Drowning

A sailor set out one dark night to journey across the ocean. She didn’t know a single thing about sailing, on what lay ahead, but that was the exciting part, the journey, the unknown, and the purpose. She felt determined find more of herself, and as she looked beyond, she took one deep breath, pushed her foot off the sand; her last touch of solid ground for a while. There was no way for her to know what lay ahead, but she felt ready. The ocean offered more than she was ready for, the waves tossed, the stars moved, navigating became tricky. She came across islands, and different people, in whom she learned many lessons. She felt full of hope when leaving each island, but soon found despair with weeks and weeks on the ocean alone. The winds blew when she needed it calm, and it was calm when she needed the wind. The ocean roared when she needed peace, and there were no one around when she felt alone, but she journeyed on. She had a purpose; she was on a search for herself; she wanted to become more than she was. Her purpose pushed her on, and the ocean pushed her back.

As I walk around my home, trying to clean, to get things organized, trying to keep my head up and my tears in, I feel life piling up. I feel the weight of sadness press against my chest, against my heart, and forcing happiness to the bottom. I feel weighed down, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to convey to others what I fell and what I need. I am slowly drowning in my own thoughts, and I can’t get out. How do I vocalize how I feel? How do I make someone understand that I can’t smile right now? How do I explain that I can’t be around people right because the anxiety I feel rising within me is on the verge of overload? How do I tell someone I don’t know how to handle an overload? How do I stay calm, when my inability to express my feelings makes me frustrated, thus making me irritable? I am stuck. I am drowning in a pit of sadness. I need someone to reach down, and help me out, but yet I push away every helping hand that comes my way.

Imagine me in a pit, in a hole. I'm sitting at the bottom, a few feet deep. I have a shovel. I examine it. This could get me out, but I ask myself “Do I want out?” I don’t know, I don't know. More thinking, then I find myself in motion. Instead of using it to climb out, I am digging deeper, burying myself deeper in my inability to take control, to fight the want to disappear, but you’re calling to me, reaching to me, but it's too late. It's getting harder to breathe, harder to hear you calling me, harder for your hands to reach me, and I keep digging. This weight, this dirt piling up on my body seems to compliment the weight inside of me, and it’s beautiful. It calms the fear rising in me, but is it too late now? Am I buried to deep for your hands, for you voices to reach me?

Back to our sailor, and her purpose. She was unwise, and unlearned. She is now fighting for her life. The ocean is pushing her further and further back, and control seems to be slipping away, but she continues to use every bit of energy she has, every bit of knowledge she possesses, to make herself successful. The thought of letting go as the water pushes her further down, as her lungs are begging for air, crosses her mind, becomes a pressing thought, but she will not give up. The ocean waves, and the storms, and creatures, they push her to her limits, and further. Struggling against her opposition, she puts forth every effort to get up, and take control of her boat. She feels the weight of the ocean dragging her down, but she will not give up, she will not be lost at sea.

I feel the ups and downs. I feel like I can do anything one day, and nothing the next. Some days, every small menial task feels like I am trying to cross the entire ocean in one day, but I am not. “Life is not a sprint, it is a marathon.” (Phillip C. McGraw) I cannot compare my success to others, because my success sometimes is simply getting out of the bed, and managing to brush my teeth. My success stories are leaving the house on time for work, managing to smile when the weight I feel inside only wants me to frown. My success is that I am here, I am alive, and I am capable of becoming someone still. I am not stuck as I am forever. I will not feel this weight forever. I will break free, and feel happy, and that happiness may not last forever, it may last a few hours, a few days, a few weeks, but it will come, and I will cherish the time I have with it.

The beautiful part of feeling weighed down, of feeling beat, is that if I can be sad, the opposite must exist somewhere in my story—Happiness must be written. I cannot know what happiness is, unless I know what sadness is, and vice versa. For me to know what it feels like to be empty, I must know what it feels like to be full. I know what light is, because I know what darkness is, and I know how they differ. There is a plan, a plan for each of us, and happiness and sadness must be written in. A cup half empty, or a cup half full, and sometimes all I can do is remember that the cup isn’t completely empty, that something exists within it. I am not alone, and I never will be.

I am on a boat, I am on a journey. My journey will and must be hard, for I must learn. My journey will include happy moments, full of light, but I know that night must come. It must come both in the sky, and in my mind and heart, and instead of being a burden, it will become a reminder, a reminder that light exists. My boat will float, it will get me where I need to go, I will get where I want to go, and become who I want to become. I am a traveler seeking to become more than I am, and I will be successful.