Early on, I started off with bad choices. My first boyfriends was a Senior. I was a freshman. Even though the Jr. High and High School were 8 miles apart, to make the band big enough, the Freshman had first period over at the High School. I must have met him walking from the band hall to the marching field – he wasn’t a band geek like me. He was in FFA. Tall, lanky, with a cowboy hat. And he liked me. I started wearing Rocky Mountain Jeans and Ropers. I wasn’t allowed to car date, so we met at the county fair. And at the skating rink, where I had my first kiss. I don’t remember why we broke up, but it wasn’t devestating.

My next big relationship was my first real love (or so I thought). I kept the trend going – he was a Senior, I was a Sophomore. I dove into the relationship head first. My parents were working a lot, and we’d never been a very affectionate family anyway. Here was another person who would hug me, touch me, hold me, kiss me… I craved the connection. I wrote him countless love notes and poems. I called him relentlessy. One night I kept getting a busy signal, so I called every five minutes until I got through. Unbeknownst to me, I was kicking his mom off the modem every time. (This was before I’d even heard the word modem.) At some point, he broke up with me. I don’t remember why, but it didn’t matter, because we got back together.

Shortly after our reconciliation, I woke up one Saturday with an excruciating pain in my abdomen. I slept all day, and when the pain hadn’t subsided that night, my parents took me to the emergency room. Appendicitis was the diagnosis – immediate surgery required. He brought me flowers at the hospital. And it turned out it was only an ovarian cyst, nothing a little prescription for the Pill couldn’t fix.

When his car broke down, I started picking him up and taking him home after his shift at MickeyD’s was over. Usually, we’d cruise through the park and neck for awhile. That’s how I lost my virginity at 16 in the back seat of an 84 Buick Skylark.

Spring Break rolled around, and I decided to go on the Ski Trip with my youth group. I was desperate for him to come, but his family just couldn’t afford it. The night before I left, we vowed our love and lamented the looming separation. When I came back, he unceremoniously dumped me. At lunch.

I was heartbroken. I left school and went home for the afternoon, shattered (after I drove him back, of course). On the way out, I ran into a friend. She took one look at my face and asked, “What did he do?” The rest of my sophomore year is a blur, save convincing another boy from church to take me to the Junior/Senior prom. My ex was there with his new girl, even though we’d had numerous discussions about the two of us not going to prom because he couldn’t pay for it.

I didn’t know it then, but falling deeper in love than the one I was with, throwing too much of myself into a relationship, smothering my significant other, and being betrayed whenever I left town would become a common theme.


So, my hubby was out of town on business all last week. I did pretty good for the most part, but on Thursday night The Crazy started to creep up on me. We played Scrabulous on Facebook and chatted ’til after 9, and then he announced he was going to head out to dinner and hang at the bar across from his hotel for awhile. No worries, he’d done the same all week. I told him to call me when he got back. I was thinking he probably wouldn’t be out too late since his allergies had been bothering him something fierce.

When I turned the lights out around midnight (1 a.m. where he was), still no call. My dreams were plagued with images of him hooking up for a one-nighter. He called about an hour later, but by then I was more than half asleep and it was a hi, bye conversation.

I got to thinking the next day about why, after nearly seven years together, exchanging vows, and with no reason for me to doubt him, is The Crazy so close at hand. I know it’s rooted in my past relationships, so for your analysis – the path to my own personal ‘The Crazy’.