“If he/she’s not stalking your timeline, calling you all the time and sending you numerous text when you don’t respond, then that person doesn’t don’t love you,” is the statement that was retweeted constantly on my twitter timeline last week. “True,” some people responded. “I couldn’t agree more,” another person said. I wanted to go on a twitter rant about how some people can’t possibly know what real love is, if they think that being crazy is what equates to it. I found myself judging them until I realized that myself, and many people I know, had at some point in life believed the same thing.
The clock on my nightstand read 4:02 a.m. when I heard a hard knock on my bedroom window that jolted me out of my deep sleep years ago. My first instinct was that someone was trying to kill me, so I hid under my comforter and screamed. Thirty seconds of silence went by before I heard the loud knock again, and I yelled, “Please stop.” No person in his or her right mind who knew me would really be beating on my bedroom window at an obscene morning hour, right? I sat on my bed trembling and ready to call the police, when the person doing the knocking finally said my name in a slurred voice. It was a voice I knew all too well: that of my ex-boyfriend.
“Can we please talk,” he begged with his face pressed against the window. “I really need to talk to you.”
“We have nothing to talk about,” I shouted to the man who had broken my heart more times than I cared to remember. He continued to beg to talk and come inside for another twenty minutes. I almost let him, until he begin yelling even louder and knocking on the window again. Scared out of my mind, I reached for my cell and saw that he had called me earlier that night not one, not two but eighteen times.
“He calls me like that because he loves me,” I said to my best friend many times in high school when we had first started dating. “No,” she told me in a matter-of-fact tone, “He calls you like that because he’s crazy.” I didn’t want to believe her or anyone else when they told me he was crazy in love with me. It wasn’t until I sat alone in my bed during the wee hours of the morning shaking at the possibility of what could happen that I truly understood that this wasn’t love, this was crazy!