Gone Girl. Matching Crazies.


“I’m the cunt you married. The only time you liked yourself was when you were trying to be someone this cunt might like. I’m not a quitter, I’m that cunt. I killed for you; who else can say that? You think you’d be happy with a nice Midwestern girl? No way, baby! I’m it.” – Amy

And there it was. Me, realizing part of my problem with relationships; finding them, falling in them, remaining in them, and thinking about them when they end. I love crazy. Not the simple, basic “she knocked on my door crying at 4am” crazy. That would be too boring. I think I love the “she found my mama’s phone number on google and called her to talk wedding plans for a wedding I knew nothing about, then drove to all my exes houses and threw Molotov cocktails through their windows because she hates competition” kinda crazy.

I watched Gone Girl, and sat on the edge of the couch the entire time wondering how Nick Dunne was gonna escape his private Hell. I had thousands of questions and proven wrong assumptions. Questions like, what was Amy doing when she crouched in the corner with the straps around her wrists on camera? Was this cop gonna bust this case open like a virgin on prom night? “This bitch crazy,” I kept repeating. A few times I yelled to the screen, and when I wasn’t yelling I was remembering all the crazy I was ever attracted to.

Amy came home, and I smiled. I imagine in a crowded theater I would have sat surrounded by a crowd of pissed off, disgusted folks who looked at Amy as nothing more than street trash. Me, no. I would have taken her into the house, open-chested* her, put her in that “what was that shit you were talking earlier” position, then sat down to begin planning the rest of our lives. In her crazy, Nick found himself. In his Hell, he found himself. Amy brought out the Nick they both needed. Crazy does this, doesn’t it. Her crazy brought out his crazy.

I’ve been in crazy, and had we opened up about just how crazy that crazy was, I think we could have found the perfect place to love. We avoided that conversation. Perhaps for the best, since in my head, the merging of our crazies, especially with me not really know what my crazy is outside of being an empathic sociopath, could have taken down a civilization.

I want what Amy and Nick has without going through what they had. Like Dexter and Hannah, can’t we post our crazies on a wall someplace at the beginning, or on the bar? I’m just looking for someone with a crazy that matches mine.

Well done, Gillian Flynn.


“I hate calling the women ‘bitches,’ but the bitches love it.” – Drake.

Open-Chest: a childhood game of punching your friend hard in the chest when they are least expecting it.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Nina says:

    Crazy love is the only true love.

  2. aguywithoutboxers says:

    No one ever wrote that love = sanity. That would be just too…common! Great post, buddy! Much love and naked hugs! 🙂

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