What The Ocean Gives Me

Waves engulf my legs, splashing my clothes.

I don’t care.

I look out at the endless water, trying to find something that isn't there.

I want to drown.

I don’t deserve this.

My world has been broken.

The ocean used to calm me.

Now it doesn’t.

I don’t have anything anymore.

I once had a boyfriend.

My parents never loved me. To them, I was a disappointment.

I had no siblings.

I once had a best friend.

No one else cared about me.

Only my boyfriend, who died after being pushed off a cliff.

I don’t know why, or who did it.

I never wanted a boyfriend in the first place, but he asked me on a date out of the blue.

I stammered and said yes before thinking.

We went out. I enjoyed it a lot.

We kept going out, eventually kissing and then spending the night together.

I gave him my whole heart.

Then, one morning, the police showed up.

They told me they had found his body sprawled on the rocks below a cliff.

I cracked.

I couldn’t stop sobbing.

I didn’t leave my room for a month.

My parents shouted and screamed at me to get my ass up and go to school.

I never listened to them.

They hated me. I hated them.

They thought they knew what was good for me; they didn’t.

They had never liked me having a boyfriend.

As you can tell, I ignored them and kept seeing him.

They tried grounding me, but I kept sneaking out at night, and they could never figure out how I left the house.

They were blind.

The only other person who supported me was my best friend, Angelica.

As her name suggests, she is an angel.

Everyone loves her.

I don’t know how she became my best friend.

Maybe she pitied me.

Or maybe she saw through my fake personality and knew I needed someone.

At school, I put on a front.

I try to be nice to everyone.

I talk to those who are interested in me, but I never let anyone get very close.

I don’t want to be a burden.

Angelica pushed.

She wanted to be there for me.

I saw hope.

She always came over without saying anything. She always brought snacks and drinks, and we either worked on homework or binged TV shows.

My parents love her. They always tell me to be more like her.

Bubbly and energetic.

Thinner and prettier.

Outgoing and sweet.

How could I ever measure up?

After being her best friend for two years, something changed.

She became more serious, more reserved.

She gains some weight.

She stops wearing makeup and doing her hair.

She grows dull and distant.

Once, when we are alone at her house, I ask what happened.

She tells me to leave it alone.

I push.

I remember the exact words that make her break.

“You saw through me when I had been struggling my whole life. You were always there for me. Now I can see that you are struggling. Let me be there for you.”

She starts sobbing. She crumples into my arms, crying for what feels like forever.

After a long while, she looks up at me and asks, “How do you do it? How do you hold yourself together through all of these feelings?”

I stare at her.

No way.

How has this happened?

Has she rubbed off on me?

I don’t know what caused it—maybe her parents, maybe her view on life.

I never figure it out.

I was able to help her pull through.

I was there whenever she called, twenty-four seven.

Sometimes I went over to her house unannounced, even at night.

At school, I was glued to her side, and I snarked at people who comment about her.

Then, one time at her house, she tells me how much she loves me.

I thought she meant it as a friend.

She meant it differently.

I tell her I don’t. I can’t. I’m not like that.

She snapped and slaps me in the face.

She screamed at me, saying I broke her heart.

She beats me—my chest battered with bruises, blood spilling from my mouth.

I don’t remember how I got away.

I stop going to school again.

I rarely leave my room, only sometimes for food.

I keep my door locked so my parents can’t burst in and drag me out.

I don’t know why I exist.

What purpose am I supposed to fulfill?

I never benefit anyone.

I don’t deserve anything.

One month later, I finally leave.

I walk for a day to the ocean.

I used to come here to find comfort.

From the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore.

From the cold breeze prickling my skin.

From the cries of seagulls.

I stand knee-deep in the salty water.

If I disappear, no one will care.

I don’t have my boyfriend.

My ex-best friend hates me.

My parents don’t care about me.

I never wanted much, but everything that used to make me happy has torn me apart.

I take another step into the water.

For some reason, I hesitate.

I don’t need to exist.

So what is holding me back? Is there a secret feeling of hope lingering?

If there is, I don’t know how to find it.

If there is, I don’t deserve it.

I take another step.

The feeling slips away.

I dive into the water and swim until I can’t.

Then I let myself sink.

I don’t swim up.

I can’t breathe.

My lungs burn as they search for the tiniest bit of oxygen to keep me alive.

I think about trying to swim up.

My body won’t move.

I sink to the bottom with my arm stretched toward the surface.

Before I black out, I see something.

I can see myself standing on the shore, looking out at the peaceful ocean, welcoming the comfort it once gave me.

But now, I don’t feel comfort.

I feel a release—but it isn’t satisfying.

It hurts, like my soul breaking into pieces.

I can’t see the blue surface anymore.

I see pitch black.

Darkness.

A void.

Then my eyes close.