Some days it feels like I'm drowning.
Not all at once. Not with some dramatic wave crashing over me. It's slower than that..
The water rises inch by inch until it's pressing against my chest, filling my lungs with everything I can't say out loud. I kick harder, reach farther, fight to stay above the surface—but somehow I never seem to get any closer to air.
Then the tunnel vision starts.
The world grows smaller. The voices around me become muffled. The things I used to love fade into the background until all I can see is the water closing in. Every breath feels borrowed. Every movement feels heavier than the last.
The hardest part is that, from the shore, it probably doesn't look like I'm drowning at all.
Maybe that's what drowning really feels like—not sinking beneath the surface, but smiling while the water quietly fills your lungs.
I'm still here.
I'm still fighting.
I just wish someone could see how deep the water really is.
