I’m extremely bad at arguing.  That’s not entirely true, I think that I’m really good at it as long as I can keep my head.  But if I let the anger and rage overtake me, the gloves come off and I don’t fight fair.  However, I make it really easy for someone else to fight unfairly as I have been always open and honest about myself.  Those who know me best know where my soft underbelly is and where my weaknesses are.  If I push them far enough, they know the place where they can inflict the most damage.

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I call this the Trump Card.  If someone plays it when arguing with me, they will always win.  Because they can shut me up with the following words, “Well at least I’m not crazy like you”.  It’s like the fatality in Mortal Kombat.  I can hear the words in the background “FINISH HER”!  Those words finish any conversation and make me completely retreat and shut down.

My best friend pointed this out to me when I was telling him about an argument I’d had with my sister.  He told me that it always worked because I honestly believed it was true.  How can I possibly argue with something that I hold as my truth?

Real or imagined, I’ve always felt like the “crazy one” in my family.  When I was 14, we moved again to what felt like a completely different world.  I didn’t know things were so bad that we had to move, I just knew that I was ripped from a life where I had friends and was moderately popular into a school that was 4 times the size in a very strange place where no one seemed to care.  My sisters made friends so easily, and I cried every single day. 

My freshman year of high school consisted of school, swim team, and crying.  At one point, my dad staged an “intervention” with me in front of everyone else.  I remember sitting on the brick fireplace where they explained that they couldn’t deal with me anymore.  And that if I wasn’t careful they would “send me away”.  I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly.  But I knew that I was branded the crazy one evermore, and I had to learn how to hide it better.

I could go down this road for hours, exploring the ways I should have made my life better instead of retreating into “crazy behaviours”, Not only did I have the crazy, I inherited my dad’s short fuse and bursts of anger.  Punching the walls was too obvious, so I stopped doing that and started carving things into my legs just so that I could stop the pain inside my heart.  My parents decided to tread lightly with me but soon became preoccupied by the birth of my baby sister, so there was no longer any talk of “sending me away”.

Maybe I am too honest.  I share more of myself here than I do with many people, and it’s not like I’m making any attempt to hide it.  Maybe I feel more comfortable pouring my heart out to strangers than I am trying to foster normal relationships.  It all goes back to the fear that if people knew who I really was they would go away. 

This is me.  I’m the crazy one.  How do I start changing that reality?

 

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