When I saw this prompt, I stared at it for some time and the first thing that came to mind, were those crazy moments I can have, when I am being silly and tease Master T, whether it’s by talking in some crazy accent, or jumping up and down like an excited child. I don’t have these moments every day, but I absolutely love them, if only for Master T’s face. He tries his best not to laugh, almost rolls his eyes and sigh exorbitantly. This always makes me laugh and ask innocently: “Is something wrong?”
But, there were different kind of crazy moments in the past too.
External things that can totally drive me crazy is for example when a door clatter against the door frame. I hate the repetitive sounds. The same with a water dripping from a tap. It is, however, not only repetitive sounds that can drive me into a rage. If you instantly want me to act like a mad woman, you should clap in your hands in a confined space, or scream, or make any other loud noise. I suffer from a form of hyperacusis, which as a results means those sounds in a confined space literally hurt my ears, and add to that my fear for loud sounds, and you have me in a state of ‘fight or flight’. The combination of this all, and probably because of the intense fear, can make me lash out like a woman in rage. I am never proud of those moments, but somehow when this happens, I can’t control myself.
Another thing that came to mind, when I saw May’s words ‘Perhaps something you care deeply about?’ was many, many years ago. In those days I had a friend who suffered from AIDS, and he had told me how some people had pushed him out of their lives, when they learned of his condition. I couldn’t understand how people, who had called themselves his friends for many years, now didn’t want anything at all to do with him. I became an advocate for the rights of HIV positive people, how they have the right to be here, how they didn’t ask for the disease, how they are as much human as someone who’s not HIV positive. Whenever the words ‘AIDS’ or ‘HIV’ fell in a conversation, I would start talking and not stop before I have said all I wanted to say. This was in the mid and late nineties, and it ended when my friend passed away on 1 August 1999.
Crazy moments I am very ashamed of, but which I know that they happened in a very difficult time of my life, are two separate evenings when Master T and I were on our way back home after we went out for dinner and drinks. The second night was more or less a copy of the first. It was in the first year after my mom had passed, and before I sought the help of a therapist. I was sad, and no matter how hard I tried to enjoy the evening, I couldn’t. All I wanted was to go home and go to bed and cry, but not wanting to spoil Master T’s evening, I stayed. Once we were in the car, I broke down. Nothing was good anymore. I complained about us not having sex, about him not touching me. I cried about it, but also cried about missing my mom. It was in the phase where all I wanted was to smash my car into a tree; where I thought it would be better for everyone if I was gone too.
Those two evenings, in the car, I cried and raged and hated myself. I told him how ugly I was, that I understand that no one wanted to be with me. I screamed that just don’t know what the meaning of life was anymore. That I hate life. That I hate myself. That I hate everything. Everything.
Those were not my finest moments, and can definitely be described as crazy, all fueled by intense sadness, and missing my mom so incredibly much. Those were also the moments that I realized that I needed help, and where I didn’t act on it the first time, I did on the second. The therapy saved me from myself.
I will much rather have those crazy moments where I get that almost-eye-roll from Master T and his exaggerated sigh, than those bad moments in my car somewhere on a dark parking spot. Bless him, for being so supportive even in my darkest , ugliest moments.
So who wants to practice some crazy talk with me?
Comez to maa-maa, and letz a be krêzzie togetter!
© Rebel’s Notes