I’m floating. I’m lying on my back and staring up – basking underneath the sun’s rays. I am floating on an infinite ocean-pool alone. Floating, for the most part, sounds like something good, right? A good floaty feeling, perhaps. But this is not the case. Floating in water- body about one-third below the surface, bobbling and balancing – does not feel good. There is no support, and although my heart is reaching toward the surface, it is not getting anywhere. It will only ever be just at the surface of the water.
This strange trickly sense of floating reminds me of feeling numb. But, with a twist. Ears below water, and eyes on the clouds, I am both above and below at the same time. I’m here in the present, but I’m also not. The water beneath me sets everything in slow motion and the air above me reminds me that time is passing normally.
How do I push myself up from the water to get my entire body up to the surface? There’s nowhere to go, and I don’t want to use all my energy. I’m already using a lot of energy trying to balance myself between underwater and over-water.
So I plug my nose and close my eyes. I let myself sink. I drown.
liquid guilt 