The Phenomenon of "Crashing Out"
Lego girl broken apart
“Can we speak?” someone tugged me. I turned to see who it was, and the moment I recognized him, my expression fell. I shook my head firmly. “I don't want to talk,” I managed to say, but I think it was more of a whisper. He didn’t seem to hear me, but I didn’t care. My body language said enough. Without waiting, I made my way downstairs to the dance floor.
That’s when the anger hit me. Hard. I was furious. Of all the places, this was where he wanted to talk? A club? Convenient for him, no doubt. He must’ve noticed I was here and decided a couple of drinks gave him the nerve to approach me. He couldn’t even be bothered to reach out beforehand or try to have a real conversation in a more meaningful setting. It felt lazy, no disrespectful! Did he really think cornering me at some club was the way to “fix” things? Does he not think? Is he messing with me? What a joke.
I should have left, gone home, or found another bar. But I was stubborn. This is my favorite bar and he knows that. I wasn’t going to let a guy dictate where I spend my night. Plus, my friend had found someone cute to dance with, and I didn’t want to ruin her fun. For the next two hours (thanks to daylight savings), I cycled through waves of anger, dissociation, and numbness. I danced like I was trying to forget, took shots from strangers, and teetered on the edge of emotional collapse. Eventually, I “crashed out.”
I’d learned the term “crashing out” on TikTok, and it hit too close to home. It described exactly what I went through that night: feeling “insane” and completely losing control. It’s the kind of state where you say or do things you wouldn’t normally share. It often ends in tears, venting your frustration at the person who pushed you over the edge.
But “crashing out” isn't something someone voluntarily chooses, it’s the result of losing the ability to regulate your emotions. For me, it was more than that one night. I’d already been on edge. I had tried setting boundaries with him before, telling him we should just be friends or nothing at all because it didn’t feel romantic. And while he said he was interested, his actions proved otherwise. When I realized we weren’t on the same wavelength, I decided to stop engaging. It wasn’t worth the emotional drain. I accepted it as part of the messy dating process and moved on. What else is there left to do?
But here he was, taunting me, at least that’s how it felt. Again. I took it personally. It wasn’t just frustrating, it was infuriating. It made me question everything: Was I wrong in how I handled things before? Did I come off as a bitch? I’m a bitch? Was he doing this to get back at me?
That night, my anger took over. The anger wasn’t just about him, it was about the disrespect, the lack of effort, and the audacity to make this my problem. He didn’t deserve another ounce of my energy, but in that moment, it was hard to keep my peace.
The “cringe wolf meme.”
So, I cried my eyes out at the club. Some random guy offered his shoulder, and I just let it out. I vented to my friends about it quite a few times, but they didn’t mind. But this time, I decided to communicate my emotions through text, not to try to get him to open up or fix things, but for my own sense of liberation. I even said he reminded me of the “cringe wolf meme” because I thought it was funny.
Was I the nicest? No. But honestly, it felt incredible. It was like sitting outside with your besties, sipping matcha on a perfect day (not too hot, not too cold) while the sun warms your skin, and you’re laughing, gossiping, and feeling an undeniable sense of peace.
But then, guilt crept in, not because of what I said, but because I didn’t feel bad for saying it. I don’t like making people feel bad, but why should I care about someone who clearly doesn’t care about me? Still, I don’t want to let someone else’s indifference or cruelty turn me into a person who hurts others in return.
If it happened again, I’d want to handle the situation better. Maybe I should listen to my intuition more, when something feels off, I could step away sooner instead of letting it build up. Should I work on communicating more effectively? Perhaps I’m too straightforward at times? Was I even the problem? I’m not entirely sure.
What I do believe is that experiencing a “crash out” can be an important step in learning to understand and navigate our emotions. It’s part of growth. But I don’t think it’s something we should rely on or let become a habit. There are better ways to process and regulate how we feel, and I want to work on finding those.
