Some days
it feels like I’m drowning
in slow motion.
Not the dramatic kind
with crashing waves
and screaming for help
the quiet kind.
The kind where the water
keeps rising
one inch at a time
until suddenly
your feet don’t touch the ground anymore.
And no one notices.
So I tread water.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Arms burning
from holding myself up
in a place
that was never meant
for breathing.
The strange thing about drowning
is how silent it can be.
People imagine thrashing,
desperation,
someone shouting for rescue
but sometimes
It’s just a person
floating in the middle
of a vast, dark ocean
learning how to suffer quietly.
Learning how to smile
while the water reaches their chin.
I keep telling myself
If I just stay afloat
a little longer
someone might notice.
Someone might throw a rope.
A hand.
A reason to stop fighting the current.
But the horizon stays empty.
And the waves
keep coming back.
Because the worst part
isn’t the drowning.
It’s realizing
that every time
I manage to catch my breath
and pull myself
barely above the surface
I’m still alone
in the water.
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 6:58 AM UTC
Some days
it feels like I’m drowning
in slow motion.
Not the dramatic kind
with crashing waves
and screaming for help
the quiet kind.
The kind where the water
keeps rising
one inch at a time
until suddenly
your feet don’t touch the ground anymore.
And no one notices.
So I tread water.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Arms burning
from holding myself up
in a place
that was never meant
for breathing.
The strange thing about drowning
is how silent it can be.
People imagine thrashing,
desperation,
someone shouting for rescue
but sometimes
It’s just a person
floating in the middle
of a vast, dark ocean
learning how to suffer quietly.
Learning how to smile
while the water reaches their chin.
I keep telling myself
If I just stay afloat
a little longer
someone might notice.
Someone might throw a rope.
A hand.
A reason to stop fighting the current.
But the horizon stays empty.
And the waves
keep coming back.
Because the worst part
isn’t the drowning.
It’s realizing
that every time
I manage to catch my breath
and pull myself
barely above the surface
I’m still alone
in the water.