I’ve never felt so hopeless.
4
JOSEFINE
An endless loop.That’s what every day feels like.
The days of the week have all blended together. I can’t differentiate what day is what. Night and day are one, and I feel chained to the middle, not being able to experience either but watching them regardless.
It feels like I’m sitting in front of a television, watching my life play out. It’s all slow, excruciatingly so, but everyone and everything around me are all moving too fast. I can’t keep up.
That’s why I wanted to end it all.
I felt no purpose, no energy to continue moving on when I physically and emotionally felt like I was at a standstill. I kept waiting to feel a spark of life, to remind me that I was worth being on this earth, but as I mulled over that thought, I realized whatever spark I was waiting for to happen, wasn’t ever going to happen.
I couldn’t feel anything, and I realized I was done trying to fight living when I acknowledged that I’d be better off dead. I wallowed in the void of nothingness and walked to the cliff, but then Daniel showed up and pretended to care.
That pissed me off because I hadn’t been scared to fall, but he showed up and I felt terror rush through my body. It creepedand spread until I was cloaked in a veil of anxiety, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Because I thought about him and how scared he had been for me even though he didn’t know me.
I have no desire to jump because now I’m scared, but I’m mad because I don’t feel anything and I’m still alone.
Water splashes on my face, recentering my focus on my task and not the metaphorical television in front of me.
“How was that?” the excited, high-pitched voice asks.
Wiping the specks of water from my face, I force a small smile. “You did so good, Sam. I can tell you’ve been practicing.”
The tiny eight-year-old attempts to hold on to the foam kickboard with one hand and with the other raises a thumbs-up in her mom’s direction. Her mom, who’s sitting on the lounge chair, beams brightly and lifts her own thumb in return.
“I’m doing good, Mommy!” Sam yells.
“I see that.” She smiles warmly at her. “I’m proud of you.”
I tilt my head, watching the little interaction and wondering what that must be like. Having a mom who genuinely cares.
My mom is dead so I shouldn’t wonder. I’ll never experience it, and even if she wasn’t, I still wouldn’t.
“All right, I think that’s it for today, but I think next week, we can maybe attempt to swim without the board.”
Sam’s eyes go round, fingers turning white from how tightly she’s clutching the kickboard. Her gaze drops to what’s keeping her afloat, then shifts back to me with fear.
“I-I don’t think I’m ready.” She hugs the board as if she were afraid I’d snatch it out of her hands.
“You want to know a secret?” I stoop down so that our eyes are level. Hesitantly, she nods. “I used to be scared too.”
It’s a lie because I have no recollection of me learning how to swim. As far as I can remember, I’ve always known how. But I’m not going to tell her that.
She gasps, staring at me in disbelief. “No way.”
“Yes way. I carried my floaties everywhere I went.”
“How did you stop using them?”
“I was told I couldn’t swim with the mermaid if I used them.”
She gasps again, her eyes almost popping out her sockets, but they sparkle nonetheless with excitement. “Mermaid? There’s a mermaid?”
“Did you not hear? They have a mermaid at the Carmel Aquarium, and they allow little girls like you to swim with her. Only you can’t use the floaties or life jackets because they keep you from going underwater. But if you’re not ready to?—”
