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Found You Magazine is an independent print publication showcasing inspired, unconventional work by emerging and established writers and artists. To support our work, visit foundyoumag.com.
I've been needing some soothing lately. My sleep is fucked. My guts are fucked. I can't keep my mind still. Day in and day out, I have whiplash from zooming in and out on life and what's going on in my head.
Speaker 1:There's something so truly shocking about being able to see yourself from the inside and the outside at once. I'll be running the numbers in my head and at the same time witness a conversation I initiated unfold in front of me like a roadmap from the glove box. Knowing where one road is going while searching for another route three provinces over. I struggle with knowing how to admit to narrativizing my own life without causing alarm. How do I say that I've been thinking about drowning?
Speaker 1:Not in that I should like to drown, but in that I feel as though I've perhaps am being drowned. I suppose that's all besides the point as today things changed. I came to realize that I am at sea, yes, but I am not drowning. I am being dragged down. The small winds that were buffeting me have passed and there's a tug at my ankle, willing me to slip under and sink.
Speaker 1:Everyone gets dealt a hand, a brain to work with as you age. I have found in the past few years that while my metacognition has reached new peaks, it hasn't actually changed the lived reality of negotiating the way my mind runs away from me. And fuck does she run? She runs like she has something to prove. Alongside it all, it's tough to feel comfortable in the winter.
Speaker 1:There's something so overwhelming about the 4PM darkness, the damp that creeps in. The world seems to get smaller in the darkness. It's hard to look up from the same paths I tread day in and day out, hard to feel invigorated. These are not new thoughts by any stretch. I had an old coworker who swore her boyfriend could tell when she hadn't been sitting in front of her sad lamp.
Speaker 1:I thought it was misogyny. She thought it was humorous. So it goes. She was a different kind of woman than I, one who was willing and able to gamify her way out of whatever plagued her. I don't have that reaction embedded in me.
Speaker 1:I'm haunted by something else. I have felt the hand around my ankle before, the tug under. I've taken that gulp of air and followed the impulse, emerging myself fully, eyes closed, limbs splayed, scalp lighter from not bearing the weight of hair. At its worst, the way I can turn in on myself is something that only a socially and financially privileged person can pull off. I consume myself, gargling on the phlegm of my regurgitated and fragmented thoughts.
Speaker 1:The world is forgotten, there is little hope of surfacing. The majority of the time I don't realize it's happened until it's over. My proprietary blend of mental turmoil is such that I am present but unaccounted for. As of late, and in an attempt to, at least be around for my own life, I've been wandering my fingers around the frayed edges of myself looking for places to hold on, to keep at least one foot in the real world. I've found some anchoring points, some places to hang my hat.
Speaker 1:I've also found myself noticing the slip and slide inwards with more acuity than before. Once you start noticing, you can't ever stop. I used to think this was the issue, but perhaps it can also be the solution. The prevailing advice for looping thought patterns is that you have to really dedicate yourself to keeping active and staying in the moment. No slipping under.
Speaker 1:Every summer since I was a child, I've spent an inordinate amount of time around water. My sister and I spent hours at the pool. We had the privilege of our grandparents living in complexes and later apartments that had pools. If we weren't at the pool, were at the beach. Swimsuits were an annual gift from our maternal grandparents for the swim lessons we did annually.
Speaker 1:We were referred to as water babies affectionately, though we defy any deeper reading of that title, having both been born in a hospital. Without fail, and to this day, my sister floats in any body of water she finds herself. She is buoyant. On the other hand, I sink. Try as I might, my hips will start to fall towards the earth no matter how full of air my lungs may be.
Speaker 1:We are both strong swimmers, a love and respect for the water imbued in us at a young age, but there is a divide between us. As I've aged, my family's love for water has lessened where mine has only grown. I seem to be the only one with a tolerance for cooler water, so I've spent much of the last twenty odd summers swimming off the shores of a small island nestled in the Salish Sea, pushing myself as far west as the fur this mooring boy. Around there, the mountains rest on the horizon like a many peaked crown. Sunrise, sunset, and the phases of the moon are daily jewels.
Speaker 1:When I swim in the ocean, it takes a lot of focus to not imagine a watery demise at the hands of creatures. It is not unfounded. Once kayaking in the same waters, I saw a mother jellyfish the size of a small dog self cloning and releasing thousands of tiny red babies into the deep. When I'm swimming between strokes, my thoughts are on a short leash. I'm thinking only about what my hands look like as they cut through the dark turquoise water, how my kick is lopsided, how the sun has dipped behind that bank of clouds changing the color of everything.
Speaker 1:It's a stroke of luck to have access to the natural world in the way we do on the West Coast. Luck in colonialism. My great grandfather came here from England to cut down trees and we've been here ever since. The history of my family is a dual force, one that grounds you and one that unmoores you. At times I feel trapped by the overwhelming understanding that the past has shaped our present and we've had no say in any of it.
Speaker 1:The same frantic thrashing feeling of having no real control creeps in when I think of the conflicts, local, international, that are happening across the globe. The ringing in my ears starts again. I sink further down. As I think most people are, I am at best when I have time and space. The connection I have to the sea is one I struggle to put into words as it is one of the only things I don't really have to think about to understand.
Speaker 1:There's nothing to intellectualize. It is a knowing. I'm grateful for this knowing, not only for the rest it affords me, but also for the trust that it has built in me. I know that I can be still. I know that I can direct my mind to a goal no matter how small.
Speaker 1:The sea built a trust in me that has guided me through some of the most frustrating and fraught moments. When I dip my head under and sink below the layer that has been warmed by the sun, I sometimes open my eyes to the blurry hues of sunlight reflecting off the waves I've made. In that moment, the relationship is two sided. Seeing the sea and seeing the impact that I have, no matter how temporary, is noticeable. It is something that I can hold on to.