Waves

When I was young, I would stand for hours at the edge of the ocean, entranced by watching the waves bury my feet in the sand. I loved watching the ebb and flow, the swirling of particles around my ankles. It was soothing and peaceful, yet with a little edge to it because you never knew what would come washing up and there was also that little fear that you'd get buried too deeply and be stuck.

I think that is the best way to describe my depression. I've become stuck in the sand. I can't move. I'm at the mercy of the ocean. Sometimes the waves are gentle and safe, but sometimes they are fierce and engulf me--swirling me around like a piece of seaweed unable to move because my feet are trapped in the sand. Sometimes I can't catch my breath before the next wave knocks me around. I start to feel anxious all the time and constantly scan the horizon so that I'll at least be prepared for the next big wave... Of course, I miss some and get caught unaware.

It starts to feel hopeless, like this is all I will ever experience, this is all I can ever remember.

The worst part is that no one else notices or can see the situation for what it is. To the people who walk by me on the beach, I'm just a girl playing in the surf.