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My Own Special Brand of Crazy.

September 1, 2010 by
There is a year of my life that lives in infamy within my family. They merely mention the age of 12 or 7th grade and everyone bursts into fits of laughter. Because during that year I was insane. Not like a typical kind of insane that you can seek treatment at a facility for- I had my very own special brand of crazy.
Deep breath. Here’s the full story.
It all started with the movie Titanic. Seriously. It was the movie event of the year and I didn’t want to miss it. I went to see it first with my family. It rocked me. It literally shook the core of me. I cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried. I was still crying when we left the theater. After about 10 minutes of tears in the car I was finally able to pull myself together. That didn’t last long, however, as the Celine Dion song made famous by the movie came on the radio- it sent me back into fits of tears. I was extremely emotionally burdened by this film. Part of what made me feel this way was that I knew this had actually happened and that even though Jack and Rose were fictional, there were actual people who died or who lost loved ones on the Titanic. I was also overwhelmingly angry at the treatment of the third class or steerage passengers. I knew that really happened too and it broke me heart. I was devastated. Also, I have to be honest, a lot of it was Jack and Rose. I mean, I was 12- the fact that they found love and then lost it just seemed cosmically unfair. I never wanted to let go. (Ha ha, get it.) And let me tell you something else, for a very very disgustingly long time, I didn’t let go. I became obsessed with all things Titanic both fact and fiction (i.e. the movie). I read all there was to read, I looked through hundreds of newspaper clippings, I bought the soundtrack, and then I saw the movie many many more times. I cried as much the fifth time as I did the first. For real. None of this is exaggeration. And it gets worse. I started sketching people drowning, the ship sinking, dead roses, and disembodied hands. It was bad. And creepy. Really creepy and bizarre. I became offended if someone didn’t like the movie or if someone got a fact about the actual sinking wrong. I was so obsessed that I actually convinced myself that in a past life I had actually been on the Titanic. I had such an emotionally inappropriate response to this film- that my family actually stopped speaking of it so as to not upset me. The subject was persona non grata at my house.
In my defense, I was clearly unstable. Also, very hormonal. You can’t control those hormones man, you just have to ride them out and mine seemed to be particularly potent. I also cried every time I had a make-up line on my face or a bump in my hair. I cried when a boy I liked didn’t like me back- I cried when a guy I didn’t like liked me. I listened to N’Sync. I was clearly in a strange and awkward place. Also, that was the year my sister threw a hair brush at me and it busted my eye open. That doesn’t really have much to do with anything but I would just like to highlight that I wasn’t the only one with problems in my house. And anything she tells you to justify using a hair-brush as a weapon against me is complete bollocks. I was an innocent victim. Probably.
I guess the point of this post is to explain that since puberty- I have had my own special brand of crazy. The Titanic episode is just the tip of the iceberg (haha- I can’t stop myself…)Sometimes it’s a little more crazy and sometimes a little less. Although, my family definitely thinks of my 12th year of life as one of the worst bouts of crazy I’ve ever had. They still love me, which, I think is a testament to their patience…and their sense of humor. Also, I still cry every time I see Titanic. (Shrugs).