Secrets of an Internal War

The Quarter-Life Crisis

Depression and anxiety. The ceaseless beating created by the hormones of my own body. Internal bruises. There are no rashes, fevers, or discernible symptoms for your eyes to uphold. There are no assaulters prowling towards me with bloodcurdling weapons of slaughter. It is me who is my enemy. Me who beats me up. Me who opens the door for the monsters I’ve created. Depression is a sadistic prison where I am both the prisoner and the jailer. Anxiety is being followed by a ruthless voice that knows all my insecurities. That voice is mine. I have a chemical imbalance. I didn’t ask for it, just like the suffering child at Riley didn’t ask for cancer. Sometimes we’re dealt a hand we weren’t prepared for. But it’s not the hand we’re dealt, it’s how we play it.

I could lay down; throw up my white flag with a quivering hand. I…

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