congratulations

i sink

scrambling to find my way to the surface
when it gets bad enough, i’ll get help.

i break upward,
taking shallow breaths.
the comfort of the fresh air
convinces me i am safe.
where would i even start.
it’d be pointless.
i can handle this on my own.

inevitably, the tide takes me under again
because it always will.
i forget what oxygen tastes like
time bends
i feel my lungs constrict.
there’s no way I’d ever get the words out.
I’m just too broken.

i rise again,
my face finally above water.
i suck in a desperate breath
but take in even less this time,
and succumb faster,
limbs made of lead,
being pulled down down down.
it’s never been this hard before
to see through the thick algae,
to the light that i know
streams somewhere miles above me.
still, i hold out hope
that the rushing current
gifts me mercy.

it never comes.

so i stick out my arm,
despite the pins and needles
of thoughts about how i’m not worth saving,
and walk through the doors that
i’ve passed countless times
on my way to the ocean floor,
make an appointment with whichever doctor is available the soonest please.
as my ears pop because of the air pressure down here,
someone grabs my limp, outstretched hand
and the 50-minute session in the dimly lit office
goes by quicker than the time it takes for my eyes to adjust to the new brightness.
i tilt my head up, and feel a sliver of warmth.
the woman with kind eyes shows me to the lobby and says
congratulations, you made it. it wasn’t so scary was it?

By Kat R., 19, Maryland