You struggle against the encroaching darkness. An ink black substance, solid almost, viscous and thick that has covered you, cloaked you. A darkness heavy with secrets and damp with fear, with tendrils that have lives of their own, cloying, clinging, like a thousand insecurities, a thousand hurts. It is a darkness all your own.
You struggle to find the light, dim as it is. You relive every memory that has brought happiness, only to see it rot as the darkness possesses it. Each step towards the light is excruciating. It is easier to give in.
But the light is a beacon, of hope, of love, of all things beautiful and right. And you push towards it, with the darkness around you like a cloak.
And when you finally reach the light, you see it for what it really is. A mirage, a dream.
There is no escape.