Most days self-doubt laps at my ankles in pools that I hardly feel, with ripple effects so small I don't even sift the footprints in the sand. Other times it comes in waves, striking me behind the knees. I wobble, skim the water's surface with a grasping hand that's never held on to anything except for broken secrets, but I don't fall. The salt stings my eyes but instead of closing them I resolutely gaze at the sunset in the hopes that I could find some written metaphor in the pink and orange clouds about something like "starting over" or "self-forgiveness". And then there are rare days when there's an eclipse and I can't blind myself with sunbeams or use an ultraviolet floodlight in my brain to scare off all the lurking thoughts I can't pin-point but know are there... that's when the self-doubt comes in tsunami waves, and I don't fall but sink like a wayward torpedo, farther than any reaching hand could pull me to shore, to normal rock bottom, and I realize, as the oxygen slowly leaves my lungs, as my vision darkens into obscurity, that I've visited this abyss before.
its a bit maudlin, but I wrote it on a whim with hardly any editing (a rare feat for me). Thank you for reading.