Slowly consuming, the internal battle against myself rages like the ocean's wrath. Coming in waves, I am swept below and caught in the undertow, never knowing when I will resurface again. My mind races and my limbs flail becoming sore the more I fight against her wrath. If I ever come back up for air again, will the storms in the future be weaker? Will I be stronger? As I struggle just beneath the surface, I realize that this is not the end. The waters seem to calm as I reach for my pen, the wrath flowing from within and spilling onto the paper with the first touch. As I gasp for air, the smell of serenity and salt in my hair, there she sits: healing. At a time when all around is darkness, one must remember that without the darkness, there cannot be light
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