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It's so nice to actually be living. Really living. It wasn't until the separation had been final for many months that She discovered life wasn't just surviving. She had lived in survival mode for so long that She thought it was the only way She could live. She had become acquainted with survival's blueprint; She knew its pitches, its shadows, its small spots of light of fleeting hope. She'd spent lifetimes encompassed in the darkness racking her brain for the reasons there was no light, and why She couldn't be the light.
After the separation, the soul-crushing realizations, torment, heartbreak, and betrayal, came a lightness She had forgotten existed. As She spoke with a trusted companion, it clicked; adult life wasn't always being in "crisis-mode." (This is the term that She had used during her years in the survival zone to describe what She and He were experiencing. For example, crisis-mode included the traumas of failed pregnancies, moves, health issues, accidents, and anything else.)
The poor girl; She was giddy at the idea that her circumstances were an exception to the norm. She really did live through things that most people didn't have to! And She was joyous. Not, only because this discovery validated her existence and possibility to contribute to the world around her, but because it meant that most people didn't ever have to live the way She had. She was SO excited that most women don't experience this that when her confidant replied "that's so sad" to her exultant realization She was shocked. Her confidant continued in the silence of Her bewilderment, "it's so sad that, that's what your life has been. I'm sorry you had to go through that." Suddenly, She felt less excited. She was still happy for her fellow man, but, now aware of her own sad reality, had to climb herself out of that pit of darkness so rich and thick that it envelops you. Luckily, her happiness from a few moments before the interaction served as a rope ladder and She decided to be exultant once more. She just put plywood over that pit and now She was all better.
She still had a lot to learn. To experience. To feel. To question.
The plywood held up well, never letting any darkness seep out, until it broke.
She thought she was done. She thought it was over. He was gone and She was free. No, She could never be free. Even if She ever did manage to forgive him, forgive herself, and heal; She would still have memories, scars, and a different outlook on all around her. No, She wasn't free, She was changed and in her change She was chained.
But She was also stronger than She seemed and chains were easier to carry than the load that once hunched her back. Those chains were now bracelets, adornments to remind her of what She had survived. Those chains were freedom from the darkness. Those chains provided a space She had been deprived of for so many years. She used those chains to conquer the darkness of the pit; again and again. And every morning, every bad memory, every small trigger that sends her reeling back to that pit, She will grab those chains once more and make them into weapons because... She will always be fighting.
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