Thought and intellect cannot quell the voice within . . . it slithers beneath the surface of who I know I am and who I know I’m meant to be. It whispers lies, it screams in a cacophony of silence, a deafening roar to bind me.

I tell myself I’m safe, it tells me there is something to fear. I tell myself the skies are clear, no storms gather up above, it points to distant clouds and says, oh, but here they come.

I breathe, I pray, I think on other things, but still, it speaks.

I tell myself I’m strong, it reminds me I am weak. I battle this voice, I’m a warrior without a weapon facing a foe no one else can see, knowing I mustn’t surrender, lest it become all that is left of me. It tells me I’m a prisoner, trapped inside a shell, but I know – I know, I will escape this hell.

I breathe, I pray, I think of other things, and I begin to speak.

I reclaim my voice and rebuke the spell that brought me to my knees, I am bigger, I am more. I will not surrender to the trespasser trying to rob me of my peace. There are cracks somewhere within me I hope one day to repair, sealing forever the places the thief finds its way in, until that day I’ll continue to fight, and I’ll continue to win.

Anxiety, visceral disquietude buried deep inside, engaging me in battle. This enemy may knock me down with doubt and fear and lies, oh, but I will rise.

© Crystal R. Cook 2017

Written in response to The Daily Post – Visceral