What I had before, or whatever they thought I had before, wasn’t crazy. Obsessing over someone, staring out of your window for days on end just to get a glimpse of them, and constantly daydreaming of their lips and how they made you feel like you were floating on a bed of fire—that’s crazy. If kissing makes you crazy, then hearing the person that kissed you—the person that made you feel so alive you felt like you’d died when they left you—tell you that they never want to see you again? That makes you feel like you’ve completely lost your mind. And if you aren’t completely whole or normal, then you don’t worry about what people might think if they found you cowering underneath your bed like a child in the middle of the night. “Granny!” I wail. I pull my knees to my chest and curl into the foetal position. “Please!” The door to my bedroom bursts open and I see Granny’s feet step into my room.
