I awoke underwater. My awakening wasn’t abrasive or unpleasant. It was like waking up after a good night’s rest on clean sheets with a gentle breeze from the overhead fan and sunlight gently streaming into your room. A gentle realization, you might say. I awoke knowing I wasn’t where I should be. I looked at the world around to see the lights dappling the waves above me. My face was so close to the surface I could hear sound. The gentle murmur of the open world rushed above me, yet wasn’t intended for my sunken head. I lay where I was, dimly floating and ever so slightly rocking in the current. I seemed to not need to breathe. Was I holding my breath? My lungs didn’t hurt, but I dare not breathe in. I wasn’t scared, yet I wasn’t sure if I should be. Was I drowning? I seemed to have a vague memory of falling into the water. The waves enveloped me as I fell; hiding the absence of my scream. 

I didn’t like the world out there. It had hurt me deeply and desperately. I missed the openness. I missed the clear air. I missed having an ownership of the voices above the water. But could I go back? Could I let go of my gentle existence? I could so easily flood my senses with the dappling light on the water and rest in the slight sway of my body. Out there I had to make sense of it all. Out there I wasn’t safe. Out there gravity always pulled at me. It was always seeking me. It bothered me so. Just let me be, just let me walk, just let me love the place I am without trying to burden me. It was all silly. All foolish. All shallow. Much like this water. But the water was safe. The water is safe. 

They didn’t understand, the people who walked up there. I could lay below the surface of a street puddle or deep in the ocean trenches and nothing would change. Their meager existence would continue. They would still be afraid. They would still be broken, misunderstood, greedy, sad, heartbroken, lost and unloved. I wouldn’t change that. They play their games and fill their time. But to what end?  What joy can be found in such a life? I feel broken. I feel like I lay on a floor without the strength to stand. The light dapples my naked, torn back and I lay curled on the dusty ground. I can’t. Why would I? All you’ve given me is this? All I will ever have is this? All you will ever see is this? So why should I leave? Why should I change? I am broken. Do you hear me? I am a broken thing. Don’t come in here with pity in your eyes thinking what I could have done differently. Trust me I know. Do you not think I’m haunted by those ghosts enough without your bony hand ushering them back into my soul? I know. I know. How can you help? Don’t ask me how to help when the only way you can think to help is through pity and judgement. Find it within yourself to bend as I have been forced to do. Find it within yourselves to reach off the pedestal you shoved me off of. 

Why would I wake to the air? No, no. I find peace here. It is slow. It is calm. I am aware of myself and I feel my bones slowly mending. The muscles may atrophy, but I can’t walk before I’m ready. So let me lie here. Let me rest a while longer. 

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