Mary Panza

It is no joke that I am clearly not right in the head. With that said, here it is: I will not name names, situations or events leading up to what happened. I will say that my vag is back. That is all you need to know for now.

Having not returned Capri’s calls for three days, she knew something was up. I’ve said before, Capri is the girl that has done it all right and according to plan. She is a model citizen. She is also my soul mate, best friend, moral compass and HUGE pain in the ass. I need a moral compass so I have something to rebel against. I have always been like that. It is not intentional, I’m not trying to be cool (God knows that’s the truth). It is really a reflex. You tell me how things should be and I’m going to do everything in my power to do the opposite. Sometimes it works; sometimes it does not work. When it doesn’t work, it is disaster. The number of times that Capri has made this weird sigh/groan of disgust after I told her something I’ve done that I shouldn’t have, is longer than PI. Monday was no different. “Did you watch it?” (Referring to Mob Wives.) “Why are you up so late (it was 7:30am and I hadn’t called) and where were you this weekend?” Pause. Her famous noise. “Who is he?” “Three days, that’s not even human. You are like Janet Rossi (Goodfellas reference), WHORE!” Then after three straight minutes of mafia movie dialogue, I spare her the details and tell her to mind her own business. We all know that won’t happen. You need to understand, where we are from this is how you talk to someone you love. I know the intention. I know Capri wants me to straighten up and fly right. Summed up, here is the lecture: What does he do? How long have you known him and from what circle of friends? When do I get to meet him? Are you going to eat in front of him? Then the biggest and most difficult question: What about the crazy?

The crazy is kind of an entity in and of itself. It is the damaged part of me that has formed odd habits and beliefs. It is not like I need to be profiled. The crazy is not violent. She only serves to destroy me. The more I try to hide the crazy, the stronger she gets. I’m fine and dandy most days. I just keep the crazy in her cage. Sometimes she stays put. Sometimes, and for no reason, she explodes. She is a combination of every bad thing ever said to me, superstition and my upbringing according to the Bathtub Mary Catholics. This is not a recipe for sanity and I have tried. Believe me, I sent one shrink back to alcohol after only a few sessions. Hand to God that is the truth. I have been medicated by Doctors. I have medicated myself. She is still there. The crazy.

Capri did tell me something very sound: just let the crazy out now. Oh sure, it sounds like I should be honest about things. This is not things. This is the crazy. How crazy? I told Capri I was going to go get ashes and pray that I don’t fuck more things up. Her reply, (and remember, said with love) “Jesus, I hope the ashes don’t burn a hole in your forehead.” That is my hope as well.

As for the crazy, she is strong. She is the daily fight in my head. She wakes me up at night and follows me around in my dreams. I fight her. When I win it is amazing. When I lose it is devastating. I hope, this time, I win.