For me, life is like swimming in the open sea.
I like swimming. I love being in the water. I even like bobbing up and down in the waves during a storm.
But, after a while, even what you love becomes exhausting.
Even the pacify, beautiful days are marked with fight, as I oppose to keep my head above the gently bobbing ocean. The sun comes out, reflecting on the water in such a way as to glare in my eyes and reflecting on my skin in such a way to cause it to burn and peel. The salt leaves my scalp, mouth, and eyes aching for a fresher version of moisture, and my muscles ache as I tread water.
Of course , not all days are so easy. Many days are marked by storms painful and scaring tempests that leave me for the purposes of the water more often than above it, my limbs thrashing wildly simply to poke my head up every few minutes and suck in the air that will surely be observed by salt water, leaving me choking and spurting and not having anything to grab, got anything to lean on, unable to even vomit in such a tumultuous physical state.
So here I am alone in the middle of the ocean, opposing through the blizzards and enduring the lulls, each bringing their own special breed of nightmare. I have no goal that I can acknowledge , no land or objects in sight to steer myself toward. Instead, I press on, swimming for the sake of swimming, hoping each day with all that I have left in me that the matter is is likely to be the working day I will find a boat, or wash up on an island, or even find a shark to feed me and stop saying that eternal torment.
I am sure I will die. I have been sure of it for some time. I will die out here, slowly and painfully, of thirst, exposure, and starvation. By all logic, I should have died already, but Ive been surviving by grabbing driftwood, drinking rainfall, and feeing seaweed. Those things have never been enough to sustain me, but they have kept me alive. If you can call this living.
Every once in a while, I give up on swimming. Sometimes its a calm, beautiful daywhen the water is sparkling and the waves are easy. Others its during a stormwhen Im so sick of fighting I lose my grip on what Im fighting for. It doesnt matter. Either route, I choose I cant keep going, cant maintain living in these circumstances, cant swim one more meter, and I let myself sink into the water. Somehow, I always wake up, shaking and coughing, lying on my back in the water or slumped over a piece of driftwood. I gasp for air, cursing myself for taking it in and cursing fate for leaving me in such a position as to survive, survive only to swim some more.
Regardless of how it happens, I know I will drown. And though Ive been fighting for a long time, I am weak, and I am tired, and I cannot promise to keep swimming forever. In fact, after so long on the open sea, I cant even promise that I would be able to get on a barge if one came to rescue me. At this phase, Im so far gone I might not even distinguish one, instead considering it a figment of my distorted imagination. I dont know that Id be able to use the resources a boat could offer, after so much hour without stepping onto a solid surface. Getting on the boat might be so difficult for my exhausted limbs that I might die right there on the ladder.
But what I want you to know is that I am trying. I have been trying so hard, and for so long, and even getting to where I am has been more of an accomplishment than I could have ever expected. And if you send me a float, I will grab it, even if my hands are too weak to hang on to it for very long. I dont want you to feel bad if I drown, or if I dont get on the barge you think I should consider but I dont. I dont want anyone to suffer because of my suffering. Just recollect, Ive been surviving, fighting forces greater than anyone knows, longer than I ever expected. Even if I drown , no one can deny my accomplishment, my victory over this forlorn sea. Drowning will allow me to rest, but Im still holding out hope for a float. So send me one. But dont feel bad if I cant grab it. This whole thing is bigger than you could ever know.