhood. And I am here to propose that it is perfectly acceptable. Maybe even dare us all to be unapologetic about it. We are weird ass humans full of thoughts and emotions. You absolutely have to find a balance for your own well-being and control all of this, of course. But do that for yourself, and not for fear of judgment from someone else.

(Warning: Serious shit coming your way.)

It is in our weakest that we connect most deeply with another person. It is around those people that love you well that you are most able to surrender to that overwhelming sense of irrationality. In this place is the most promising capacity for humility, awareness, and growth. Please understand that I am not condoning physical expressions of crazy such as stalking, abuse, or tire slicing. (These things actually do make you clinically crazy AND kind of a terrible person and no one has time for that.) I am simply challenging you to go there with each other. To make every effort possible to surround yourself with people that share their mess with you and are willing to wade lovingly through yours. Sharing truthfully about something that for whatever reason elicits an emotional response inside of you doesn’t make you dramatic or inconvenient. You work really hard to be cool and strong most of the time. It’s a commendable practice and is part of the battle. But if it swells up inside of you and beckons you to ask bold questions, ask them. If it empowers you to stand up for yourself, stand. If it connects you to someone else that needed to know that they aren’t alone, relate. The point is, a basket case exists inside of us all to some degree. I’d even suggest that it is the truest version of who we are. Don’t be afraid to expose yourself. (Not in the naked under a trench coat way. Be very afraid of that.) Take back the term crazy bitch and own it in the name of love.

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