I’m not crazy.
I’m the product of a schizophrenic mother who seemed more evil than human, and a bipolar father who didn’t love me enough to stay.
But I’m not crazy.
Now I’m struggling with life and question myself and my decisions every single day. Are these signs? Red flags? I won’t let myself look too close.
I refuse to be crazy.
Then four men swoop in just when I need them. They’re protective, supportive, and everything I never had even though we’re unconventional. I want to be the person they need me to be. I need it.
But I’m afraid...that I’m crazy.
