One minute I'm playing on the sand, happy and carefree. I laugh at my families horrible jokes, and smile at their happiness.
Then, the ocean drags me away, into its suffocating depth.
At first it's fine- pretty even. My feet are still grounded on the oceans floor, my hair blowing in the wind, the splashes of water on my neck and the sea-weed sways against my feet, making me giggle at the delicate feeling.
But I'm so amazed by the scenery, I miss the wave that edges closer to me, and by the time I realize- it's too late.
I'm dragged further and further, and the panic rises quicker than my heartbeat. I can no longer see the sand underneath me, nor can I see the light above. It's just dark. And that tickle of the seed weed? It's no longer a tickle, but instead a harsh grip around my neck, getting tighter, and tighter and tighter.
And even though I'm gasping, pleading and sobbing for air, I don't die. I just stay there, thrashing around the oceans grip, as tears fall down. But no one can see.
My tears blend in with the ocean's wrath, and my thrashing seems invisible to the surrounding others. And as long as I'm alive, I have to return the smile, because despite the heavy feeling of salt water filling my lungs, I am breathing. Despite the fact that I feel dead, I am alive.
Even if I want to die, it doesn't matter.
Because physically I'm fine.
Mentally? Mentally I'm drowning.