I Love You Like Crazy

    My grandfather used to tell me this joke about a man who got a flat tire in front of an insane asylum.  As the poor bastard changed the tire, he dropped some of the lug nuts down the sewer.  He cursed and kicked the car subsequently grabbing the attention of one of the residents.  The resident calls to him from behind a barred window and asks what's wrong.  Thinking the resident can get help, he tells the resident what happened.  The resident tells him to take one lug nut from each tire to secure the spare until he gets to a garage. He thanks the resident profusely to which the resident replies, "Hey, I'm in here because I'm crazy, not because I'm stupid." I am neither.  Unfortunately, the psychiatrist in front of me begs to differ.  He thinks I'm crazy.  He can think what he wants.  He can use metronomes, prescriptions, talk therapy...it doesn't matter.  It won't work. Why?  Because I am not crazy.
    "John?" he beckoned, "John, are you listening to me or focused on a dialogue in your head?"
    "Since when is thinking focusing on a dialogue in your head?!?", I snap.
    "Thinking is one thing," he began, "Having an exchange between two or more ideas is not."
     I could see his words in an antique typewritten font stream from his mouth like ticker tape.  Each word cracked off his one-liner hitting the floor.  I watched them shatter in the same way he assumes my mind is shattered. Somebody better sweep up all these shards of intellect before one of us uses them like daggers. Two smart men dueling with makeshift weapons of genius.  I smile at the image of him and me taking thirty paces before we square off to take a chance on our skill.
    "Did that have a ring of truth for you, John?", he asked, "You smiled."
    "Yea," I said, "A ring of truth.  Speaking of, I'm expecting my friend to reach out to me today and I told him I'd be home..so can we cut this short?"
"Very well," the doctor sighed, "Are you good on meds?"
" I'll need refills." I stood up to leave.
"So, you're on Zyprexa 10mg daily and Prozac 25mg daily.", he stated while ripping the prescriptions off his pad. He handed them to me like a hall pass.  I put them in my pocket.
"Thanks, Doctor.  I'll see you next week."  I mumbled.
If he thought I was going to fill these then he is the crazy one.  I have been seeing Doctor Cotes for a year and he can't tell that I don't take the medication.  What does that tell me?  I don't need it.  Besides, I'm only here by court order and I'm finished with this tour of duty in six weeks.  Such a waste of my time.  If it wasn't for that stupid misunderstanding none of this would have happened anyway.  That is why I'm so excited to see my friend, Hector. He knows the real story of what happened.  He understands I got a raw deal.
I don't know what I would have done without Hector.  I was at my wit's end.  Gabrielle, my ex-girlfriend, left me.  It was like I woke up one day and she was a different person.  I couldn't make her laugh, only cry or look away.  I couldn't touch her without her cringing or pushing me off.   I knew there was someone else but I didn't know who.  I shared my suspicions with Hector.   We came up with a plan to confirm what we already knew.   Hector would spy on her for me.    He wouldn't even tell me when he was going to do it so I wouldn't give it away.
  One morning, Hector followed her on her way to work. He saw her with a guy at a restaurant.  He said he watched the new guy go to the bar to get her drinks, fill her plate at the brunch buffet, pull out her chair; all the gentlemanly things that used to be my job. Of course, Hector was livid but instead of confronting the homewrecking jackass he came to my house to tell me.  I will forever be in his debt.  He saved me from a lifetime of pain. 
That bitch.  I loved her and she threw it away.  We were going to get married.  I even bought her a dress.  She didn't need it yet because our wedding was a ways off.  Hell, I hadn't even bought her a ring but I saw it, I liked it, so I bought it for her.  She was very upset that I didn't consult with her first but I knew she would come around.  I stored it in our bedroom for safe keeping.  She just needed to get used to the idea.  Do you know what that bitch couldn't get used to?  Having a man that loves and cares for you to the point he makes your life his own.  There was nothing she could want for. I bought her all the nicest clothes and jewelry.  I decorated the house to her liking.  Yes, we did have disagreements about my eagerness to help and choosing things she would have preferred to have a say in, but I knew my Gabrielle.  She would complain but secretly she loved it.  I knew it.  She didn't have to tell me. Her little girl tantrums were so cute it just made me do more and more. It was almost like a dance we would do together. Bitch.
I always enjoy the walk home from Dr. Coates.  The sounds of the city block out the outside world like white noise but with personality.  It is fall.  The leaves are just starting to turn colors, especially on the mountains.  I don't live close to the mountains but I travel there often.  Gabrielle and I used to go out into the mountains and camp.  Sometimes the city was too much.  It took a toll on her.  When I felt the tension in her rise, I knew we needed to reconnect. I would pack up and take her back to nature.  Out in the wilderness, we could argue and let all our frustrations out as loud as we wanted.  We didn't have to worry about the neighbors overhearing or calling the landlord; worse yet, call the police.  The forest absorbed all that turbulence like a big consoling hug.  I knew we were ready to leave when she calmed down. I thought I knew what she needed to be happy.  I guess I didn't.
