There.
It's happened again.
That pit of the stomach dropping off thing. That churning of organs, spitting out a baleful, sickening noise. The voices, the derisive laughter in the head.
The ghosts of the past just won't give up. How ironic that I played one in a high school play.
Someone tore out the script, now I'm standing in the centre of the stage...with no lines to say. I stare, and they stare back. The second the resolve in the eyes appears to fade and the strut weakens, death becomes imminent.
And Death is not an option.

Should I go? What purpose will it serve?
Should I stay? Or is this the chance to prove something? The strongest sword is one forged in the fires of hell.

Duvidha

Some mistakes are irresistible.
There are only about, oh say, thirteen thousand things I shouldn't have said / done. But it's a bit late for that now.
Some kinds of news can do strange things to the body and the mind.
The body is doing the expected, but due to reasons different than expected.

There is only one way from here - up.

So I guess I'll be seeing you there, my friends of misery.
And in hell, too.

^