“You’re crazy” I have heard it a million times and very few times in the correct context. My roommate has said it, my friends have said it, my family, and boys, so many boys, have said it. You would think that would mean they are all right and that it’s true except for the fact that it’s not, not in the way they mean it at least. They say it when I fall in love too quickly, or ramble on about some far fetched idea that I am so sure of and excited about. They say it when I wake up in the morning with an epiphany and tell them nothing is what it seems like it is , there’s so much more too it, and we were all wrong, and I’m not sure of anything except for this new perspective and it’s like seeing a new color for the first time. They call me crazy when I trust my gut, talk to that stranger because “there is something about them” and they call me crazy for forgiving people who have hurt me and for letting go. I have loved a lot and that means I am “psycho” apparently, and so does the fact that I have a document of 68719 words I deem worthy of saying, and so does the fact that I get worked up about little things. It’s crazy how much that tiny thing got to me. It’s crazy that I can brush off someone shit talking me behind my back like it’s nothing, but can’t let go of the way he said her name or how insane his smile is. Certain smiles are actually insane, if you want to know what crazy really means. They say I am crazy for crying, yelling, throwing candles at walls, over things that mean the entire world to me. They say I am crazy for following my heart and going to see him when they don’t think he’s right for me, but how can they say that when they have never heard him laugh or the way he talks about his mom or seen that thing his eyes do when he’s excited about something. They say I’m crazy for reading an entire book in a day, for waking up so excited about life that I run 8 miles and clean the entire house. They say I am crazy when I work hard and study for a week straight and pass biochem finals but they also say it when I skip every single class for a day to wander around a little city or beach. They say it like it’s a bad thing, and I mean, usually it is. Crazy means mentally deranged, mad, unhinged, and implies lunacy. When I think of crazy I think of something unexplainable, insanely illogical, just complete nonsense and mayhem and extreme things happening for no good reason. Crazy is living in a scientifically illiterate world that doesn’t believe in evolution or climate change, crazy is hate and racism and sexism and misogynistic assholes. Crazy, true craziness, is serial killers and terrorists, and natural disasters. It’s mass destruction and death without reason. A crazy person is a potential sociopath, someone who acts without morals, makes no sense, and does radical, undeserved, things. Craziness is ignoring love, not seeing things as they are, and a life without compassion. I am not crazy, not in that sense. Crazy can be good though. Crazy can be the fact that the world can feel like it’s ending, like life as we know it is over no doubt, and the sun will rise the next morning anyways. Crazy is how tiny we are compared to everything else in the universe and the fact that we do beautiful and important things anyways. Crazy can be forgiving someone who ruined everything and doesn’t deserve it and it can be a thunderstorm in the middle of February, that especially purple sky over the city skyline and the size of the moon. Crazy can be falling in love more than once and not being able to explain why. It can be taking risks without weighing consequences and doing the scary thing first and getting scared later. Crazy can be trusting love one more time and you should always trust love one more time. Crazy can be trusting a person too, and your intuition, and life changing forever because of that choice and saving everything. Crazy can be a coffee or a phone call changing your entire day and it can be a hug or a kiss or waking up next to your best friend and being so insanely lucky and deciding it’s crazy, because what could you ever have done to deserve to be this happy? Crazy can be happiness regardless of circumstances and an intense hunger to do great beautiful things for no other reason than to do them, to prove that you could. Following your most intense obsessions seems like craziness too, sometimes it makes you seem insane, but that is really just passion, unless we are calling passion craziness too. So maybe I am crazy in those ways. Maybe I am completely, utterly, insane. Maybe my heart is unhinged and my brain is on fire and I am a crazy, loving, disaster of a human being. Maybe I am Taylor-Swift-in-the-Blank-Space-Music-Video-Crazy and maybe some people aren’t fans, shush their feelings, ignore their passions, and don’t get excited about stars or sunflowers, but maybe that is the craziest thing of all. Maybe I am crazy, maybe we all are, and maybe life is, and maybe nothing will ever make sense ever and nothing matters in the big scheme of things, but I am going to keep feeling things all the way and falling in love and following my heart and gut and most intense obsessions mercilessly. I will never stop people watching in coffee shops for hours, or seeing people I miss, or playing the best songs I have ever heard on repeat for weeks straight and you can call me crazy for that, just please understand what that really means.


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