I Don't Want to Be Crazy by Samantha Schutz Read Free Book Online Page B

snow.
In my advisor’s office
I am talking about credits
and fulfilling requirements
when I look out the window
at the parking lot and the woods,
and there, carrying a box,
wearing a jacket that is too thin,
is Jeff.
I grab my stuff
and tell my advisor that I’ve got to go—
that I’ve seen a ghost.
I go down the stairs two at a time,
past the Education Department,
and out the side door.
I don’t even put on my jacket.
I catch up to him as he is getting in the driver’s seat.
He says his trip got delayed
and now he’s finally finished packing up his stuff
and heading back to the city.
I can’t believe that he’s been here all this time,
that I never knew,
that he never called.
    Valentine’s Day is shit.
It makes me remember elementary school
and how we made cards out of doilies and glitter.
The teacher would staple little mailbox pouches to the wall
and carefully print our names on them.
Somehow I never got as many notes as the other girls.
    The only person I can think about is Nate
and how I wish things were different.
I want to send him something.
I want to do something special for him,
but nothing seems right—
everything seems too big.
Finally I settle on sending him one Hershey’s Kiss.
I feel good.
This is good.
It is the right thing.
    My therapist says I am better.
My psychiatrist says I am better.
I think I am better.
    I am counting down the days
until I finish tapering off my meds.
The bottle of pills is nearly empty.
    Five yellow pills,
bits of confetti
that have settled
after a party.
    Four yellow pills,
lined up in a T.
    Three yellow pills,
a miniature pyramid.
    Two yellow pills,
jaundiced eyes staring at me.
    One yellow pill left
and it is the best
and scariest feeling.
    I am nervous about life
without medication.
It’s a catch-22
to take someone with anxiety disorder
off medication.
Just knowing that I won’t have it in my bag
or in my blood makes me anxious.
I wish there were some way to take me off it
without telling me.
    I wonder
if things really have changed,
or if it is the pills.
I feel strong
for doing this,
but it makes me wonder
if I am dependent, weak.
I have so many conflicting emotions.
I am scared,
but mostly proud.
    There’s this guy in my poetry class
who is amazing.
I dream about him almost every night.
    Walking to class one day I tell him
he was in my dream last night
and he smiles like it’s good news.
    A few days later I see him in a bar
and we talk about dreaming.
He wishes he could remember his dreams.
I tell him about how I keep a dream journal
and how when you first wake up,
you can’t let yourself think about anything
besides what you were dreaming.
    Days later, we hang out late after a party.
It is nearly five and we stop at the gas station
so he can buy cigarettes and I can buy a lotto ticket.
I am feeling lucky.
The ticket machine isn’t on yet
so we wait and walk through the aisles.
He buys me a red Ring Pop and I think
it’s the best thing anyone’s ever given me.
    At his apartment he asks how the Ring Pop tastes
and when I say, “It tastes red,”
he smiles and kisses me
to see for himself.
    I can’t stop shaking as we make out.
I ask him if he can feel it
and when he says no, I am surprised.
To cover up for how crazy I am,
I tell him I am cold
and we take a hot shower
and come back and pile on the blankets,
but that doesn’t help either.

iv.
    I promised myself that I wouldn’t live at home again
so I am going to live with Claire
and her parents in the city for the summer.
I have a job working at the same office as my sister
and it’s just a few blocks from Claire’s house.
My only responsibility
is to earn money to go to Paris next spring.
    Work sucks.
I am the token somewhat-blond
receptionist at the door.
I work nine to five,
have lunch with Audrey and my sister every day,
do busywork at my desk,
and calculate how long it will take
to earn money for Paris.
    One afternoon
my boss calls me into his office
to tell me that my skirt is too short.
He