Yes. It's a word she became acquainted with quite rapidly because she is a fast learner.
She studied. Took a week of personal time, from work, and for the first time in her artistic life, spent more time in a library that entire week than her entire life.
Thus began her learning. Here she was professor and student day in and day out—AFTER dropping her children off at Daycare. These were the days her eyes opened. These were the days they remained—wide open. These were the days, fear became prevalent. Where fear wasn't just a feeling it began succumbing her.
It all started that day she went to her doctors office and while giving a urine sample there above the toilet the tiny brochure, small enough to hide inside her wallet, (if necessary,) and fit in the palm of her hand like a business card. Ten of the 12 bullet points, stung her as she read—like a knife to her gut and then to her chest near her heart. And then she sweat, in wonder, wide-eyed wonder—not possible...not me. Denial.
Denial is what brought her to the library to study—to prove herself and her self-inflicted fear wrong. [Fear is an illusion, remember.] Was it self-inflicted! Was she just crazy! #12 hadn't ever happened. But #11 was moments away, what would stop 12, she thought. Yes, it was easier to be crazy than to admit what she was reading in the tiny little pamphlet that fit in her brave hand.
I mean, come on—
HE NEVER HIT HER.
She must be crazy.
THIS is crazy.