[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image=”333″ img_size=”large” alignment=”center”][vc_single_image image=”334″ img_size=”large” alignment=”center”][vc_single_image image=”337″ img_size=”large” alignment=”center”][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_single_image image=”338″ img_size=”large” alignment=”center”][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_empty_space height=”160px”][vc_column_text]

“I don’t know who raised you, but it wasn’t me”

[/vc_column_text][vc_empty_space height=”60px”][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image=”336″ img_size=”large” alignment=”center”][vc_separator][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]“So are you always like this?” my friend Hannah asked me as we struggled past the rush hour crowds in the London tube station.

“Like what?” I played dumb.

“You know, like how you are…”

“Oh yeah. I’m always the token psycho,” I said with a flip of my hair before scurrying off down the escalator to the westbound Piccadilly line, leaving Hannah with an open mouth.

How did I end up with the label of “psycho”? Here’s the lowdown:

I’ve stalked people obsessively online and in person since the age of 13, creating fake profiles
of my crushes just so I can be “in a relationship” with them on Facebook.

My priorities are out of control—I once lived off bread alone for 2 weeks so I could afford an $800 dress. I’m incredibly self absorbed and superficial. When I’m not laughing at the misfortunes of others, I’m judging people on the basis of what they’re wearing and if they’re fat or not.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]I’m only interested in a guy if he already has money or will earn a shit ton of it in the future, and I often confuse this with believing I’m in love. Getting blackout drunk is also my solution to any social situation, even when I end up pouring drinks on my ex-boyfriend’s head at a club. (Okay that only happened once, and he seriously sucked.) People assume I’m joking when I casually tell them all of this, but I’m dead serious.

“I don’t know who raised you, but it wasn’t me,” my mother, who made sure I went to church every Sunday when I was little, once said to me with a heavy sigh.

Lucky for me, psycho is back in style this season. Gaunt eyed models strutted down the atelier steps of Saint Laurent last month in Paris, Patrick Bateman hits Broadway in the musical adaption of American Psycho this spring, and then there’s just Donald Trump in general. The psycho remains a cultural fascination—someone who’s obsessed over, but also a person from whom you want to keep a safe distance. Maybe I’m being partial, but I stand in defense of the insane. I mean after all, Miley Cyrus used her craziness to stage an epic comeback. Even if you end up completely alone, at least you still have a personality.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_separator][vc_single_image image=”335″ img_size=”large” alignment=”center”][vc_column_text]

* Photography by Christina M Garcia *


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