And then I felt it again. The creature that began to awake when she shattered my glass case. I felt fire grow inside me.
You can’t be mad, she said, I was depressed and I thought I was never going to see you again.
And so it began. She molded the Hell I was cursed to live in and I became the crazed demon that conveniently acted up when the audience was perfect.
I was crazy jealous. It was irrational and sporadic. It was explosive and violent. But she didn’t tell anyone that she would get in Jacuzzis naked with her guy friends, she didn’t tell anyone that she had kissed 4 other people, and hooked up with others while we were dating and made me believe it was my fault or an “accident”.
You’re crazy. You’re uptight. You’re overreacting. She’d say that as she would get lap dances from other girls at parties she’d bring me to, then if she was too busy to introduce me her friends, she’d tell me to sit in the other room until she was ready to leave.
And I did all that bullshit. I did it because I was crazy. Because I thought I wasn’t worthy enough to love. She told me I wasn’t funny and I was boring and that people didn’t like me. They only liked me because I was pretty and they wanted to Fuck me.
And she’d call me dumb in front of her friends, and she’d laugh. Stupid whore. Dumb bitch. It’s funny because they know I’m joking, relax Angela.
And so I became what she called me, Crazy. And I would EXPLODE into a fit of jealous rage and anger and I’d break things, and I’d scream, and I’d throw things, and I stabbed myself with tweezers, and I would throw glass bottles into the street and I kicked a dent in her car. And she told everyone I was crazy., and they saw that I was.
And I am. I am Crazy.
For 4 years I thought I was saved from a glass case. I thought that someone had found me and had come to set me free, to help me grow my wings.
But what I had found was a sinister collector, a manipulator of the weak-minded and vulnerable. She saw an exotic antique and wanted it because it was rare and fragile. And she used me up until I was broken and worthless, then threw me to the ground like I was defected in the first place.
The creature, the monster was awakened and she was right, they all were right, I was crazy. I was so confused on what I deserved or what was expected of me, not knowing who I was or what I wanted out of life or love or anything. I was just an explosive mess of emotion and pain, and it was my fault and I deserved it. Keep telling people that. Keep believing it yourself. Let them believe what they will, let them see me in my crazed raw form of fury and rage. Let them remember the day I came in a drunken rage and kicked a dent in your car. Let them believe that it came out of nowhere, that 4 years of emotional torture didn’t lead to that stupid Goddamn dent.
Because I’ve been thrown in the garbage and I’ve fought hard to get out, and damaged as I am, I keep living and I hate the taste of your name on my tongue. For some reason you name comes back every now and then, and I pretend it doesn’t infuriate me that I’m reminded of your existence, that I’m reminded of the fact that my irrational insecurity and paranoia stemmed from you.
I won’t be a victim and I won’t feel sorry for myself, I don’t deserve that, I’m much more extraordinary than that.
But I acknowledge that there are skeletons in my closet, and they come out involuntarily at the most inconvenient times.
So I bare them, the transparent and imperfect soul that I am, so that you can judge for yourself.
Because I’d rather be an honest lunatic than feign manipulative sanity.