For all of you amazing readers who said that you would read whatever I write, hopefully you mean it! Despite being incredibly emotionally draining, scary, and HARD, I am finally sitting down to turn this blog into a full-length book, Love Made Me Crazy. (Still working on a tagline and am totally taking suggestions! ;) )
You can read the intro below and follow my progress at my brand-spanking new website:
I am suspended in the air, ten feet above the ground at least. The lacy slip tucked beneath my dress is entangled with the grimy chain link fence that is keeping me, for the moment, from making face-to-face contact with the concrete below me.
How did I get here, you ask? Well, simply put, love made me do it.
The kind of love-sickness that leads to an otherwise normal 23-year old girl being stuck atop her ex-boyfriend’’s fence at 2:30 AM doesn’t just happen overnight. It takes years of cultivation, —a certain kind of hunger fed by years of denial of the one thing that we all come out of the womb longing for— love.
Therefore, this story doesn’t take place on the day that I first caught a glimpse of him heaving his suitcase out of the back of his black pickup truck, his chiseled frame apparent, even under the business casual attire that seemed unbearably oppressive in the summer heat.
This story begins 16 years before that when, at the tender age of seven, I lost the first love of my life.
I can’t recall if it was the persistent glow of the numbers reading 5:00 AM on the bedside table or the piercing sob of a mother’’s realization that she has failed to protect her daughter from the inevitable that broke through the fog of my sleep that morning. The senses blur together and form a sensational recollection that I cannot name, yet has stuck with me all these years. Without knowing why or how, I knew that my world was about to change.
Years later, my aunt would say that sometimes too much damage has been done for healing to ever take place, a statement that would ring true years later in my relationship as well. But before the love lost and the fucking and the fighting, it was the case with my mom, when after three weeks of a steady recovery from an aneurism, she succumbed to another series of strokes and was pronounced dead at 1:05 AM. She was 26.