The Psycho

I feel like saying “we met at a wedding” is old-school code for “we met online but I’m embarrassed to say so” because nobody ACTUALLY meets at weddings, right? I ACTUALLY did meet The Psycho at a wedding and this should have been my first clue that some real Lifetime Original Movie shit was about to go down.

He was in town to be the date of a bridesmaid. He was hot. He was so hot in fact that my inner alarm didn’t go off when he walked up to me at the bar and said “I’ve been watching you dance all night.” Instead of pulling out my rape whistle, I got all blushy and stammered something super witty like “thanks” and spilled my drink.

I blame that spilt drink for everything. If I hadn’t gotten all flustered maybe I would have picked up the crazy he was putting down, but instead I felt the need to recover my coolness and started chatting him up. I thought WE were having witty banter. Turns out I was just being witty all by myself and he was agreeing with everything I said because he’s dumb and was probably trying to figure out how to make a doll out of my hair.

The next few months went down like this. He lived several states away but would call almost every day to talk, and even though I was insistent that I didn’t want a long distance relationship, it’s hard to not pick up when you know someone is going to spend the next 30 minutes telling you how much they adore you and want to see you again. His first visit back he came to stay with me for a week. (WHY DID I NOT THINK THIS WAS A BAD IDEA?) I had been dating other guys up until this visit but let him talk me into becoming exclusive. The next few months consisted of flying back and forth for week long visits that were so jam packed with super fun events that I never had to actually spend time getting to know him. Phone conversations were just a back and forth of “no, you’re hotter,” and planning said fun events. I probably should have known he was batshit when I would wake up to 48 text messages, but I excused it by saying he was bored working nights. Really I had seriously unaddressed emotional baggage that made that appealing in a fucked up “who doesn’t want to be worshiped” sort of way. (The correct answer is nobody. Nobody should want to be worshiped. Gross.) So I really mean it when I say I didn’t realize he was crazy until I went to go live with him for a summer.

It. Was. Awful.

He picked me up from the airport drunk and pretty much never sobered up. He picked my clothes out for me. He checked my phone and accused me of cheating on him when I took my phone into the bathroom (if you’re not checking Facebook while you poop, that’s just lost time!) On like a random trip to Target, he would start crying to Adele about how much he loved me. He had no friends. His schizophrenic mother lived with us. (You read that right.) I was literally allergic to him and went to the doctor at least 6 times to figure out why my vagina was so angry all the time. On day one I knew I should go home, but I was way too embarrassed to return after I had just told everyone about how in love I was. Plus I had rented my place to a friend of a friend for the summer. I was trapped.

The summer of love ended a few days early when I booked a flight home in the middle of the night after he went through my phone, found a text where I confessed my unhappiness to a friend, and then proceeded to tell me what an ungrateful, unloveable slut I was while slamming around in what could only be described as an attempt to scare me into loving him. Thankfully, my dad was abusive (did I just say that?) so a drunk angry man backing me into a corner and yelling in my face wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before. I packed up my shit and got the hell outta Dodge.

Guys. It gets so much worse.

After I got home and spent as much as 3 hours away from Crazytown, I snapped out of it and cut the cord. He did not accept. He would leave me voicemails detailing how he wanted me to fly through my windshield on my way to work. After I moved he sent me an “anonymous” letter to my work telling me to treat myself along with a coupon to Bed Bath and Beyond- one of those 20% off ones that everyone gets in their bulk mailing. He sent me emails saying that he was going to fly down and “just stop by” to check on me. I would get easily 100 text messages from him in a week that within a span of 30 minutes would range from “I can’t stop thinking about the way you would suck my dick,” to “You’re a goddamned whore who deserves to die,” to “I love you and I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you,” to “How’s work?” He was certifiable.

Just when I was about to file a restraining order, he stopped. Occasionally I’ll still get emails with him begging for me back and telling me he wishes I could just get over our “little disagreement.” I’ve never replied because I want him to assume I’m not getting them. I won’t be surprised if I turn on the news one day to find out about some girl that just escaped from his basement.