I always wonder why when we’re depressed we always imagine this large ocean surrounding us. We feel like floating at first and then after awhile we feel the water getting deeper and deeper until we’re underwater. We try to struggle, try not to suffocate but our limbs feel heavy that we just wait for someone to save us. Of course no one will. And we just stay still and wait for the time this feeling subsides. In the past, I count the days and spend the whole night blaming myself and wishing for the week to be over. It used  exactly seven days ‘till I feel okay. Now I just wait for it to leave me.

What is it with the sea? Sometimes I could even smell the salty water and feel the windy beach air. Sometimes the reality of it all creeps me out because I feel the cold water underneath my feel licking the soles of my feet. I can feel its movement, the way it recedes and approaches.

When I just lay in bed and imagine I’m floating, I always feel the water buoy me and I wonder whether or not things will get better. I wonder whether or not after waking up the next morning everything will feel different. It would, it wouldn’t. And when it doesn’t, I just stare at the ceiling for five minutes and feel nothing. I just get on with life like always but the heavy feeling stays. The struggle is there because time feels so slow and it hurts. Feeling that way hurts.

I stare at my classmates and my teachers and wonder whether this slimy black gooey thing inside myself was as obvious as daylight. I wonder whether they could see it in the way I stand up to answer for an oral recitation or in the way I retort back, my voice in a drawl, my eyes weak, devoid of any light. I wonder why I always feel this way. I wonder why.

But the mind is wonderful, because now, my ego automatically shuts down the heaviness and I am just left with nothing but the feeling of apathy when the feeling gets worse.