A dictionary tries to tell me that “drowning” is defined as asphyxiation by water,
but when I picture a mother submerging her child’s head,
I know that there is more to it than that.
Drowning doesn’t just happen in pools and bathtubs and lakes and oceans.
It’s apparent in my grades, my weight, my eyes, my sleeping patterns.
I am suffocating under my own mind,
choked by the idea of when I’ll be worth something
or if I’ll ever be worth anything at all.
I don’t need to hold my breath to feel that burning sensation in my lungs.
It happens when I look in the mirror
or close my eyes for the night.
“What is wrong with me?”
“Why am I not beautiful?”
and “Who is ever going to ******* love me?”
I am drowning, though there is no water.