The Shallows

...how long can I stay alive

When I was young, I remember floating contentedly in the shallow end, where the water was warm and comforting and my feet could always find the bottom. I felt safe, sometimes silly, still splashing around like a child but I loved the certainty of it.

Yet as I began to glance more often past the rope line, I saw the others, laughing louder, moving freer, the deeper the water got. I watched them cannonball off the edge, launch from the low board, then finally the high dive. The real risk takers who seemed utterly alive! They would run and leap again and again as if they couldn’t get enough. The more I watched, the more I envied, convinced I was missing the best part of life.

So I crossed the rope line, My heart hammered with equal parts terror and exhilaration. Is this how everyone does  it? Is this how everyone feels? I noticed some eased in gradually, stroke by stroke, growing bolder and more confident with each lap. Others just jumped. I decided I would be the gradual kind.

This served me well until one day I was in the deep end without even noticing. Most days it felt like freedom. I had been given super powers that only I knew of. Even when the imposter voice whispered,you don’t belong here, I fully ignored it and just kept swimming.

Then the day came, when water closed over my head and I realized I was drowning. Not metaphorically. Literally, viscerally, gasping for air, lungs burning, arms flailing, wondering if this is the day I wouldn’t survive. But I didn’t drown, not yet. There were times I got so desperate, I started dragging others down just to keep my head above water. Using their shoulders to push myself back up toward air, We would both eventually rise to the surface sputtering with water, They would be furious, coughing and asking why I’d pulled them into my chaos.

 I apologized again and again, promising them I’d never do it again.I promised that if I ever went back out into the deep end, I’d do it differently.  I wouldn’t swim when I was too tired, if I had eaten too much, etc etc. I’d be smart about it, no casualties. And for a while I would retreat to the shallows, ashamed and relieved I hadn’t killed anyone or myself.

But this never lasted long. The shallows felt suffocating now. I’d tasted the freedom and rush of the deep end. So I started climbing the ladder to the low board and then eventually the high one. Each step up, something in my gut screamed, don’t do it again. My legs shook, my mouth went dry. Yet there were people some younger, some older continually launching themselves into the deep, like it was nothing, laughing on the way down. They made it look effortless and so fun! I told myself if they could do it, I could do it. I will get it right this time.

So everyday I would climb those steps to the high dive again and again. I would tell myself one more jump, I will finally belong out here. So I kept plunging into this abyss that overtime had become darker and darker. Each time I thrashed violently wondering why the hell can’t I swim smoothly like so many others I’d seen. I’d stopped noticing the friends and swimmers who’d long since climbed out and dried off. I constantly ignored the life guard and his whistle. I ignored the life saver constantly being thrown to me. Then came the day when I jumped and with arms windmilling the impact almost took me out. I sank hard and fast. Deeper than I’ve ever gone.

The surface quickly became a distant shimmer above me, completely unreachable. Though my body fought against it, my lungs burning, my legs kicking uselessly, I became too tired. Panic turned into resignation. I thought, this is it. This is how it all ends. Just me alone, finally too exhausted to fight the pull of the deep.

And then, miraculously i woke up outside the pool, laying gasping on the hard wet concrete violently vomiting pool water, shaking so bad my teeth rattled in my head. I layed there a long time looking at the high dive as if it was mocking me. Except this time I had no desire to climb it again. I was given a miracle and now I just wanted to breathe.

These days I stay in the shallow end. Not because I’m cured but because I know  unequivocally it’s the only place I can stand without drowning. I learned to float and rely on the comfort of the shallow end. Some days the high dive still calls, the itch returns, whispering lies that just one jump wouldn’t hurt. That I’ve become stronger now. But I keep my feet on the bottom, I splash a little sometimes, laugh at how simple this shallow end brings me so much joy and the safe, steady place where I can finally rest without holding my breath. I’m not out of the deep end forever. Staying in the shallows is something I have to choose everyday. Some days are harder than others but I’ve learned the real thrill isn’t how deep I can go, it’s in how long I can stay alive to keep swimming.

Andi N.