Some days it seems as if it tiptoes in ever so subtly, quietly sneaking in through the back door. And there are other days where it feels like it pounds, pounds, pounds down the front door and barges in unannounced.
There are the days that it wears the persona of an old friend, a distant acquaintance that you remember being in your life. And other days it appears as the arch-enemy, the nemesis of your soul.
Wether it’s the faint whisper in your ear or the loud voice booming in your face, the effects and source of fear are the same.
No matter how it came or how it made its presence known, it must always go. It must always be treated as the unwanted guest, the unwanted visitor that must see its way out the door. It cannot be allowed to find a home again. It cannot be allowed to take root. It cannot be allowed to feel as though it’s welcome, as though it’s wanted, as though it’s needed.
With sword in hand, I take up the fight once more.