I feel like I'm being suffocated by myself. By my own stupid decisions and my lack of ability to love the ocean. I used to play in the water all day, from the moment I put my foot in for the first time. I would do anything for the ocean, because the ocean made me happy. The way it waved at me and pushed me to be better was enough to make my heart race. I would give the ocean gifts and attention, and every last bit of my spare time. The ocean was my friend. The ocean and I fell in love.
But something happened along the way.
The ocean is calm.
The ocean is cold.
But on some nights now when I swim, the ocean tries to make me choke on my past and drown in my present. The ocean is so sad that I don't know how to swim the way I used to, because I thought it was like riding a bike.
I thought I could never forget and that I didn't have to try anymore. That I could forget it existed, and ride it whenever I feel.
I was wrong. That ocean teaches me a lesson every day of my existence, because now the ocean doesn't love me the way I need when I need it most.
When I'm drowning in my own chaotic insecure delusions, all it can do is push and pull.
Push.
Push.
Push. And pull.
Until I finally go under, the water flowing through my lungs like a washing machine right after starting, hoping to soak all of my clothes, all of my mistakes in the coldest of water, leaving me naked and cold on the sidelines, waiting for the water to be warm again.
Unconscious until the tide pulls me back down, willing to forgive my humanity.
