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My Moab Mecca

As a spasm of tears flooded my eyeballs, I pitched my head forward and between my knees so that the salty liquid could drop directly from my eye sockets onto the cement floor. We, women, do strange things to avoid smudging our eyeliner. I recognized in the moment that this irrational outburst could probably be identified as a panic attack. For no reason based in reality, my body had decided that someone I once loved was about to die. It responded accordingly, spraying me (and the room) with urgent grief. I struggled to breathe for the next forty-five minutes and in the aftermath I ached for answers. I desperately wanted to know why. Why do some of live long, healthy, relatively charmed live

 

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