Recently, I’ve noticed that I hold onto chaos like a lifeline. Breathing in its energy and letting it fuel me into survival. I use it like a drug. Each hit I take draws me deeper into its strangling hold, gasping for freedom and breath… and yet, simultaneously gives me what I need to make it another week, another day, another moment. Chaos wreaks havoc on my body, my mind, my spirit, but refuses to allow me to live without it. I try to force my hands open. I try to let go. But I’ve found that now, it has its own claws. It is clutching me, not I, it. And so, I am afraid.

I am afraid I cannot remember what life looked like without chaos. Or perhaps I never truly lived without it. I am afraid I do not hold the capacity, the strength, the tenacity to live a life of peace. I am afraid I not only live in chaos but that it has embodied me. Instead of the situation bringing it forth, it walks with me into the room.

Under my skin. Inside my head.

I’m afraid it is me and I am it.

I used to be afraid to let go of chaos. Afraid that it would relinquish and diminish all the power I took from it. That I would give up without it. Now… Now I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to escape.

I should have let go when I had the chance.