I’m the crazy one. I’m the one who punched him in his face then jumped out of a moving vehicle to get away from him screaming at me. I’m the crazy one who kneed him in the balls because he put his hands around my throat and pinned me against the bathroom door. I’m the crazy one for marching across the street to beat up the neighbor girl because she kept texting him and he kept lying about it. I’m the crazy one for disrespecting him because I laughed when I got nervous and I laughed when his temper raged while he threw a full standing pantry across the dining room. I’m the crazy one for returning to his house after spending the night in the ER getting 20 stitches in my finger after a fight the night we celebrated my birthday. I’m crazy because I cut myself so I wouldn’t be obliterated by the hatred, rage, love, desperation, betrayal that surged through me. I’m crazy. I stayed. I believed. And I loved.