A friend of our family recently disclosed to me that even though I’ve been referred to as “the crazy one” for many years in my family of origin, this person believes that I am actually more sane, or even better, healthier than the others. Me.

(The context of this comment was in no way competitive, nor meant to bring any others down. It was simply this person’s truth.)

This is what crazy people like myself long to hear, because we secretly believe it ourselves. We long to hear that all the years of therapy and talking about our feelings is going to finally pay off.

Not that I don’t have the internal fight with voices that one day tell me, “gee you are really doing well in therapy and making progress”, the next day the voices say “your family is right, you are an insolent slob of a human and you should be ashamed for even thinking you were worthy of anything”.

The crazy one in the family is the one others gang up on, and demand to know “why can’t you just be normal?”, or “why does everything bother you so much?”, “when are you going to get over it?”

If I had a dime for every time I’ve heard those comments, I’d buy myself a nice straitjacket.

I mentioned this to my therapist on my last appointment, and he confirmed that it’s actually common in family dynamics for the “crazy one” to be the healthiest. The crazy one is the one who tells the truth, and speaks up about things not being right while everyone else is busy trying to ignore the elephant.

This is similar to something that I’ve always wondered about people who talk to himself or herself, or “act crazy” in public. Perhaps, they are the normal ones, unfettered by the social slavery of “acting normal.”

After sharing this comment with my therapist, he was complimentary and praised me for the work I’ve been doing. He doesn’t offer up this type of information easily and he’s painfully honest.

I need to tell you that I felt good before my therapist expressed his opinion. This is vitally important that I feel this way about myself, whether my therapist or anyone else offers me praise or not. This is progress for me; in addition to something, that not one single person or event can take away from me.

Early on in working with this therapist, he pointed out a comment I made at the beginning of our relationship. It was “how can a person love me if I cannot love myself?” I had no idea I’d said it.

Not only said it, but I’d been LIVING it without even realizing.

I’ve heard this in one form or another “you have to love yourself before others can love you” for most of my life. I never really understood it until my therapist pointed out that I’d said it.

People have told me they love me, that I’m pretty, that I’m worthwhile, and I’ve always felt like they were lying. If they told me I was a horrible excuse for a human, I’d believe them. It was easier to believe the bad because the bad is what I’ve been telling myself for most of my life.

How I feel about myself is much more important than how any other person feels about me. This is a reminder for myself and anyone else that suffers from this disposition. The thing about these revelations is that they do not last forevermore and there I go skipping into the sunset.

As I continue to grow as a person, my crazy will weave and it will bob. That is life, that is mother nature. Each enlightenment leads to more enlightenments.

Today, I don’t feel so bad about being the crazy one.

I can honestly say that I am wearing my crazy title proudly.