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The Madness Revealed

Maybe it’s mad. I don’t know.   The surreality of it all. That was my life.  And I never understood why I felt like I did. Why I dressed like I did. Why I felt like I was just a back up dancer to all the men in my office. Why they got all the credit while I did all the work.  Why I had to cajole and coax them before a big meeting so that I would have some idea of how they could turn on me at the last moment just to get a leg up on the next guy.

These are the men of my past. The men under whom I worked and trained. The men for whom I worked, and dressed. The men for whom I became the person that I thought I had to be in order to be at the table. In order to be relevant. In order to keep my job. In order to pay my bills.

And I was their girl.  The one who smiled. Who dressed for the part.  Who meticulously chose every aspect of my presentation daily, from the colour on the soles of my shoes, to the height of my heels, to the coordination of my purse and pearls. My outfit would be carefully constructed to define my entrance as I would push through the glass doors, and walk into the elevator and press smile ready to face the day as a corporate back up dancer.  I was their girl.  And now it’s clear to me that I am not that girl anymore. Thank God.


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Dear Page 48,

Hello, it's me again.
Six years now.
How time has flown.
Not really.
It has actually been very hard for me.
I wish I could say it has been easy.
That freedom is great and was worth every single moment of humiliation that I endured that day and many days after.
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These are things I know for sure.
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That beauty is subjective
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 both time and beauty
as it was defined mere seconds ago
changes.
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That life is too short to wait, and wish.
That there is a price to pay, but the time spent wishing is a greater loss.
otherwise I know
nothing.