cra·zy[krey-zee] cra·zi·er, cra·zi·est, noun, plural cra·zies.
mentally deranged; demented; insane.
senseless; impractical; totally unsound: a crazy scheme.
Informal. intensely enthusiastic; passionately excited: crazy about baseball.
Informal. very enamored or infatuated (usually followed by about ): He was crazy about her.
Informal. intensely anxious or eager; impatient: I'm crazy to try those new skis.
I use it for a lot of reasons. Because, as well as its negative connotations (DERANGED! DEMENTED! INSANE! Fact of the day: there is a psychologist named William C. Dement.) it is also, in some sense, a positive word: "I'm just crazy about these new shoes!" Number 3 on that list is also fairly accurate when describing me: intensely enthusiastic; passionately excited: "YOU GUYS I AM MAKING REALLY FIT ENCHILADAS TONIGHT AND AM SO EXCITED ABOUT IT THAT I CANNOT SIT STILL." In many ways, I resemble your average toddler: incredibly overexcited, jumping up and down and squealing with joy about something for about half an hour, before getting overtired and needing nap time. Which is why I find it easier to relate to two year olds than to my peers.
But it's also because Definition Number One also applies: by any objective standard I am indeed mentally deranged, demented, and insane. My logic does not resemble your earth logic. My brain works in a different way to yours. I might look like I'm sitting still and knitting quietly, but I am actually having a loud shouty argument with myself in my head. I spend more time analysing my emotions than actually having them - until the dam breaks and I'm swept away on a tidal wave of deathmisery. I am a crazy person. And I'm okay with that.
But a fair few people are not so okay with that. Many of them are my nearest and dearest: "I am a crazy person," I say, and they instantly respond: "No you're not!"
I am, actually, and I am allowed to call myself that.
It seems to be a perfect replica of that thing where people describe themselves as fat, to be greeted with an instant chorus of "No, you're not! You're beautiful!" Well-meaning, maybe, but cack-handed and hurtful: it denies a person's right to accurately describe themselves, it denies the actual reality of the situation, and it reinforces the idea that fat - or crazy - equals bad.
They react as if I'm insulting myself. I'm not. I'm calling it what it is.
I don't look crazy. I'm not foaming at the mouth or talking to people who aren't there or fashioning a chic little hat made of tin foil. Unless I'm telling you in exhaustive detail what's going on in my head, how I think of myself and other people, and how there is a little gremlin in my brain (his name is Derek) who won't stop shouting about what a socially inept, clumsy, self-centred shit I am, then no, I probably don't seem crazy. But I am. And I will call it what it is.