There is something inside.
Sometimes I can just hear it rattling around, other times, it's like a stone preventing a wheel from moving. Sometimes, I nearly forget it's there, but others it's a malignant mass in my soul, threatening my very existence.
I cannot determine exactly where it came from; I cannot name it or the things it does. All I can see are the symptoms of sickness it lays upon me: moodiness, indecision, denial, depression, addiction. These things control my days and dictate my actions, and I am powerless over them. How can I ever get to their source? It is more than enough work to cover the tracks of this devious specter, let alone deal with the perpetrator himself.
There is, at times, peace. How and when it comes are functions of a dozen or hundred things, most of which I can only name in those peaceful moments. Those moments come and go and are only remembered like artistic scenes in a film I can't remember how long ago or with whom I watched. It is an endless cycle of chaos and a fruitless endeavor to make any lasting peace of my days.