She’s Crazy
Yes, she’s crazy, you were kind to her, loving, caring, attentive, considerate, compassionate, and filled with gratitude for all she provided. You valued her presence in your life, you respected her as the mother of your children. You spoke kindly about her to your friends and family in their presence. You appreciated her intelligence more than the beautiful face she possessed and the body that was appealing to see in a tight dress. You loved that she enjoyed quiet days at home reading, and long walks on the beach versus the night life. You knew she was a loner, had few friends, and complicated family dynamics left her without loving support. You cherished her, and loved her with wild abandon.
Yes, she’s crazy, you always supported her goals and dreams as she balanced family life and her own. Yes she is crazy, she wanted a life filled with traveling, pictures of you both smiling across the desert sands in Egypt, and long gazes with the backdrop of azul waters in Anguilla. Yes, she is crazy, she had dreams of writing and cooking and exploring, yet she made life what it was in the present moments. Going to school after working a full day at a job simply to pay bills, yet still found the time to manage the babies that kept coming and ensure a hot meal was on the table when you returned home. Yes, she is crazy, that meal was always appreciated, never thrown across the kitchen, or decorating the floor, and she always had help with the dishes and managing the mess that comes with a growing family, a dog and a man who feels that financial support is his only responsibility. But remember, she is crazy.
Yes she’s crazy, you always lifted her self esteem, never compared her to other women, shamed her for stretch marks after giving life multiple times, and encouraged her healthy eating, yoga, and swimming in her moments of free time. You never forced her to look at countless pictures of your latest bitch of the week, with a big ass and small waist. You made sure that any outside indiscretions knew their place, and didn’t dare approach her, call her, or disturb her peace. Yes, she is crazy, you never had these women in her home, holding her daughter, disguising themselves as “friends of the family”, she was wrong for hurling that wine bottle at your friend, despite the critical remarks about her abilities as a wife and mother, snide disrespectful tones and chuckles. Yes, she must be crazy, hearing her daughter call this person who she had not known auntie, stating a familiarity that comes with frequent contact, she had no right to her anger, or shame from her tears, because she is crazy.
Yes, she’s crazy, you always contributed equally to the home. You never spent excessive amounts of money on material excess like clothes, jewelry, cars and quick trips to Miami with whores. No, you were responsible with money, always paid the bills, and shared financial responsibilities equally. All those porn hub charges must have been by mistake, couldn’t have been you, despite the IP address being from the home WiFi. Multiple cell phones on the family account, she must have been mistaken, no such numbers exist despite them calling and texting her all hours of the day and night to let her know “bitch I got yo man”. Yes, many people text those same sentiments, on the same cell account, from the same number that your fuck buddy just coincidentally has, but yes, she’s crazy.
Yes, she’s crazy, you never laid a hand on her in anger, didn’t curse at her in a disrespectful manner, or make her feel unsafe in any way. No, calling her a fucking bitch wasn’t an insult, you loved her, she should have known you didn’t mean it. Pushing her down wasn’t your fault, she moved, and you didn’t want to upset her by helping her up. Kicking her while she lay helpless doesn’t count, she looked through your phone, plus you only kicked her in the stomach, and only once this time, so surely you are doing better managing your anger.Throwing a glass candle at her head is irrelevant, it missed, if you had wanted to hurt her your aim would have been different. So what the broken glass cut her foot, you have been telling her for years to wear shoes. I keep telling you, she’s crazy.
Yes, she’s crazy, you would never lightly choke her with just enough force so that she gasps for air, just to keep her in line or restrict her movements with your strength. No, you never held her down and screamed in her face after she told you that triggers her after being molested. Imagine, she confided in you what happened to her has a pre-teen and you used it to torture her in your moments of rage. Choking her violently and shaking her wasn’t your fault either, she cursed back at you after you told her to shut the fuck up. Yes, she should have simply stayed silent and responded with kindness as she had done for years, she pushed you too far and you had to respond. Her crazy ass is always playing the victim, I keep telling people, she is fucking crazy.