I kick the leaves as I walk.  It is almost a necessity when you live in the city.  You don't know what is lurking under them.  Dog poop, vomit, people poop, glass or more could be waiting to hitchhike a ride on the bottom of your shoe.  It is worse if you wear sandals like my Gabrielle.  Swamp puddles that collect at the street corners fill with deadly sludge that got between your toes.  That sludge is a sure fire way to either lengthen your life expectancy or shorten it depending on the type of sludge you encounter.  It would preserve you like formaldehyde or kill you like nuclear fallout.  Toenails could fall off or you could grow another toe.  The sky's the limit. I would put non deciduous trees along the sidewalks as a rule.  People would get used to it once they saw the logic behind it. Wouldn't people like the smell of pine, for example, all year round?  It would be like having a permanent air freshener.  No more strange smells or guesswork when you step.  Keep the leaves in the forest where they belong.  People would get used to it. I'm sure of it.  I'll write to the city manager when I get home.  Hector will help me.
Home is a four letter word now that Gabrielle is gone.  I walk up steps she walked up.  I touch doorknobs she touched.  I eat off utensils that touched her lips and mouth.  I use towels that caressed her body. Utensils and towels are made for self intimacy.  A fork takes nourishment to one's lips where it is taken and consumed, made part of someone.  A towel sensually caresses your body in places only a lover would know.   Now, I am left with the jealousy of their purpose.
I fumble around in my pocket searching for my keys.  I find the damn prescriptions covering them.  I pull the keys out and open the door to the front of my building.  The door sticks a bit so it rattles as you push forward.  I could hear it from my apartment.  I could hear when Gabrielle was coming home.  The day she left, I waited for her with anticipation. Each time I heard that door open I was expecting our door to open next but it never did.  My anticipation grew into sadness then my sadness grew into anger. My anger led me to the restaurant where Hector saw Gabrielle with the "other man". I walked into that restaurant and confronted the piece of shit demanding him to send Gabrielle home. I could tell by the look on his face that he did not expect me to confront him. Stupid ass.  What did he think, I would do?  He responded by playing dumb and said he had no idea what I was talking about.  That's when I blacked out in a rage.  Next thing I know, I'm slapped with trespassing, assault, a restraining order, partial inpatient care through a mental health program, and mandatory counseling when it is completed. That's not including civil suits. Talk about overkill.  I argued my own case stating it was a crime of passion.  The prosecution argued that the "other man" was just a waiter doing his job.  I knew the truth and that freaking homewrecker knew the truth.  Waiter my asshole.  I'm glad I fucked him up.  I only wish I remembered doing it.
I have three locks on my door.  You can never be too safe living on the first floor.  Everyone passes by your door.  If you live on the higher floors, the greater the chance someone will get to their destination before passing your door.  It increases your safety by the law of averages.  I have asked numerous times to move upstairs numerous times.  I have explained my logic and even worked it out statistically to show the landlord why I should be moved but there is never an apartment available.  I find that hard to believe. I just think they don't want to be made to look like idiots by a tenant.  Hector helped me write a letter telling them now that they are informed that I have proven that living on the first floor puts me at greater risk of being subjected to a crime, the own-ness is on them.  I took that letter to the papers and it ran for two weeks.  I felt it was a public safety message for all those living on the first floor, but boy did that backfire.  One of the restraining orders is from contacting the city newspaper.  I can't send them anything anymore no matter how pressing it is.  That's okay.  I'll ask Hector to send them. 
My apartment is so empty without Gabrielle.  When I walked in the door I was immediately greeted by her soft perfume or her heels strewn by the front door.  Sometimes, food would be in the oven while she soaked in a bath.  She knew I didn't like her to leave the stove unattended so I would leave her notes reminding her.  She could be absent-minded. As much as I loved coming home to her heels, everything has its place.  I would label things and give her reminders so she wouldn't forget.  Sometimes she would say I was nagging and overbearing.  I told her I was reminding her out of love.  If I found her shoes out or the stove on while she was in the tub, I knew she did it to start a fight because I wrote down what I thought was best. Doing things on purpose was my cue that it was time to take a camping trip.
I don't have that outlet any more.  I have Hector. Hector and I have a ritual.  It started back in high school after gym class.  I would enter the shower and usually, Hector was next to me.  I was able to talk to Hector.  Maybe it was the soothing sound of the water raining down on me or maybe the rhythmic way the water hit my body, but talking to Hector was like a confession.  He became my best friend and my confidante, the brother I never had. He was difficult to read at times so he didn't make immediate sense to me. I had to reflect on what he was saying, not how he said it.  Then, I understood.  Today would be no different.
I placed my shoes next to each other on the shoe rack in my bedroom.  I hung my jacket in my closet.  It blended perfectly with the colors organized by hue.  I removed my shirt, folded it and placed it in the hamper.  My pants, underwear, and socks followed suit.  You could fit so much more in a hamper if you were neat about it.  I used to tell Gabrielle that all the time.  She would say it was all dirty and it didn't matter.  She came around after I left her a note because it is easier and more efficient.
The soft carpet felt so comfortable beneath my feet.  The cold tile of the bathroom shocked me sending a chill up my back.  I turn on the shower waiting for the hot steam to fill up my bathroom.   I step into the shower and wait for Hector.