Trigger me this, trigger me that

M wondered why but affirmed that I hardly, if at all, mentioned him. She was glad. And I was pleased that this was the case. I didn’t even notice who or what I was not mentioning.
After she said that though, different triggers crawled out from the woodwork.
I was hyperaware and I wondered if Pandora’s box had been opened. The lid need not be ripped from the hinges. If it was indeed Pandora’s box, a crack would have sufficed for the whip, the menace and the pain to spread all around me.

From the guy reading Sherlock Holmes on the train, to all the tattoo shops in the city, to the Ethipioan food we ate, the thought of Kalye West (and showing the clip to my sister years from now), it was hard to allow myself to remember anything at all triggered by these seemingly meaningless things. But I just breathed and kept quiet. Just because he entered my psyche did not mean I needed to talk about it.

The thing is, M is right. I don’t wish he were here. I don’t need to “be” with him to validate everything amazing that I am experiencing. I don’t need to share it with him for it to count. I no longer identify who I am based on that love relationship.
And really, it was great that she affirmed all that. It meant a lot. That is what is left in my psyche. That awareness. Passing that test.

I am relieved to see that there is nothing left in Pandora’s box which means, it ceases to be Pandora’s box. Trigger me this, trigger me that, it’s just an empty chest. This is a result, I suppose, of actually swimming in all the grime early on, head on.

Perhaps, the worst is over.

grateful slice: the worst being over.

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