Don’t Call Me Crazy And I Won’t Call You An Asshole

“She’s crazy,” says the indecisive ex-boyfriend who was sexting her the night before.

“Dude, she started acting all possessive and texted me non-stop,” remarks the ~*4 EvA*~ lifelong bro who refuses to commit yet introduced her to his family.

“She’s all of a sudden needy. I mean, like, we’re not dating or anything,” mumbled the dude who “doesn’t know what he wants” while he kisses her on the forehead and holds her hand.

Welcome to the 21st century. Where all girls are crazy and all guys are assholes. The way the world works as of late: boys tell each other that girls are insane, while we are simply blaming it on the fact that you suck.

As women, we spend our lives avoiding the label that is “crazy.” We overthink every letter of your text message, attempting to encode what you meant by a simple, “Hey.”  We have mastered the art of pretending to not care while possibly caring too much.  We blame our overthinking tendencies to mask our insecurities about the whatever relationship we have invested ourselves in with you. The question is, are we really overthinking the dinner dates you take us on, or are you just leading us on to believe in a relationship that will never be?

Don’t call me crazy because I question what we are after months of talking. Don’t call me crazy because I’m upset that you made out with that girl in front of me at the bar when we slept together the night before. I’m not going to apologize for getting attached if I have developed feelings, and I’m not going to apologize for wanting more than what you’re giving. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy for reading into the pillow talks and exclusive dates that you take me on. I’m not crazy for thinking that you see me more as just another girl because you ask me about my future plans. I may be naive, but I’m not crazy. And I’m certainly not going to waste my time on someone who labels me as such, so, please, just have the balls to tell me how you really feel.

You hate labels? Ok. Well sorry, sometimes, I need one. I need one because it gives me a peace of mind. It makes me feel like the words you spoke to me the other night were genuine and not an attempt to get laid. A label doesn’t mean I need your name plastered on my Facebook wall. I’m not going to constantly Instagram pictures of you and label you as my #MCM every week. You don’t want to call me your “girlfriend,” or your “babe?” Fine. Pet names make me cringe anyways. I don’t care what our “label” is, just give me something tangible.

There comes a time when we need to reevaluate how we define “overthinking.” I’m tired of blaming my anxieties about you on the simple fact that girls are known to over-evaluate a situation when you have given us every sign to over-evaluate it. The last time I checked, a girl you just want to fuck isn’t worth the good morning texts during the week. If you’re looking for a friend with benefits, that’s cool. Tell us. You don’t want us to get attached? Be honest. Don’t string us along.

But really, are you shocked that we want something more? Maybe you haven’t noticed the countless Elite Daily articles about what women want. Or maybe you are an award winning actor for pretending that you actually gave a shit. How could you believe that we wouldn’t develop feelings after months and months of investing our time in you.

I titled this post, “Don’t Call Me Crazy, You’re Just An Asshole.” So, who’s the asshole? The entire male species? No. I’m not even bitter to the men who only wanted one thing out of me. I understand the science behind the sexual desires of the human species and I certainly understand the science behind getting laid. I’m not bitter to the men who have made me feel used or who have led me on only to let me down. I’m bitter to the men who have expected me to justify my feelings of attachment when they are the ones who led me to become attached. I’m bitter towards the men who have called any girl “crazy” for expecting something more when they treated me like that was the case.

How to avoid being an asshole: don’t sweep me off of my feet only to let me crash when I fall. Be honest with me. If you sense attachment on my end, don’t string me along for the ride if you’re not feeling the same. Don’t call me crazy and I won’t call you an asshole.

Featured image via Smoke Weddings on Pexels


  1. Who is this chick? Seriously the only author in here who I enjoy reading (coming from a guy). To Beth: you sound like a girl I’d love to wine and dine. Hit me up and I’ll take you out

  2. You’re amazing Beth!!! All of your pieces resonate with me in so many ways and it’s truly incredible how you can take such a personal issue and broaden it to speak to so many other people. I can’t wait to read more of your stuff.


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