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Today I had to force myself out of bed. I forced myself to crack a laugh or two, to have a decent breakfast, to wash my face. Nothing was particularly wrong (yet). It just was one of those days. I felt like I was underwater, pressing against the fluid around me, too tired to actually move.
This past week I decided to reach out to some old friends from years ago. All the metaphorical doors were slammed in my face, politely, of course. And it's got me wondering, am I so hideous? Is my pain so palpable that it appears as leprosy? I mean, I get it. Why would they want to reconnect with me? Life goes on. Their lives did. It's not their fault that I'm stuck. It's mine.
I get it. But how I wish I had a friend I could call when I feel like tearing my insides out. Someone who would listen and let me cry without making me feel like a burden. I wish I had a friend I could invite for some coffee and pastries when I'm needing the sunshine and the company. Someone I could listen to and give advice. Someone to laugh with, walking like drunks on the street. Drunks on the momentary happiness of being alive. I just wish I had a friend.
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A few years ago, I got my Scuba Diver SSI certification. I have a very strained relationship with the sea, so it was a big accomplishment for me, and not easy at all to obtain. On my first immersion, I struggled to feel in control. My ears were hurting so bad I couldn't focus. Of course, being underwater, it was much more difficult to communicate what was going on. My breathing turned shallow, and I got really dizzy and anxious. Pretty much like everyday life for some.
Then, on the second immersion, I practiced the compensation tips an instructor gave me, and it went perfectly. The dark blue wrapped me, gently and lovingly. We were deep enough so that my lungs could start to fill and empty on their own, without conscious effort. I wasn't alone and I felt safe. I really wish that feeling hadn't stayed there, at the bottom of the sea.
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Right now, I feel like my head's underwater and I can't get it out. Light's scarce, and colors blend so much it all looks the same. Today, I'm stuck at the bottom of the sea, unprepared, with no equipment. I speak, but no sound travels in this vast nothingness. I see beings, movement, shadows, but there's the liquid that separates me from everything else. I scream, but they can't hear me. I might drown, and no one would know.
From past interactions, some might have gotten the impression that I'm a super easy-going, funny, positive person. I am. I was. But I'm also this huge amount of darkness creeping up on my shoulder, sneaking past me, mocking my attempts of being social and creating meaningful connections. I've lost my dearest friendships to that horrible voice. It forces me to get the fuck out of anything that might potentially end up hurting me. And so I isolate and hurt myself.
Sadly, sometimes I feel like everything I say to others comes from this terrible void I have inside. But my intentions come from sheer kindness, the same I wish I could receive. When I reach out to someone, I seek to brighten their day, and most of the time that action casts some light on mine too. I love meaningful conversations, they remind me that I'm not the only human in the world, that others have suffered and conquered their happy moments and maybe I can too. It amazes me every time how far can a kind word go. It can be a breath of fresh air for someone who's drowning, someone who's stuck at the bottom of the sea.
I'd like to thank you for reading this. I hope my words resonated with you in some way. If they did, or even if they didn't, I'd like to further connect with you, so I invite you to drop a comment and I'll answer it as soon as I can.
Sources of the images:
📷 by Sarah Lee
📷 by Alex Rose
📷 by Zen Maldives