Ripples

I let my fingers trail through the icy cold waters, trying to focus on the sensations, just as the CBT instructor had told me.

I opened my eyes, and stared up to the endless blue. No clouds. No aircraft. Just the sound of gentle lapping against my small boat. And the whispers in my head.

In the distance, kittiwakes and gulls battled for real estate on the cliffs. A place to lay a precious egg or two and rear the next generation. The waters here provided good feeding for so many animals and birds. The greenish colour was a good sign that the plankton was thriving.

When my doctor told me to go away for a while, I was frightened. And a bit angry. No-one could just up and leave and go away! There were things to be done. Work. Or find new work. Or just stay, in the dark, not moving. Not thinking. Not having to live. But he insisted: ''It's either that, or you'll end up very ill, and in hospital.''

Surrounded by hills and ''munroes'', red deer and fresh air, all I could do was think. There weren't any distractions, and I suppose when you're used to keeping busy to keep thoughts away, this was quite unsettling. Terrifying, even.

My stomach churned as I went over and over that last day, when I just walked out. I had gotten into my car, with my insides churning and my sight blinded by fear, and I just froze. I couldn't drive. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My manager had called my mother and asked her to come straight away.

For days and days I cried endlessly in my old bedroom. I felt like I was drifting away from myself, and everyone else, and I didn't know how to get back to shore. Days and nights would come and go, and although my body ached, I couldn't make myself move from my curled up position on the single bed. Tears would fall, soaking my pillow and my cheek. My brain pounded against my poor broken skull, unable to get out the sadness destroying me. My chest hurt from howling and heaving, but still I couldn't get the sadness out.

My parents would knock, or come in, asking if I wanted food, tea, a shower. Eventually, the doctor came. He listened, but he was firm.He made me sit up and drink some tea. He made me get dressed. He made me make promises to myself. New habits had to be formed. New thoughts had to be made. A new lifestyle had to be committed to, starting with a break away somewhere quiet.

The little boat gently rocked me. I was a child again in my cradle, completely unable to take control of my life. I couldn't see a way forward. I was just so tired and so sad. I had promised to move forward, but I was so afraid. So tired.

I sat up and looked down into the depths of the water. It was so peaceful and so silent. A place to find rest and to forever shut down the voices. A place to lose the gnawing, relentless spikes of fear and sadness eating away at who I was. I could just slip into the cool, gentle water and let it take my fears. Let it wash me. Let me join the quiet depths.

I leaned further over, allowing gravity to do the work my exhausted body couldn't. My face was getting closer and closer to the clean surface, when a shadow, a long majestic shadow with spots and ripples passed close to my boat. Its enormous mouth was open, like a great cavern. The bones and structure of the inside were visible. It was like a cathedral, the last holy place the microscopic plankton would see before the darkness ushered them down the body of the huge fish. It was a basking shark. A magnificent, quiet, powerful basking shark.

I quickly pulled myself back from the edge of the boat, my pulse pounding wildly in my ears and throat. It wasn't from fear and desperation, but actually from excitement. I couldn't help but stare at the beautiful giant in its marine home, gently undulating through the blue water.

The shark stayed with me and my little vessel for almost an hour, slowly pushing itself through its clean liquid home with its powerful tail. The dorsal fin was a dark flag, helping me to keep a track of its movements. It seemed to circle round and round my boat, scooping up minute creatures in its great mouth.

Its mouth closed, making the animal more streamlined at the front. I thought it must have hoovered up the offerings in this area, and perhaps was ready to move on. I would never pursue it. I had been blessed by its presence for quite a while, and I knew basking sharks were shy creatures.

I sat, ready to pull the cord on the motor, but I wanted first, to wait for my friend to swim away. Before it did, I could just make out its small eye as it passed the side of the boat. It glanced up at me, briefly, and then pushed itself down into the depths, until the spots and ripples were no more.

I think I must have been holding my breath, because when I let it out, my lungs felt lighter, and my body felt looser. I was trembling, and I think I knew I felt different. I felt cleaner.

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That evening, as I sat outside the little cottage and watched the sun set, I knew I was going to be okay. I would take the medication, and I would continue with talking therapy. I couldn't go back to work just yet, but that was okay, too.

A red deer walked past the garden, silhouetted by the sinking sun. He turned his head towards me and flared his nostrils. We stared at each other for a moment, and then he walked on, antlers high, surveying his kingdom.

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Thanks for reading. They say to write about what you know, and I know about mental illness, and wildlife. A lot of my work is about both topics. Usually separately, though. Click on my profile to see more of my work. Thanks again.