I feel like calling a chick psycho is sort of the equivalent of telling a guy his member is not adequate. I mean, all chicks are a little crazy. That’s what makes us chicks. We have feelings. We are emotional. We speak our minds. But calling us psycho is sort of hitting below the belt. And you KNOW it bugs us.
Guys are content to just go through life sitting on a couch watching Sports Center and jerking off. We’re headaches to them. We’re pains in the ass. We bitch and moan. We spend their money.
But, the cool thing about being a chick is we are SO much more than that. We are so much more than the make-up, the shoes, the tits. We are the heart. And the heart is a big thing, it’s everything. The heart is the love, the compassion, the desire.
We tell you when we are happy. We tell you when we are sad. We tell you when we are mad. We’re not hard to figure out. We put it out there. We give you all the signs.
Some chicks are more “normal” while others are considered more “crazy.” I have never tried to pass myself off as a normal girl. The fact of the matter is I’m not normal. But, isn’t normal sort of boring anyways?
I’m damaged. I’m real. I embrace my craziness. I’m up. I’m down. I’m here. I’m there. Every day is a different adventure with me. I’ve been hurt. I’m sensitive. I have a bad temper. I jump to conclusions and start fights. I can be downright insecure at times.
I can sit and give you excuses. I can tell you about my background and childhood. My history will convey to you why I’m damaged and emotional, where I’ve been, what I’ve seen. But, it’s my history. It’s my life. It’s my worries and fears. Not yours.
It’s my story.
I’m not going to defend why I’m the way that I am. If you’re one of the lucky few you know this already. You can look past my bad qualities and see the real me. You look deeper inside me, and you find the truly loving, loyal and sensitive person that I am.
You know there is more to me than meets the eye.
I don’t let many people in. Sure I “put it all out there,” but I am also very guarded. I’m like a wounded animal. I want you to love me and hold me, but as soon as you do I’ll try to bite your arm off.
I’m crazy and difficult…and psycho? But, I’m not going to apologize for me. I am who I am. Sure, I wish there were things about me that were different. Don’t we all? I wish I was more laid back and easy-going. I wish I could not sweat the small stuff. Instead, I am a zealous, hormonal Italian b*tch – with so many layers to me you may never see them all. I won’t let you.
But, please, before you judge. Before you call us names – like psycho – remember that we all have a story. We all have baggage. And we all have hearts. You just have to look deeper in some people than others.