I Know What it Feels Like to Drown

Prose Poem

I was 10 years old playing in the surf. Maine’s cold water numbs limbs quickly. “Once you’re numb, you’re warm.”

I was 10 years old when the undercurrents swept my legs out and down I went. In and out, waves crashing, feet pulled back, spun around and around and around.

I was 10 years old when I learned what is felt like not to breathe. The fire your lungs produce. The heavy pulsing pressure in your head. The panic when you’re not sure which way is which, then the relief of a breath. CRASH! Saltwater in mouth, in throat, in lungs.

I was 10 years old when I finally crawled to shore and looked around to realize that no one noticed. I learned what it felt like to drown and no one noticed. The ocean tried to keep me and no one noticed.

I was 17 years old the first time I wanted to sink beneath the water and not come back up. I was quiet so no one noticed.

I was 18 years old when I screamed out that I was suicidal. I wanted to sink back under the waves and I screamed and no one noticed. Then, a therapist to a mother. “She’s doing it for attention. Don’t worry.”

I was 19 years old when I stopped screaming. I didn’t hide but I didn’t shout. I wanted to throw myself from a moving car. I wanted to sit in the bathtub and let myself just sink. I held a bottle of pills to my lips, eyes locked on the woman in the mirror. No one noticed.

I was 25 years old when the thoughts got loud again. Quarantined in a small apartment. Alcohol stumbling in like an old friend. I spent that summer at the beach. I looked longingly at the waves. No one noticed.

I’m 31 years old now. I know what it’s like to drown and I longed to feel it again more times than anyone ever noticed. He noticed when I told him. He didn’t witness it, but he noticed.