Drowning on Dry Land - Illustrated
Some people drown where no one can see the water.
Chapter One: Everyone Thinks I'm Fine
Everyone says I am still standing.
They see me at work,
see me answer questions,
see me nod at the right moments,
see me carry groceries,
pay bills,
show up.
Chapter Two: Quiet Drowning
They think drowning is loud.
They think it is
arms waving,
water crashing,
a final desperate scream.
They do not know
some people drown quietly
on perfectly dry land.
Chapter Three: Everyday Oceans
I drown in parking lots,
in grocery store aisles,
in the silence between text messages,
in the long drive home
where my hands grip the wheel
like it is the only thing
keeping me from falling apart.
Chapter Four: Anxiety Is the Water
I drown in conversations
where I smile too much.
I drown at family gatherings
where everyone asks if I am okay
and I say,
"Just tired,"
because it is easier
than explaining
that my mind has been at war
for so long
I no longer remember
what peace felt like.
Anxiety is the water.
It rises for no reason.
It fills my chest,
my throat,
my thoughts.
Chapter Five: The Long Night
Sometimes I lie awake at night
with my heart pounding so hard
it feels like someone is kicking
from inside my ribs.
The room is dark,
but my thoughts are louder than sirens.
I replay old conversations.
I relive old mistakes.
I imagine futures
where everything falls apart.
I bury people I love
before they are gone.
I lose jobs I still have.
I destroy relationships
that have not even broken yet.
By morning,
I am exhausted
from surviving things
that never happened.
Chapter Six: The Ocean Floor
Then depression arrives,
heavy as the ocean floor.
It does not panic.
It does not scream.
It simply pulls.
It tells me to stay in bed.
It tells me the dishes can wait,
the shower can wait,
the world can wait.
It tells me I am already too far underwater
for anyone to save.
Depression is quieter than anxiety.
Anxiety is lightning.
Depression is fog.
Chapter Seven: Invisible Illness
So I walk through my life
with lungs full of invisible water,
smiling when I have to,
answering when I have to,
pretending I am not sinking.
Because people are more comfortable
with sadness they can see.
They understand broken bones,
bandages,
casts,
stitches.
They understand funerals.
They understand bruises.
But they do not understand
what it means
to spend every day
fighting your own mind
for the right to stay alive.
They do not see
how hard it is
just to get dressed,
just to answer a question,
just to make it through a grocery store
without feeling like the walls are closing in.
Chapter Eight: Grieving Yourself
Some days
I can almost remember
what it felt like to breathe.
Some days
I can almost remember
the version of me
who did not have to fight
just to survive
an ordinary Tuesday.
I remember being younger.
I remember laughing easier.
I remember believing
there would be more to life than this.
That version of me
still lives somewhere in the past.
Sometimes I can almost see him,
standing in an old doorway,
watching me become someone
he would not recognize.
And maybe that is the cruelest part.
Not the sadness.
Not the fear.
It is grieving yourself
while you are still alive.
It is watching pieces of yourself disappear
and being powerless to stop it.
It is becoming a stranger
to your own reflection.
Epilogue: Dry Land
But most days,
I am stranded between two worlds:
not dead,
not really living,
just drowning
on dry land.
