You keep surfacing.

Surfacing, but this time you are cleaner. You found that source of purity. You journeyed so far into yourself that you came upon something absolutely astonishing.

And then you’re under again and you almost forgot the feeling. Taken by the current that grips you, that threatens to pull you into itself for good. You’re sure, so sure that this time will be the last. You scream and kick and thrash to no avail.

Up you go then to the surface, to the peaceful place. And you are cleaner. And you hold yourself a little tighter. You stretch your legs to feel that beautiful release.

Something slimy grips your foot; pulls you to the bottom again.

It’s so dark. Your stomach churns: a foulness stirring deep inside. Suddenly, you are a wretched and a broken creature. You close your eyes, but still you see. Still you see. With faltering hand, you reach for your last shred of hope.

Again you surface, and that shred of hope blooms into a fantasy so beautiful you can barely let yourself look at it. And even though you cannot look yet, you know- you just know you can live in that purity- you can have that fantasy. You can be free.

And you know, you just know that next time you go under you will neither fight nor panic, nor will you be broken. You will be still, as still as the earth herself. You will be strong. You will look that monster right in the eye and you will say, “I fear nothing.”

You will know that you have already lived through the worst. Really know it.

And you will surface and you will smile with all the light of a thousand suns.


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art of trauma
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