As kids we went to the pool. We played games. We saw how long we could hold our breath. Trying to swim further underwater than our friends, because it was fun. A tranquil struggle. The kids counted the seconds until they had to resurface and save their own life. And it was nothing but laughs. But I never seemed to be able to hold my breath for all that long. Could never swim the length of the pool without gasping for breath every few strokes. And maybe that is why I was drowning so quickly. Because while the children were counting the seconds I was counting months. Waiting for the rope tying me to the bottom of the pool to grow old and break. Tearing the bond between me and the life I never wanted. And I didn’t want to hold my breath anymore. I would willingly lose to the game of holding my breath, but I won every time. And I am still underwater praying for a gasp of breath. I am losing all hope and I am getting deeper. The rope is still as strong as the first day. But things have changed. The challengers have decided to stop challenging. Because it is known I will always win at this game. This fight. Because as they were trying to stay underwater, I was trying so hard to resurface. As I watch the kids it becomes clear they are blinded by all the happiness. Not seeing that they are driving down a road to nowhere. They are so innocent, but the children will not always be alright. I truly wish to go back to those days. When I wanted to be underwater. But now the water is killing me. The world has become a mystery. I can no longer breathe. And I’m worried that’s how I’d like it to be.