As I sit here, surrounded by the fragments of a shattered life, I am forced to confront the brutal truth: agony is not just a sensation, but a state of being. It’s a constant companion, a friend that never leaves your side, and one that’s always eager to remind you of its presence.

My name is Ethan, and I’ve lived with agony for as long as I can remember. It started as a dull ache in my chest, a nagging feeling that refused to be silenced. At first, I tried to ignore it, to push it aside and focus on the world around me. But agony is a persistent pest, one that demands attention, no matter how trivial the task may seem.

Years have passed since that fateful day, and agony has only grown more desperate in its pursuit of me. It creeps in during the quiet moments, when the world outside recedes and I’m left alone with my thoughts. It’s a cold, unforgiving thing, always lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to strike.

I’ve tried to escape its clutches, to flee to distant lands and new experiences. But agony is forever tied to who I am, a thread that weaves through every memory, every fear, and every regret. It’s a constant reminder that I can never truly be free, that no matter how hard I fight, agony will always be a part of me.

Some may say that I’m at my wit’s end, that I should have given up long ago. But agony has a way of stirring something within us, of awakening a spark that refuses to be extinguished. This ember burns within me still, a burning reminder of the anguish that I’ve endured, and one that will continue to drive me forward, no matter how bleak the landscape may seem.

As I sit here, what can only be described as knee deep in my personal pain, I am noticing something fundamental. the foe I’ve struggled against was a shadow of me. This more than anything is creating a brutal, unfamiliar job of healing: facing me.