I have kept my darkest moments scrupulously to myself.

Locked away tight.

I can’t bring myself to utter the words aloud.

I have gone to the water’s edge and started picking up rocks.

Stuffed them into my pockets.

Smooth ones worn down by the waters constant ebb.

The core remains.

It’s weight heavy in my hands.

I have contemplated the waves crashing.

Incessant. Ceaseless.

Like these thoughts that come with a regularity.

These seductive thoughts.

Hissing their sweet lies.

It can all stop.

Pain.

Cease.

Being.

I have stared at the cold water.

Longed for its shocking embrace.

Virginia says go on home.

This is not your time.

This is not the place.

You can continue to endure it.

Go on home. Your children need you.

And the thoughts leave as brutally as they came.

I recognize this pattern now.

I have watched it

Come and go like the tide

Rise and fall like a wave.

And I have learned to pay it no mind.

https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20160324-the-only-surviving-recording-of-virginia-woolf