I know I haven’t at all kept up with this blog. I was trying not to be depressing, and had
little to say about anything that made me feel like writing at all.
I’ve been very introspective of late. I am hating and loving it.
When I was a child, I took swimming lessons. Most children do, in the desert. More people own pools or know people who own
pools than just about anywhere. It’s a
matter of safety to know how to swim from a young age, really.
But even though I can kick and breast stroke and emergency
float like a competent person, one place always held fear for me.
The Deep End.
I tend to be tactile (amongst other things.) I’m VERY tactile with my feet, my friends and
family can tell you – I prefer to be barefoot, and I can totally pick up things with my toes. (Don’t think pervert thoughts, you
perverts.) I like to feel where I am,
have solid rock or soil under my feet, or at least know I can feel it if I want
to.
Can’t feel that in The Deep End and breathe at the same time.
The Deep End is dark.
You can just see the bottom in most pools, but there’s no way you can
touch it unless you can breathe deep, hold it, and go into the darkness. Otherwise, you just have to trust that it’s
there, without touching it. I can skim
over The Deep End. I can creep into it
slowly from a shallower end of the pool, and slowly float over it without
looking too far into the deep. I can
swim there if I can ignore the deep blue blurry bottom - and I can't, really, I can feel it there while I swim.
When I was young, though, I touched the bottom of The Deep
End. It was one of the most terrifying
moments of my life that I can remember.
We were being taught to dive from the diving boards. I am not overly fond of heights. And I had zero desire to jump into the dark
blue abyss, so I wouldn’t. So I was
tossed. This wasn’t completely
unexpected. The instructor had tossed
another kid off the board not too long before me, and there was another
instructor in the pool to “catch” us.
I had just enough time to remember to take a breath before
hitting the water. I had my eyes closed. Sounds became muted and wobbly. My toes touched the rough bottom, and for the
first time, I wasn’t comforted by that.
It meant that I was more feet away from the surface than I was
tall. It meant I was at the bottom of
the abyss, The Deep End.
I started up again,
of course, and I could feel the water going past me as I rose. I felt the need to take a breath, as I’d let
most of it go in a surprised sort of release of air when I hit the bottom. I shook my head – something I did to get the
hair out of my face and the water from my eyes, and realized I had not yet hit air. I began to panic. I was sure I was going to drown, it’s what
all the adults warn you about, it’s what they tell you could happen if you’re
alone in the pool. At age 6, I was pretty
sure I wanted to live. I mean… I had My
Little Ponies to play with, She-Ra to watch, bikes to ride. I tried to make my limbs help me, flailing. I
felt like I was trying to swim in something more viscous than water. The surface seemed very, very far away. Every second was minutes in my head. The quality of light became slowly brighter.
I remember hitting the air with a sob and a gasp. Everything still sounded a little muted (as
it turns out, I’m prone to trapped water in my ear.) Reaching the surface was the best and worst
feeling in the world. There was light
and noise, and air.
I have never been able to jump into The Deep End. Not then, not since.
How is this tangent at all relevant, my (one) reader says, because
they’re smart and patient with me rambling. (Yes, I am a suck-up. Bear with me, please, thank-you!)
Well…
I’ve described my depression in ways to people. Sometimes it’s this back lurker, just
following me around, waiting to sneak up on me, sort of a pathetic He Who Walks
Behind (yeah, a Dresden Files reference, sorry.) Sometimes it’s hanging over me, raining on my
parade for no reason. And sometimes, it’s The Deep End. I can try to stay at the end of the pool, I
can creep towards it, and I can look like I can brave it. But it wants to swallow me, it’s always
there, and it would really like me to touch bottom and drown.
And I find myself trying very hard to surface.
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