None of it is his fault, right? Nah. Can't be.
Each of my former boyfriends claimed to have had at least one "crazy ex" in his repertoire. In fact, some seemed to have collected them like baseball cards.
So, I wonder: What became of all of those alleged crazy ex-girlfriends? What beholds them in their future? Are these former flames now lurking and hissing in the shadows of their normal-looking blushing bride, soccer mom and professional counterparts? Are they, perhaps, hiding out in caves, stirring a steaming pot of witch's brew? Will they one day be granted a special type of "senior crazy lady" AARP membership?
Perhaps they will be provided their own special wing of the nursing home, secured with a straight jacket, so that all other residents remain safe during the likely event that their craziness reaches a level too dangerous to manage.
Or maybe they will never make it so far; crashing and burning at the height of their craziest of ventures, leaving a trail of smoke or a mist of side glances and hushed whispers.
Who knows what becomes of such insanity, such madness. Such a ghastly, bone-chilling thought it is.
I once dated a guy whose mother and sister filled my ears with an array of gory details about his previous ex. From the day I entered his life, I was served a feast of tales; every bite involving a different flavor of "crazy" or "conniving."
I later heard, from my ex-boyfriend's most current addition to his plethora of "crazy exes" — whose time spent with him played out eerily similar to mine — that she had been force-fed equally unflattering tales and heaping servings of juicy gossip about me. Most of the tales contained a level of such blatant inaccuracy, it was as humorous as it was nauseating. And, of course, the cycle now continues.
I wonder if, as his mother continues to deliver her accounts of her son's unfortunate events, that she will ever paint an accurate picture for her listener, informing him or her that he also chases his girlfriends for hours while dangerously swerving in and out of traffic, that he locks himself in bedrooms and rummages through personal belongings in search of incriminating information, that he punches holes in walls, that he makes extreme and sadistic attempts at relationship resuscitation.
That his blatant disrespect for authority has allowed him to be fired from more jobs than most will ever have in a lifetime, that managing his paranoid outbursts is like living a life in a war zone — constantly dodging bullets and tip-toeing through tantrums — and that, most notably, he has long eloquently and publicly labeled her as his "crazy mom."
I doubt it, though.
After departing from the role of "girlfriend" and graduating to "crazy ex-girlfriend," my life improved exponentially, personally and professionally. I fell in love, got married and began a career. Sadly, he, on the contrary, added another alleged "crazy ex-girlfriend" (and an assault charge) to his repertoir, and continues to squawk in the belly of legal and personal troubles as the echoes of dysfunction can be heard for miles.
The poor guy is simply a victim of misfortune, repeatedly finding himself in unfair situations with difficult people and, worst of all, crazy ex-girlfriends. None of it is his fault, though, right? Nah. Can't be.
Funny how that works. It's oftentimes the one chronically labeling others as being the problem who continues to attract further problems. Man can only identify that which is awake in himself. Therefore, if anyone — male or female — has a laundry list of problematic exes, it is no coincidence. It's isn't bad luck. There is no external hex over his or her love life.
The problem lies within the accuser, my friend.
So if you've ever been labeled as the "crazy ex," don't view it as The Scarlet Letter. Instead, wear it like a badge of honor. You're in fabulous company, babe.
This article was originally published at The Daily Doll. Reprinted with permission from the author.