A Straitjacket for Two

On 12,045 days of marriage

I have been in this asylum called “Life” for 19,710 days. It has’t been easy. Let me show you around:

Here there are lunatics shouting about the end of time.

Here are the lunatics shouting “Repent!”

Here are the lunatics shouting “War!”

Here are the lunatics who think everyone is out to get them.

Here are the lunatics shaking their fists at the wind.

Here are the lunatics overcome with greed.

Here are the lunatics who think they have the answers.

Here are the lunatics saying all is well, and here are the lunatics saying all is hell.

Here are the lunatics with their elaborate philosophies.

Here are the lunatics with their unshakeable certainties.

Here are the lunatics shouting “Peace!” and going to war.

Here are the lunatics shouting “Love!” who are filled with hate.

When I was younger, I wanted out of this asylum at any cost.

I thought I was sane.

It was driving me crazy.

But 12,045 days ago, I met another lunatic.

Recently we celebrated our time together.

33 years.

12,045 days.

289,080 hours.

“What’s your secret?” a friend asked.

“Other than luck beyond luck?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I used to flatter myself that the secret was we were sane. The only sane ones, in fact. That we had worked on ourselves, tried to fix what was broken within us. Certainly, that’s part of it (minus the self-satisfaction). Love is easy, marriage takes work. The best things usually do.

But 12,045 days later, I wonder if perhaps the answer is simply this:

We’re crazy.

Most importantly, we’re crazy in the same way.

We laugh at the same things, we cry at the same things, we stand on the corner and shake our fists at the same things, we hear similar voices, we have similar scars. Our padded room is a double.

In my time in this asylum, I’ve read hundreds of thousands of words, many of them written by lunatics themselves, much of it trying to understand this thing called love. They said:

“Love is a rose.”

And “Love is a river.”

And “Love is a tree.”

And “Love is a steady wish.”

And “Love is light.”

And “Love is a crown.”

But maybe love is finding the right lunatic.

Maybe love, after all, is a straightjacket for two.

When I was young, I wanted out of this asylum at any cost. But Orli and I have been in this straitjacket for two now for 12,045 days now. And I worry there are only 12,045 left.

I hope you find your lunatic, too.

Yours in the Fetal Position,

S.

illustrations by Orli Auslander