has never been “Am I crazy?” but rather “Am I so crazy that I’m doomed to be alone all my life?” As the child of a mentally ill poet and a raging alcoholic philosophy professor who gave me away to be raised by their even crazier psychiatrist, I worried I might be too warped to ever fit perfectly against somebody else. That my crazy parts would keep all the good, sane people away.
In a way, this is exactly what happened.
I felt dented and broken in so many ways that my 20s and 30s were absolutely littered with failed relationships. But the brilliant thing about growing older is that you care less. I realized it was hopeless to try to pull myself together and act normal and sane because I wasn’t and never would be. I