I wrote something last night I published on my blog that I think pretty much sums up my feelings this morning. I'm sure most of you understand.

I moan for restful nights, but life gives and it takes. I suppose the last stand for my fear is the darkness. Taking the breath from my body is fear’s final resting stop. I suppose that’s why I write with such great voracity. Fearing that at any moment the whole thing will end. My family tends to get a bit upset with my obsession with death, but I can’t help it. Because beneath this veneer of stability lies a person who feels the clock ticking. So I can’t help but think what I’m saying now may be the last.

You may think that staring at fear so many times numbs you to it. But within us fear is a powerful thing. It seeks new and different ways to creep into your consciousness. You might defeat it in one area of your life, but shortly after it shows up somewhere else. I like writing about my fear and the things it does to me. The way it makes me feel. In a way it gives me power over it. A sense that despite my physical and emotional state, I still have control.

At this moment the turmoil hasn’t passed. But I feel I’ve said what I’ve needed to say. That despite the armor we think we wear, our inner demons are much more of an enemy then any outside force. What I have learned is the gift of survival is a powerful thing. But what is also true is that having the volume cranked to eleven isn’t something you can do forever. Find solace in constructive ways. Rather through medication, meditation, or therapy, or a little of all three. The voices don’t have to be silent, but it’s sure nice if they can be kept to a quiet roar.