Elisa Wontorcik
Bio
Artist, writer, and ritual-maker reclaiming voice through chaos and creation. Founder of Embrace the Chaos Creations, I craft prose, collage, and testimony that honor survivors, motherhood, and mythic renewal.
Stories (58)
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The Days That Blur
The Days That Blur The days don’t disappear. They dissolve. One into the next, without edges, without markers, without anything sharp enough to distinguish morning from afternoon or Tuesday from Thursday. Time doesn’t pass down here — it spreads.
By Elisa Wontorcik7 days ago in Poets
Silent Panic
The Silent Panic The panic doesn’t arrive with a scream. It arrives with a whisper — a tightening in the chest so subtle I almost miss it. A flicker of something sharp beneath the slow-motion heaviness. A shift in the internal weather that doesn’t match the stillness of my body.
By Elisa Wontorcik11 days ago in Chapters
Slow Motion
Chapter 7 The slowing doesn’t arrive like a warning. It arrives like a thickening — a quiet shift in the internal physics of my body and mind. After the dimming, after the weight, after the quicksand, everything begins to move at a different speed. Not the world — me.
By Elisa Wontorcik11 days ago in Poets
Quicksand
The ground looks solid at first. Flat. Steady. Dependable. After the fall, after the weight, after the mind underwater, I want to believe I’ve landed somewhere stable — somewhere I can stand, even if I can’t rise. But the moment I put my full weight down, the earth shifts beneath me.
By Elisa Wontorcik12 days ago in Chapters
Moving through Molasses
Inspired by the 1919 Boston Molasses Flood Moving through the Ground feels like moving through molasses — not the kitchen kind, not the syrup on a spoon, but the kind that drowned a city in 1919. Thick. Relentless. Slow enough to watch, heavy enough to crush.
By Elisa Wontorcik14 days ago in Poets
A Mirror Moment
A Mirror Moment I don’t go to the mirror looking for anything. I’m just passing through the bathroom, moving slowly, heavily, the way people move underwater. But something pulls my gaze — not curiosity, not vanity, just a faint instinct, like checking a pulse.
By Elisa Wontorcik14 days ago in Poets
My Disappearance
Disappearance doesn’t happen all at once. It’s not a vanishing. It’s a thinning. A slow erosion of presence, a quiet fading at the edges of myself. The underwater mind pulls me down, the weight holds me there, and somewhere in the pressure and the dimness, I begin to lose definition.
By Elisa Wontorcik14 days ago in Poets
The Weight of it all
The weight doesn’t arrive like a burden. It arrives like a verdict. There is no warning, no shift in atmosphere, no moment to prepare. One breath I am sinking, the next I am pinned — held down by something I can’t see, can’t name, can’t negotiate with. The ground doesn’t just catch me. It claims me.
By Elisa Wontorcik15 days ago in Poets
Mind underwater
The Mind Underwater The ground didn’t just stop me. It swallowed me. Impact wasn’t a moment — it was a breach. The brightness collapsed, the air thinned, and before I could brace, the world gave way beneath me. I didn’t land on the ground. I fell through it.
By Elisa Wontorcik15 days ago in Poets
