I can almost grasp it.
The things that I saw, the experience that I had, and the way that I felt as I left an emotionally abusive marriage and took off on my own for the first time...
It was September 19, 2002. My 23rd birthday. I loaded up everything I was willing to fight for into my truck and started driving at six in the morning. I headed through New Mexico into Arizona. I spent three nights in Phoenix, then headed into California - back home. I waved goodbye to the mountains with a cocky hand. I exulted in the mesas and red dirt that I drove towards. It was raining as I drove into Phoenix. I cried jubilantly when I crossed the state line into California. I almost wrecked multiple times staring out the window at the ocean.
I saw and felt so much on that journey - the beginning of my journey - that I think I relegated it to the back of my mind to be dealt with later. It was too much. Now, eight years later, it's beginning to resurface. I think I will be lucky if I am ever able to put that experience into words. I know that I will have to revisit this again.
I was brave and confident and terrified and clueless.... and I did it. On my own.
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