Writing ahead of the storm, perhaps words will keep me dry. I reach into darkness, grasping for hope. Somewhere, deep within me, there is a way to ride out the fiercest storms; there are roots whose depths I cannot imagine. Roots my conscious splinter cannot fathom.

Confronting fears one by one is like swatting at flies with a pencil. It's better to use that pencil to find pieces of myself stronger than I've known; to move beyond the flies, leaving them to their buzzing.