Stumbling. Sinking. Swimming.

What do I do?

It's a snowball rolling down the mountainside, growing, growing, growing out of control as it careens through drifts and banks. I'm spiraling. I know it, but sometimes that only helps to slow the fall, to slow the spin, but a top isn't done till it hits the ground. I'll know when I hit, and it isn't yet.

No one is listening. My voice keeps rising, tidal in its uncontrollable rhythm, edging higher and higher, louder and louder, till it's overwhelming. Crashing against us all, but when it hits me it's crushing. Everyone else just looks annoyed, a mere sprinkle on their pants leg, nipping seafoam at their ankles. But the waves crash against me, eroding, taking more and more of me away. With every thunderous impact I know less of what I am and wonder where I went.

I try to hold it together, clutching at myself, clinging to what’s left. Tick, tick, tick like a time bomb, moving closer to self-destruct. Every twitch brings me closer to annihilation. What is more disheartening than realizing that it's too late?

I remember when they told me to stop twitching, and I couldn't. Tick, tick, tick goes the hand counting down till they've had enough. How alone I felt waiting for them to leave. Leave me be, please, I'm tired of being the butt of the joke. Leave me alone, I'm not worth your time. I start to speak for them, because words hurt less when they come from your own mouth.

You’re worthless. Insignificant. Better off dead. Hooks and barbs surgically placed in my own flesh.

Tick, tick, tick twitches the narrator, faster and faster under scrutiny, the watchful eyes, the harsh words.

There's the false silence. The faux quiet, gasping noiselessly for control. Fake it till you make it, fake it till it's gone. Breathe in, breathe out, be calm, don't show it. Then I shudder, shake my head, the impulse snatches my very spine, axons away and my nerves themselves betray me.

The sinking. Who knows what pulls at my ankle, not I, my eyes staring to the sky which shivers in the waves above, further, further, further away as it pulls me down. Monster, shackle, who knows what weight it is that sinks this ship, titanic in my endeavor to surface for one last breath.

Doomed, or so I feel, then I lie… I see the light, I know the way, the way out of this corner. Further, further, further on to the exit, the end in sight, the light of day is near. But sometimes stepping into the light is stepping over the edge, then you plummet.

Further, further, further into the abyss, the darkness enveloping. Face tranquil, body still, the storm has passed, but internal tempests aren’t hurricanes. When it comes to panic, it’s often the peace surrounding you as the eye inside grows tumultuous, chest tight, stomach tumbling, heart beating lub dub, lub dub, lub dub, heralding the coming annihilation. Symphony, cacophony, discord of body and soul and mind, surrounded by peace as the drum beats chaos, a peace founded in the darkest corner where distraction is no more real than the light. There’s nowhere to run, it’s all encompassing.

           Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. Slowing, staccato, each systole maintains my pain, my panic. Close your eyes, breath deep, smell the flower, blow out the candle, in… out… in… out… in… out… the meditation we find even though we haven’t started the search, our sobbing muffled as our body finds its way of its own accord. The moments drawn to seconds, the seconds stretch to minutes, we dare to hope.

In… out… lub, dub… further, further, tick, it clicks. The switch flicks. The weight lifts, and everything feels lighter. The world on our shoulders shatters, the world we built in our minds, constructed in lies we tell ourselves, the falsities we perpetuated in our own voices, of our own accord, mutually assured destruction as we tear each other down, tore ourselves down in our panic, striking out, lashing out, going out of our way to find the crack in our own foundation.

We are our greatest enemy, our own secret saboteur.

But fear lingers in our minds. Is it gone? Will it be back? We both know the answer, it never fully leaves. It hides in the darkest recesses, those corners that never forget, waiting to grasp at us, to wrestle control away from these hands that steer our own destiny.

And who’s to blame but me? Who’s to blame but us? I. We. These hands of ours gave up the wheel, gave way to the demons to claw forth from their confines, to find the light and hold the helm. The dilemma is ubiquitous, and never more than now. Do I blame myself as I yearn to do? In doing so, I’m the one who kicks the snowball down the mountain. But if I’m to blame for my own demise, is it any better to claim my own innocence? And so, we justify our plight, victimize ourselves when we could just as easily TAKE CONTROL.

Rise. Find the way. Fight. Tick. Tick. Tick. Our clock is ticking. Further. Further. Further down I’m sinking. Swim for air, fight for life. Just make it to the next moment, the next beat. Tick. Tick. Lub. Dub.

If death comes for us all, what of it? Not today, not yet. Cry out in rebellion, show our disdain. The powerless rise up, for power is meant to be taken. Rise up, the suffering made you strong. The drum beats war, march on with me to take back ourselves. Powerless doesn’t mean hopeless, even if hopeless is where we came from. Never give an inch. Always take ground. Don’t succumb. Our losses are only losses if we fail to grow. To learn. So in truth, I’ve come this far, why not further? Further. Further.

By the day I die the story will have changed. I won’t be powerless that day.