Drowning

I used to love swimming. I used to love rushing down to the pool on a hot summer day hoping the water was cold enough to cool us off but warm enough to keep us from running right back out of it. I used to lay on my back and wait for the water carry me from one end of the pool to another, eyes closed and mind clear. It was the one place where I felt like I could truly stop time. I distinctly remember becoming one with the water. Not a sign of panic in sight.

While I did hear this narrative quite often, I never really understood how something so comforting could still be so violent. How we could be born into water and still die by its hand. How the same waters that held me afloat could be the same waters that let me sink to the bottom. It may have taken some time but as I sit here drowning, stuck at the bottom, I can finally see what they were talking about.

The more I fight the more I sink. The more I reach out my hand for help the more I see people passing by too afraid that they'll somehow be pulled in with me. It's as if I see them throwing things in, pretending to make an effort but never really making sure it gets it to me. Never making sure I make it out of the water and quite frankly I'm giving up. I no longer wish to make it out.

I have begun to allow myself to be overcome by the darkness. Ironically, it's where things have become clear to me. There will still be sunshine when I'm gone. So this time I'll get as close to the ocean floor as possible, leaving no room for oxygen or hope of making it back to the top. I am no longer afraid of drowning. Here I find rest. There is peace here.

At the bottom of the ocean,

Daph