When I was 14, I moved to Boynton Beach, FL, to live with my older brother. One day at the beach, I was waist-deep jumping waves with a new friend when a tall wave crashed right into my face. I tried to get above it, but another wave rolled over me. I flipped through the water, no longer aware of which end was up, wave after wave, and I was sure I was going to die. But, my foot touched sand, and I pushed hard with my legs. I stood right up, the water only ankle-deep. The ocean spit me out.
Later, as I was slipping into one of my depressive episodes, I thought about how much depression felt like those waves; how I always felt like I had no control while it tossed me around for however long it wanted. Then, one day, the sadness would disappear.
You can find this poem and others in Happy Place.
