Crazy Bitch

I sent out a question on my Facebook the other day, asking “What’s that film where the woman is committed to a mental asylum, but she’s actually completely sane and lucid, and the implication is that she’s the victim of a cover up, but by the end you don’t know what the reality is?” Most responses thought the film was Gothika, and upon reading up on it on IMBD, that made sense.

But I’ve never seen Gothika, which leads me to believe this is some kind of manifestation of the collective unconscious, one of the innate fears of humanity: that the reality you experience is not the reality everyone else is living in, and that you are the insane one.

It’s that time you swear blind someone said “Want to have dinner some time?” and they swear blind they said, “I can’t stand the sight of you and hope you die.”

It’s that time he kind of rested his hand on your bottom for five minutes and then turned around and said, “Oh! I’m so sorry you misinterpreted that! You thought I was coming on to you?” Um.. Yeah, dude, she did.

It’s that time she said, “Yeah, buy it! It looks great on you. What? No, it’s not my style,” and then bitched to everyone that you thieved it off the rack from under her nose.

We’ve all had it happen. We’re dead certain one thing was said, they’re dead certain another thing was said, and so you’re left with two choices: They’re LYING or you’re CRAZY.

Statistically, it’s much more likely a lie has been told than that you are so far gone down the delusional episodes path that you’re actually hallucinating the bit where you outright caught him snogging your best friend (it was exactly what it looked like, guys – don’t swallow that shit), or the fifteen separate individuals who told you she said your makeup made you look like a two-dollar hooker.


The “Crazy Bitch” blow-off is another bullshit sexist construct designed to indemnify men against accusations of being assholes, and women have adopted it as a defence against being just plain nasty. And in using it against each other, ladies, we pander to the same misogynistic, fear-driven, male-centric construct of femininity we’ve been labouring under for millennia. It’s a get-out-of-gaol-free card that people use to avoid actually owning their behaviour.

I know – I’ve used it myself.

And guys, it doesn’t do you any favors either. By falling back on the “Crazy Bitch” excuse, you compound a masculinity that is predicated on emotional insensitivity, arrogance, and self-righteousness (well, that’s the fed-up feminine perspective on what the masculine subject would probably call “emotional fortification, confidence, and self-assuredness”).

Sure, occasionally the problem is actually just that s/he’s a crazy bitch/jerk (because women are not the only people capable of delusion and neuroses, guys – time drag yourselves out of the sixteenth century). But 99.99% of the time, the real issue is that s/he’s different to you, and that’s fine.

So next time you don’t understand someone, don’t fly to the conclusion that s/he’s lost their reason, and is thus unreasonable and can’t be reasoned with: consider for a moment what reason for feeling this way they might have, and give them an opportunity to explain their reasoning. Because it’s exactly when you’re so convinced of your own reason that you should question it: Crazy people rarely know they are… crazy.