Age 10 ***Trigger Warning***

Age 10. Hotel bathtub. Screaming.

My mom runs in. My dad behind her. What’s wrong what’s wrong what’s wrong they shout. The ceiling light laughs as I go under.

Hands pull me sputtering out. Dripping and heaving. Dew on my lashes. Coughing up water.

The voice, I scream, the voices in my head. Tell me that I would be better off dead. Tell me to breathe underwater.

It’s not that I want to, it’s that I can’t move but to open my eyes and to breathe underwater.

What’s wrong with you? the light pulls me closer. Whispers that I should walk into the ocean. Hands tied blind.

We’re here for you, the arms all around me. Wringing the life out of every enclosure. In my mind.

What do you do when your brain turns against you? Flat chest bare.

Choking and coughing and gasping for reason. Like air.