top of page

Neurotic as Hell by Madeline Kramer




“If she is a whole, it’s a whole composed of parts that are wholes, not simple partial objects, but a moving, limitlessly changing ensemble, a cosmos tirelessly traversed by Eros, an immense astral space not organized around any one sun that’s any more of a star than the others.” -Hélène Cixous

The first time I buy a bow tie, I show it to my sister and she asks if that makes me the man in my relationship. I say that neither of us is a man, and that’s what makes us lesbians. But I am more comfortable in loafers and tall socks, in a vest with a tie, than I am in dresses with strappy shoes and a strapless bra. But I wear a dress with strappy shoes and a strapless bra to my cousin’s wedding, because it is the first event we are attending as a couple, and I am trying to convince my parents that dating a woman does not make me a man. I am not a lipstick lesbian or dyke, not butch or femme. The term androgynous doesn’t feel right, either. It seems to suggest an ambiguity—that on a spectrum between two poles is an androgynous center that cannot, at any given time, be distinguished as one or the other. I am not the middle. I am an embodiment of extremes, alternating back and forth or occupying both at once. I keep a toe dipped in cool water while my nose follows fragrant air of memories. I am a woman not ever any one type. I am afraid of being feminine because I am afraid of being weak, and I am afraid of being masculine because I am afraid of having strength. I’m emotional and sensitive and take things too personally. I can’t make sense of tragedy. I try and it rips through my body, a vibration in the hollowness of my bones, the empty cavities of my stomach. I cried when I saw a solar eclipse and again when I watched Susan Boyle on Britain’s Got Talent. I am sarcastic and obsessed with numbers and facts and over analyzing everything. I am the little spoon, because I’m five-foot-zero, and because I feel safest when someone is holding me—when a body not mine reminds me there is a world outside my head that I can feel and touch. I buy my girlfriend flowers and send her potatoes in the mail. I do not like skirts and I’ve never owned makeup, but I like long hair and painting my nails, though I paint them navy or gray. I want to be thin, because I want to be beautiful, and because I am afraid of taking space from others, and because I don’t want my presence to intimidate someone else. I’m not violent or aggressive or confident. I’m a pacifist afraid of affecting anyone else, and if I have a destructive urge, it is self-destructive. But I’m protective of others and outspoken against injustice and will email an HR rep from the corporate office of the company where my girlfriend works because she has nine-hour shifts and isn’t given the breaks required by law. I am a kinesthetic learner because I like to use my hands, to get them dirty, to move muscle memory, and because my eyes and brain have astigmatism. I’m afraid of people and speaking out loud, but I’m relational and empathetic and crave intimacy. I’m sexual and independent. I’m observant and intuitive. I’m blue and orange but I’m black and white. I’m passionate or indifferent—my moods, interests, thoughts are characterized by intensity. I am driven and disciplined and ambitious. I expect the world of the world and of myself. I want to shatter the sky and climb through it and take the stratosphere by the roots with my tongue and swallow it whole. I want to choke on it as it goes down while I tie the stem in a knot with my teeth. And when I deflate and float back to the dirt I want someone to hold back my hair while I vomit ozone bile.

 

Madeline Kramer enjoys writing anything that plays with form and challenges limitations of genre. She is a member of the LGBTQ community and was mistakenly treated for type-1 diabetes for six years. She is a closeted musician and octopus aficionado. Madeline graduated from Western Kentucky University with majors in Creative Writing and Psychology and is currently pursuing an MFA.

Recent Posts

See All
bottom of page