Born to be Wild

Taking a look at my life, I wanted to remember the last time I felt free. When I wasn’t someone’s wife and I wasn’t someone’s mother, before the all consuming chaos that is my brain took hold for good.
I was 17. We had moved to a new rural town that I hated. I was 3 hours away from my boyfriend and the school I was about to graduate from with my life long friends. I made the best of it. I met the most wonderful group of people. The summer before my 18th birthday was the best summer of my life. 
One particular memory stands out. My friends and I had decided to rip all our clothes off and jump into the bay. We were standing on the town’s barging dock, 30 feet above the water, holding hands in the night. 3, 2, 1… Jump! The air whooshed by us as we broke the surface of that icy, black water. We plunged deep among sunken boats and drowned cars, shopping carts and bicycles. Nothing mattered. We rose exhilarated, splashing around, clamouring for the ladder. 
Later, dried off and back in those rusted old trucks, I remember sticking my head out the window into the wind, this is freedom, you are a wild child.
We were in a place far away from the expectations of society. We lived in daisy dukes and flip flops, makeup was for the city girls. We let the sun highlight our hair, bronze our skin. We played in the mud and sat on the roof talking into the night. We danced naked in the rain and ran through the wilderness. 
We were free. I was free.

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