How I Let a Guy Almost Drive Me Crazy

How I let a guy almost drive me crazy.

Photo Credit: Alfeo Dixon.

By Marley B.

Never did I ever think a man would drive me to think outside of my usually sane mind. But damn-it the bastard almost did. Here’s my story.

I met *That Guy a few months ago at a self serve carwash. Somewhere between me bending over to vacuum my carpets and him shining the rims on his Range Rover, we struck up a conversation about the suppression of female sexuality in the black church. Smart, cute and judging from his choice of vehicle, successful, I thought I had hit the jackpot of men.

Never one to appear over zealous for a guy I played an intense game of “I like you but I’m not going to act like I like you in case you don’t like me as much as I thought you liked me” for about three weeks before I finally agreed to let him take me out. After a movie-like first-date ending with us getting caught in the rain, I was hooked.

Fast-forward three months, multiple tagged Facebook photos, gift exchanges and a weekend with the parents, and we were smack dab in the middle of dating bliss. *That Guy was perfect. He listened, complimented me, gave me great sex, was supportive of my goals and even had a decent credit score. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for him and I believed there was nothing he wouldn’t do for me, and more importantly nothing he would do to hurt me. That is until one day our picture-perfect unity was shattered into a million pieces.

It all started when I noticed a Facebook alert from an unknown woman on his phone (yes my downward spiral into near insanity began with Facebook…I know). The message was something along the lines of “It was great seeing you. *wink face* Let’s do it again.” Now the “it” could have been coffee, baseball or prayer; but in my jealous girlfriend mind, “it” coupled with a *wink face* translated to sex.

So like any jealous girlfriend would, I immediately confronted *That Guy and demanded to know the truth about his Facebook vixen. Of course he denied everything so of course I embarked on a month-long journey as a stiletto-wearing sleuth. Phone trackers, car trailing, stakeouts outside “it” girl’s house, you name it; I did it. And like the old saying goes, “if you go looking for trouble, you just might find it.” Lo and behold I did. Turns out *That Guy was having a full on affair with “it” girl. This is where it starts to get crazy.

Instead of breaking all ties with him, I presented him with an ultimatum; me or “it.” While he said me, something about “it” kept pulling him back and something about me kept me engaged in the torrid game of tug-and-war. I couldn’t fathom what he saw in her. What about me wasn’t good enough? Besides, after buying him expensive gifts, overhauling his wardrobe and investing myself emotionally, I wasn’t willing to let all my hard work go down the drain that easily. I had to know what spell she was casting on him, and each time I attempted to find out, I became more enraged and my hate for him and “it” only grew.

I was obsessed and the anger was taking over my life. I was leaving scathing voicemails on both of their phones, crying at the drop of a dime, sending curse-filled Facebook messages and following both to the point that I had their daily routines memorized. God, how did I become this girl?

It all culminated the night I followed him to “it’s” house one evening. While he was inside doing God knows what, I was circling his beloved Range Rover with a butcher knife in hand, plotting how I would ruin what he loved most so he could feel the pain I felt when he discarded my heart like last week’s leftovers. In a scene reminiscent of a “Fatal Attraction” outtake, I went H.A.M. I hoisted my knife into the air and for the next five or so minutes never put it down. It was the most exhilarating and depressing moment of my life. With every thrust to his tires I was inflicting on him a fraction of what he had done to me. *Up* I hate you. *Stab* Why do you refuse to love me the way I love you? *Up* Why her, not me? *Stab* I hope this is a total pain the a** for you to repair. And so on.

And then, as if I had run head first into a brick wall, it hit me. Here I was mascara mixed with tears running down my face, fighting to catch my next breath, knife in hand, tire debris at my feet, and no appreciation for the consequences of destroying private property or trespassing — all for some guy I knew cared nothing about me. I had officially lost myself, and my mind slipping away. How did I become this girl?

Looking back I realize my behavior was a lethal combination of insecurity, vanishing self-worth and me breaking nearly every dating rule there was. For starters I clearly cared about him more than he cared about me. During my relationship with *That Guy I was the constant giver. After giving everything I had, I became weighed down with a sense of entitlement that was never fulfilled, thus drawing me to the edge of Crazyville. I also didn’t see that clearly I deserved and was capable of finding better. For some strange reason I thought I had to hold on to *That Guy because if he wouldn’t love me then who would?

So with a humbled heart I packed up my weapon and returned home. It goes without saying that upon discovering his massacred tires he called me just about every name in the “harshest things to ever call a woman” book and to this day we barely speak. In a revolutionary grown woman move I offered to cover half of the damages to his car (couldn’t bring myself to pay for four new tires) and apologized profusely to him and “it” girl for my temporary insanity. Thankfully he didn’t report the incident to the police or this could have had a dramatically different ending. Not only were my actions reckless and immature, they were just plain wrong and the epitome of ratchet.

Since *That Guy I’m happy to report I’m back to my usual sane self. I’ve had a few trysts since then but for the most part I am taking a much needed break from men and have put my PT job of chief tire destroyer on permanent hold.

So ladies, if you’re thinking about or are guilty of stalking, trolling, tire slashing or any other obsessive/crazy behavior geared toward or resulting from your man, let this be a cautionary tale. No one on God’s green earth is worth that much time and energy, particularly if there is no ring or kids involved. If a man has you up until 4am in tears or considering violent thoughts as a hurt tactic, he’s won, not you. In the words of Yeezy, “No one man should have all that power.”

*Name changed for the purposes of not giving the douche bag the satisfaction of knowing this post is about him. 

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