Thanks for the check in. I am not sure it’s “stressed”. This transition into freedom is more than usual. It’s more than just a transition, it’s a recognition of absolute change for me. I use the word absolute with precision, intention.

Absolute: *a derivative of the Latin absolutus, pp. of absolvere, to loosen from, absolve* 1. Perfect 2. not mixed, pure 4. Positive, definite 5. not doubted, actual real

Now that I know I’m going home, that I’ve done enough to prove I’m worthy of a Life Sentence being turned into my freedom, small injustices ride my nerves into frayed ends. Little things that I would shake off as “prison shit” gets me riled up. I am a bundle of tension and penned up freedom. It’s as if I’ve been birthed into captivity and my primal roots still call to me from the depths of my genes, my soul writhes in the ache of an unnatural environment from which I have not accepted but adapted too. While my body has adapted my soul has been beseeched my body to disengage and run to freedom. So my tongue pants in wanton earnestness not from heat but from pure desire, from focus. For as soon as the click of that gate that does hold me clicks, I will not enable my captors the satisfaction of saying “Thus, have we not broken thee, she doth not knowest her own freedom, our captivity is thus benign!”

No, so shall I not walk but sprint into my new life that which calls me so sweetly, luring me into body-soul congruence and the more I taste that kindness the more I grow a putrid sense of loathing for those who surround me and expect me to perform as if I should only be gracious to the hand of a distasteful master with no sense of humanity.

Not stressed, determined. Fed up. Stalking the walls of my cage like a cheetah who sees her cage not as a refuge but as a limit because she can see her true refuge and it is not behind the glare of wire but beyond.

Not stressed, I’m a goddamned Cheetah.

Ruth