A Sea of Despair

I shut the bathroom door behind me and leaned against it, my chest heaving with each breath I took. I slid my hand along the smooth wood of the door, until I felt the cool metal of the doorknob. I clicked the lock shut and listened for it to latch. Then I sank to my knees in relief because I had escaped to my safe haven. But it was only a brief moment of sanity. I began to cry uncontrollably, releasing hundreds of tears that had been held in for so long. Almost immediately after I sat down, the gripping pain returned.

But I wasn’t hurt, I was perfectly healthy. And yet, there was a painful sensation of pressure in my chest. It felt as if there were a demon inside, trying to claw his way out. I could feel my heart pounding all through my body. My temples throbbed with each new pulse. I gasped for air in between every sob that came pathetically whimpering from my throat.

I felt that if I could not calm down, my body would collapse in on itself. And again the horrible thoughts began to run through my head; I would never be good enough, there would always be someone better, I deserved nothing. I shouldn’t be so depressed, I have so many nice things, I am just too spoiled, I don’t know why I’m so sad, I will never get away, my life will forever be a long agonizing journey that will never get better. With every thought that entered my mind the pressure escalated. I grabbed my legs and let out a moan of frustration.

I slowly pulled myself to my knees and grabbed onto the towel rack. Slowly and shakily I rose to my feet and leaned with both hands on the counter. My reflection confirmed my fears; I saw a weak, pathetic, scared, little girl, whose face was soaked in tears, staring back at me with big pathetic eyes. I threw the cabinets open so that I would not have to see myself.

My head was spinning with all the things that were wrong, everything I would never escape from. The pain felt so real as it pierced through my lungs and into my throat. It shot through my neck and into my head. I felt as if I was sinking in the ocean with weights tied to my feet. Each weight was something that was wrong, something that was bringing me down. I was swimming upward, viciously kicking my legs and throwing my arms toward the surface. A panic seized me because I could not keep my head above the water. I was sinking, and although I could see the surface, I knew it was impossible to reach it.

My entire life was spent swimming upward. Every second of the day was spent struggling to tread water. If my weights became too heavy to fight, I sank. If my legs gave out from treading for so long, I sank. And I sank fast. Then I would have to swim even more, and kick even harder, just to get back to the surface. Sometimes I just didn’t have the strength because I was so exhausted.

I closed the cabinets and looked at my reflection again. While I stared at my red, tear-stained face, I wondered why I even tried at all. Was life really worth going through so much? Was the air above the water even worth fighting to breathe? The peaceful, silent, ocean bottom began to seem inviting. Why did I try so hard not to sink? The bottom seemed calm, once there I would no longer have to fight. I could relax, and the pain would go away.

Suddenly, a true calm came over me as I slid open the top drawer. I felt strange, as though something other than myself had taken control of my body. But it felt right; it felt like something I should do. I slowly ran my fingers along a hairbrush, mascara, deodorant, and hair ties, until my hand fell on the cold, smooth, shiny razor. It shimmered in the light as I lifted it out of the drawer, almost as if it were the glistening gates of heaven, calling for me to enter them.

Then I began to feel like I was controlling myself again. The demon inside began to violently thrash about. The pain in my chest and head tripled and throbbed with despair. The frustration began to build up inside of me, and I could no longer breathe. My body trembled with adrenaline as I held the razor, gripping it with all my strength. The mere possibilities of what I could do with it were overwhelming. And I began sinking, but I did not fight it. I collapsed to the floor, but I didn’t drop the razor, my key to the peace at the bottom of the ocean. I began breathing again, short, quick gasps of air. I stared down at my wrist and thought I could almost feel it tingling. A shiver ran through my spine as I felt the calm come back over me. I was in a trance-like state; I could no longer control what I was doing. It felt almost as if the demon was guiding my hands to move. I was in such a numb state that I stopped breathing again. The only sound I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.

I lifted the razor and with one quick clean slice I split open the intricate network of blue veins in my wrist. As the thick blood began to pour down my pale arm, the adrenaline vanished and the demon escaped. I calmly stared at the deep red spreading over my skin as if nothing had happened. Everything inside of me was leaving with the gushing blood. My pain, my anguish, my panic, my sadness, my struggle, my life was streaming out of my body. The blood covered my shirt and my jeans, the room felt as if it was filling with blood and everything that was bad inside of me; the release was so powerful. I sucked in a breath of air. It felt so pure, so clean, I was not holding myself above water to take it.

But my sheer relief lasted for only a few moments. Now I felt sharp pains shooting through my body. My head cleared, and I felt in control again. I looked down at the razor in startled horror, for now it was covered in blood. No longer did it seem like the shining gates of heaven, but instead the bloodstained chains of hell! I cried out in fear and desperation. The sea bottom was no longer calm and peaceful. As I drew nearer the water all around me turned red.

The entire ocean was blood-filled; I grabbed the edge of the sink and then the faucet. I pulled myself up, trying desperately not to sink into the red depths of the sea of evil. The bottom now seemed twisted and disgusting. It began to pull even harder. The bloody water swirled around me in a giant whirlpool, sucking me down. I was powerless against its force. The mirror reflected a pale, sickly face, with strange eyes that were filled with wild desperation. I slammed my hand against the mirror, trying to save the girl I saw. The panic rose in my throat and my lungs let out a final scream of despair, but it was useless. It was too late. I sank to the floor in defeat and on down into the fiery red depths of the bloody ocean. My body went limp, and the razor clattered onto the floor next to me.

I lay motionless while the life drained from my body. Suddenly, I remembered being seven years old. It was a bright sunny day in June, and I was at my grandma’s picnic. My cousins were all running around the yard, shrieking and giggling with the kind of joy only children can find in a summer afternoon. My older cousin picked me up and playfully threw me in the pool. But I couldn’t touch the bottom and began to flail my arms wildly. The cool water was closing in on me, and I thought I was going to drown.

But then he yelled out to me, “Swim until you can touch!” Simply swim until I could touch. I knew how to swim, I had been taking lessons. And so I did, I swam to the shallow end of the pool. And then I stood up. I didn’t even come close to drowning, I was only a little shaken up.

A strand of hair that had fallen across my face trembled with the last wisp of breath that left my lips. My eyes filled with darkness, and a final tear trickled down my cheek. My lips formed into a half smile just as my heart came to a stand still. For the last thought that circled through my mind was that my cousin was right. All that time I was treading water, my efforts never got me anywhere. I should have been swimming. And maybe I would have found a place I could touch, maybe I would have found a wonderful life, filled with the kind of joy children find in summer days. If only I had started swimming, instead of giving up, and sinking.