Storms are raging, lightning striking all around.
Ugly faceless beasts, rising up out of nowhere.
All want a piece of me.
I fight alone, I cannot fail, I cannot concede.
I have to fight, the alternative is too… everything.
These are no beasts from a work of fiction.
They’re incorporeal but they are very much alive.
Only I can see them, but I can’t.
I know they’re there.
Anxiety, the first, scratching away at the nape of my neck,
Almost like some taloned spectre,
Cold and slick.
Wants me to scratch,
Wants me to give in.
The Low, the negative, the constant.
Not sadness but the absence of joy,
Nothing has relevance.
Devoid of rational thought,
The Low has won today.
Hopelessness, the last, like a warm duvet on a cold day,
Inviting me to lay down under it,
Inviting me hide my head under the cover and forget all else,
Too easy, there is still life outside the head.
Embrace the chaos,
Storm straight into the fire again,
I refuse to burn; I refuse to lie down,
I refuse to let it win.
This is a good fight and it’s worth fighting.
Too many have lost the fight,
Gave into the pill or the water,
My anchors are in the hearts of my loved ones.
I will survive to fight again tomorrow.