Some Men Like Crazy

On our vacation, I read Tender at the Bone by Ruth Reichl.  A friend of writer friend of mine recommended I read it.  I am writing about my brother's battle with schizophrenia, and my friend thought this book would be a good reference as Ruth writes about her mother's erratic and unpredictable behavior.  Later, Ruth's mother was diagnosed with mental illness and was medicated.

One of the interesting subplots is relationship between Ruth's parents.  Ruth's father is a neuro-typical, sane man, yet he loves this woman who served spoiled food on a regular basis and ships her daughter off to French language school in Montreal without discussion.  She schedules big events with no skills on how to organize them, causing havoc for everyone around.  Why does this sane man love this nut job?  And this man seems to be psychologically normal to Ruth.

Some men like crazy.

I have many dear friends with diagnosed mental illness who are in stable and meaningful relationships.  People with mental illness deserve to be happy, too.  I am not disparaging people with mental illness.  These friends own and manage their illness, not take everyone in their path into their cyclone of unpredictability.

Back to the point.  Some men like women who are unstable, needy, clingy, mean and selfish.  Why?  Are these women so interesting or humorous that they sweep men off their feet?  What about us regular girls?  What are we to do?  I am slightly neurotic.  I own that.  But I don't think men have fallen for me because I obsess over small details, worry about things or vent after a stressful meeting.  

There must be something that men get out of these unstable women.  Do they like helping them stay on an even keel?  Do these women make them feel needed and important?  Do they like helping someone stabilize?  Or, do these men have a blind spot for crazy?  Do they just not see it?  Or, do these women treat men differently than they treat others, say their parents or children?

I think Ruth wonders the same thing in her book.