My Crazy Not Romantic Craig’s List Love

Crazy. My doctor says this is a word I use too casually. A word that has such negative connotation and yet, it’s my go-to self descriptive adjective. Well. It’s my second word, behind SSBBW. Because being crazy isn’t enough. I need to be large and in charge. My brains says I’m in charge. My body might argue that I lost control a long time ago. This isn’t about that struggle. Not today.

No, today is all about crazy. Crazy in love. They say you can’t love anyone until you love yourself. So what am I feeling? Oh. That’s right. I’m crazy. I’m feeling obsession. Jealousy. Lust. It’s not healthy. I feel myself type out the words to my newest Craig’s List obsession, good bye. Send. Maybe he’s not OK too because I get 4 simple words. Don’t. Push. Me. Away. This is dangerous. You can’t send those words to a crazy person. My bipolar mind unwinds. Is this real? Could someone love a crazy person?

We email for days. My dreams. My hopes. My rape fantasies. Yes, our mutual rape fantasy. He’s like me. I have to confess. I’m bipolar. He’s excited now. It feeds my disease. I crave him. I think about him. I dream about him. I wake up in the middle of the night. 3 AM. I’m not thinking. I turn on my tablet. Dear John, here’s my number. Send. I can’t sleep now. I just gave my number to a stranger. Hours pass. Finally it's 10 AM. One sentence. I don’t like to text. OK. He’s playing hard to get. I send him photos. Naughty photos. Suddenly I’m insecure. Am I even pretty? He says he wants me. I want to believe his words. I send him my address. P.S. I don’t lock my front door anymore. Send.

What am I doing?! I had to go to the hospital a few months ago. I tell the doctor that I’m bipolar type 2 and I’m out of medicine. She asks why I need the medicine. Because I’m crazy! She wants to know more about my thoughts. My actions. I’m an open book. She says I can live a happy life off medication. I just have to work harder and be ever-vigilant of myself and my choices. I’m looking at my sent folder. Where I sent a stranger my phone number and my address. I’m thinking about that doctor. Was she wrong? Do I need medication?

I frantically search my bed. I need to clear my head and smoke some medicinal herb. Slow the thoughts down and come back to earth. My email dings. He says he might stop by after I fall asleep. This is it! My heart is racing. I shower. I put on make up. Then I lay in bed waiting. 8 PM. 10 PM. 1 AM. 3 AM. Why am I just laying here watching the clock? I finally pass out. It’s now 10 AM. I write an email. Thanks, the sex was great last night. Smiley face. Hours pass. I’m stuck. In the same position. Watching my email. Why am I so invested? Because he wrote those 4 words you never say to a crazy person. He finally responds. I’m sorry. Work this. Work that. I stop reading. Only one of us is invested. I can’t do this. I pound out my heart in those next key strokes. Send.

His response is swift. I won’t let you push me away. My heart melts. He’s discovered my song and he plays me so well. Anything for you, John. My day feels empty. Why am I acting this way? We’ve only emailed a week but I live so I can check my email. I exist so I can see his words, caressing my lonely soul. So in need of human interaction. I post another ad on Craig’s List. I’ve spent days fantasizing about a man who does not have time for us. The lust is eating away at my brain, consuming my every thought. I make a new friend. He’s also called John.

We meet right away. He says he’s been following my profile online for some time now. Big girls are one of his fetishes. He is a fellow herb enthusiast. Stoner John loves my body. He makes sure every inch is lightly kissed. He needs me. I think about Email John... Does he care that I have another man on me. In me. Around me. Stoner John lights up a jay. We smoke. We laugh. I wonder what Email John is doing. Stoner John makes me feel beautiful. He asks if I can taste him. Heaven. He asks to take a photo. Yes. I need proof. The photo takes a long time but I’m in this moment. I need this moment. Success. Stoner John is satisfied. I haven’t heard my email ding once. Stoner John confesses to filming it. I tell him to send it to me. I am beautiful. Stoner John leaves me, in that moment, fawning over myself.

I have to end this. Dear John, you’re my favorite, so I have to tell you about Stoner John... Send. Maybe this will push him away. I can finally end the obsession. I won’t have to check my email anymore! His response. I want details. I start typing out this entire erotic retelling of tongue placement and hard pressed bodies. I attach the video. He loves the video. Why can’t I quit you, I type. Send. He sends me a smiley face. Hours pass. Stoner John is texting me words of appreciation. I tell him not to be a stranger. Night falls. I drift to sleep wondering if this is love...

There’s an email waiting for me in the morning. Work is sending John out of town for 3 weeks. He starts the email with “don’t be mad” and ends it with “I want you.” He writes everything my soul aches to have. I tell him I love him and I will wait. I delete the part about love. Send. He’s happy. I feel worse than before I met him. I’m cry but the tears aren’t appearing. I sleep. 11 hours pass. No emails. I go back to sleep. 5 hours pass. No emails. Monday is finally here. He sends a one line email. He’s bored. We go back and fourth with small talk. I send him new photos. Stoner John wants to come over.

No videos this time with Stoner John. It’s not enough. This young man emails me. He think he can tame me. I’m 8 years older. I laugh at his email. Silly Millennial. He sends another, you will meet me now. Yes. My crazy fingers type out my address. Send. He replies with, good girl. Like I’m some obedient dog. What have I done again!? Before I realize, this stranger is in my apartment. He’s so young. But he’s beautiful. He smiles at me. He tells me I’m stunning. I will do anything for… I don’t know his name. But he’s already lighting a jay. My weakness. I’m his now. He’s kissing me. I don’t think about John. I can’t think past the pleasure. Who am I? Mystery man slides on his pants and jokes about Ubers. I ask his name. Kenny, like South Park, except I’m still here. I laugh. Because for an hour, I didn’t think about John.

My email Pings. It’s him. My never ending obsession...

I wish I could tell him that I love him… but I know I only love him because I’m crazy.

This moment will soon pass...

To be continued...

Odizus