Traveling a fathomless distance into my soul—the very core of my extraneous existence—a chafed, gloomy stone slumbers in its own peculiar pit.

A portion of myself has been begrudgingly surrendered over to this rock; demanding its own wretched home, it has resided within me for years. Tally marks on the walls inside accumulate in masses as the sacrosanct sun absentmindedly rises and hastily falls behind the planet as if doubting its job was truly done.

And with each tally mark amassed by the boulder, it peels another painful piece of me apart.

The years walked along slowly at first. The size of a flake, the boulder began at just a minuscule size. Disrupting nothing, it invited itself in, masquerading as an old, amiable friend.

I trusted this friend, for the waves of doubt had not yet capsized my mind. Molding to it, I granted the miniature rock access to my mind, doling out generous slices of myself. The pebble fervently compiled the parts into a masked mound.

Not noticing the clues—as if my heart was willfully ignoring the compelling signs—I let the rock stay. Building a bed, it began to construct its home in my stomach, marginally weighing me down. By inhabiting my stomach, tethering me tighter to the close-to-crumbling ground, the pebble grew comfortable.

Using its welcome I innocently granted, the vindictive pebble slyly intensified; it widened, elongating as I grew. Years now began to jog by as the mountains of life provided an enfeebling, stirring challenge.

My mind was captivated by the events warily whirring around me, a tornado of delirium. As if acting under the obscure ruse of night, the pebble menacingly morphed into a stone larger than before. The pull in my stomach—the woeful weight sinking within me—only increased with the rock’s size.

Attempting to ignore the worried feeling within me—one I had inevitably invited—the stone was explicitly ignored. Alarms incessantly rang, signaling the importance of the rock building, forming, brewing within. Yet caught up in the world, my attention floated elsewhere.

And the stone bitterly retorted.

Eating away at me, it fed off of my denial like its fuel; it snowballed into a monstrous boulder. No longer an insignificant pebble, this boulder had built itself within me.

The years now daringly raced by, taunting me to follow the pace. Demanding my every ounce of essence; only fleeting, anxious moments belonged to this boulder of doubt. Yet as I quickened my pace, this boulder only fought more persistently for my ephemeral attention.

Forming from accidental self-neglect, I had created this boulder. It beseeched me to slow down, to dole out the attention I once could, to treat it once more. But with the derelict rush of life, I had let this ball of anxiety and doubt—who I was—fester within me.

Now, as the clock ticks ever quicker, and time has become even more valuable, the boulder begins to steal momentous minutes away from me.

And yet I continue to hide it, to ignore it, for I hope that this stone within will weigh me down no more but only in a utopian dream.