End;

The following is a work of fiction. 

The crashing of waves seems violent, but when I picture the body of water as a creature, it becomes the labored breathing of a giant. 

It’s one of the few things that can drown out the noise in my head. There’s something so hypnotic about water that makes me lose myself. Sometimes I jump in and just float, feeling the relief of weightlessness. Isn’t that a pleasure anyone is allowed? 

Even when the waves are violent, if I float, then I am one with the flow and cannot be shaken. 

When I sleep, I hope for nothingness; sometimes I’m greeted by the sensation of being surrounded by cool, numbing water, sweet silence. But then there are occasions where the dream twists and I am surrounded by sharks, tuna, eels, or non-distinct life forms staring into me, sentencing me to some unspoken judgment, and perhaps waiting for me to give in so they may have their way. 

It’s truly unsettling. 

Still, there is something about the thundering and swaying of water that can never fail to cradle me, though I am troubled by the unknown beneath the surface. 

___

My mother would not meet my eye. 

When I needed her most, when all I wanted in my life was for her to embrace me, she turned away so she couldn’t see me, and was silent as I left. I looked over my shoulder to see her crying into my father’s chest. 

My siblings stared, confused, unable to process what was happening. 

That night was the first night I dreamt of water, and the only time I did not submerge. 

I knew it was going to happen eventually, and when the time came, I didn’t fight back. I’d seen the signs, caught on to the trail and traced it back to myself. It had been clear the whole way. Had I made any effort to conceal it? Of course not.

All I could think when the time came was, 

“I hope they’ll let me have a pen and paper. If I have that, I’ll be okay.” 

I was surprised, but they did let me have a pen and paper. 

At first I didn’t know what to write, so instead I drew faces, pretty people; who, I didn’t know. Their eyes didn’t see me, but they began to judge me. 

So I drew people, with faces turned away or obscured. Hats, hair swept up by invisible wind, an umbrella, coats, books. I drew people on the beach, watching the sunset, searching for shells or treasure, tanning, surfing. 

Do you have any idea how hard it is to draw a sunset without using any color? 

But now the distance made me feel uncomfortable; drawing such trivial moments felt invasive. 

So I drew fish, beings who could see me but did not understand and could not feel any particular way towards me. Things of nature are always predictable, and yet I just don’t understand them. 

And then I dreamt of fish, too. So, I stopped drawing altogether, frustrated with my art gaining sentience and the disturbance it left me with. 

Gradually I tired of drawing and finally began writing again. At least with words I had more control over the outcome. 

Eventually I was allowed to see my therapist again. I was desperate to share my work with her, certain there was some hidden message there, convinced my reality had been warped and twisted. There was unexpected relief connecting with another person again.

I’d spend the rest of my days here, fingers aching from holding a pen, listening to chatter or radio or television noise, fading into the background. The solitude is numbing, but comforting in a way. I’ll never quite find happiness here, but maybe I could find contentment. Or at least that is what my therapist and I concluded. 

Still, the compassion she’s shown me, along with being exiled, have been the two kindest consequences I’ve experienced. 

The ocean is the only thing that's ever constant now. 

Things I used to think I would regret seem so meaningless now. 

Where am I now? Standing on an abrupt shoreline, letting the waves crash against my bare toes; I am painting, with real paints and colors to put to the sky. I never needed fancy brushes or expensive paint, just some colors and something to put them on, so I could be wherever my brush lands. It’s peaceful, and the sun doesn’t bother me, and the water is cold, and the wind is invisible. I’ve waited a long time to feel that, 

Maybe I could be happy. 

___

This was based off a dream I had in November of 2022.