Yes, she’s crazy, because you always respected her right to say no in the bedroom, and you would never judge her and call her a slut for past experiences before you. Yet secretly you enjoyed her prowess, skill at oral pleasures, and it drove you insane to imagine who was the muse for these talents. No, you never took advantage of her and tried to convince her after that you didn’t rape her, because husbands can’t commit rape of their own wife. I keep telling this bitch I own her ass, but shit, she is fucking crazy. Yes she had sex with you after, how could she not, she was terrified, confused, hurt, self esteem destroyed, and who could she confide in with this ugly truth? Yes, she’s crazy, she didn’t call the police, not again, why would she, all he did was charm them the last visit, and she ended up in jail with domestic violence charges, lost her job, and was on the verge of losing her sanity. No she didn’t call the police, and you promised to never do it again. Yes she’s crazy, I keep telling my parents that bitch lost her fucking mind, crazy.
Yes, she’s definitely crazy, because you never threatened her life or the life of those she loved with harm. Nah you would NEVER threaten a child, good men just don’t do that. Yet you did prevent her from seeing them, made them believe she left them hungry all those nights alone, and she never told them you were off with somebody else. Imagine, child services coming to her job and her seeing her children’s bodies bitten by fleas and heads filled with lice and them accusing her of abandonment, knowing she had not seen them in months. Yet she never denied the accusations, just went along with parenting classes so she could be in her children’s lives even if that meant supervised visits. This is the type of shit that happens to women who are crazy, what right did she have to complain, so with everything else, she shut her crazy ass up and carried on.
Oh yes, she’s crazy because you never would dare fake a suicide or depression or lie about events to seek sympathy after you might have gone too far one more time. Because that would mean you just might be narcissistic , but we all know that’s not true because men like you couldn’t possibly be anything but who you tell people you are. Remember, she’s the one that is crazy.
Oh lord, yes, she’s crazy, she walked away, came back, tried to work it out, got counseling, spent a year in the mountains of Jamaica hiding with a man she met on the flight over. In a fog of promiscuity, she lost all her money, a job, an opportunity at her dream. She saw this as punishment for leaving them, for not being able to make it work, and for being crazy, she deserved to lose everything, and she did.
One day she packed up the bare minimum, a few changes of clothes and books, stole his money that she figured she had earned, left in the early morning, bought a ticket to India, and rode the rails for years. The people in India didn’t think she was crazy, they loved the brown woman who barely smiled but seemed to enjoy observing the passengers, eating foods from the vendors and befriending the monkeys that dropped from the trees into the windows as the train moved slowly. She had become a native of sorts, her journal in hand, laptop at her side, camera in her bag, always ready to capture a moment of beauty or hearchache. Strange enough, no one here thought she was crazy, they were kind, and contributed to her projects, laughing at her ability to embrace their culture with shy smiles, and she loved the children. Many women wondered why she chose India, if she had a husband because that is important, and why she never truly smiled. Yet they saw something in her eyes that told of stories unknown and moments filled with grief. In the thousands of pictures she shared, sad eyes stared as if looking beyond her striking beauty.
No, she wasn’t crazy, she spent her time writing and publishing under a pen name and sent her children all of the royalties from her literary success. Prior to her leaving she opened accounts in their names, yet their father had no access to touch their money, millions. As they are older, she sends them letters weekly that are posted from an address in California, and sent from a company that writes historical letters. Her friends who work in the office have been printing her emails on their letterhead and sending them on her behalf all these years.
Yea she’s crazy, but shit, I didn’t think she had the intelligence or the balls to hide in plain sight or contact the kids, not after abandoning them the way she did, yet she kept sending them money. How the fuck did she have all this money? The kids don’t need shit, I need a fucking refund for taking care of their ungrateful asses. How dare that bitch be that crazy, crazy enough to fucking to leave me, and where is my money?
No, she’s crazy, crazy about herself, crazy about trying to stay alive, and decided that since you weren’t crazy about her, it was time to move somewhere and work on being normal again. Her new normal became years of total isolation from all she loved, in that solitude she found her voice. On paper she would become the woman she couldn’t be in life, and that success was shared with only her children. Through her letters and books, they would know their mother, if even for a short time. Her worldwide success as an author was short lived because she took her own life once publicity overwhelmed her, but the cult following of her novels would last a lifetime.
She wasn’t crazy, she was a woman who was denied the one thing she was born searching for, love……
The Unnerved Traveler~Nyri
The Unnerved Traveler 