They told me I was mad. “Helen done lost her mind,” that’s what they said. After nineteen years—nineteen years of ironing his shirts, cooking his meals, holding my tongue when his mama called me “that woman.” I smiled through every Christmas, every anniversary he forgot, every time he came home smelling like someone else’s perfume. And when I finally crack? Just one crack. One plate thrown against the wall. One scream that sounded more like a prayer than a curse.
“She’s crazy,” he said. “Get her out of here.” diary of a mad black woman play online free
But here’s what I figured out in all this so-called madness: A crazy woman don’t know she’s crazy. But a woman who’s been pushed too far? She sees everything for the first time. I see now that love ain’t supposed to hurt like a locked jaw. I see now that giving your whole self to somebody who won’t even hold your hand in public… that ain’t love. That’s a slow death. They told me I was mad
So let ‘em call me mad. Let ‘em whisper at church. I’m taking my crazy self—and these two good feet—and I’m walking out that door. And if that’s madness, then God bless the asylum. And when I finally crack
