Quarter century crazy. Quarter life crisis. Half way meltdown.
No matter what you call it, you’re still bat shit crazy. You know, that kind of meltdown where you’ve completely lost your mind, avoided personal hygiene, and drowned yourself in the isolating comfort of wine, yoga pants, and misery.
Everyone loves a hot mess, right?
Well, that’s where I’ve been. But, before that, I was madly in love. Gasp.
Then madly heartbroken.
Then, just mad.
That’s how it goes, though. You become the kind of crazy that only the heartbroken know about. The obsessive, crying, empty, darkness, hole in your chest kind of crazy. Can’t sleep, can’t eat, you know how it goes.