I woke up with a pit in my stomach. There's something wrong, I just can't put my finger on it. It's like the shadow that you see in the corner of your eye but every time you look, it's gone. It's the monster lurking from behind the door. You know it's watching but you can't seem to catch it. There's things that I need to do today; there's things I wanted to do today. It's been so long since I actually wanted to do things that used to spark joy for me. But I can't seem to make myself. The little voice in the back of my head is whispering to me that something bad is going to happen. Usually, this is just someone's anxiety getting in the way. The more you listen, the more it grows into an actual depression. But this little voice is different. It's not just whispering behind my ear, but it's sitting on my chest. It's telling me to just sleep. It's dragging my body around the house while I try my hardest to do some of the chores that need to be done. It's not just fear that it's instilling inside of me, but worry. I have no reason to be feeling like this or thinking that something wrong is going to occur, but I am. People used to trust my intuition as if I was the captcha code at the end of the sign in to make sure you weren't a robot. That second sense of security. Since getting sick, I've lost myself and tucked that side of me away in the trunk in the guest bedroom with a dusty blanket covering it. It's as if this morning, I had waken up and that chest was unlocked and opened.