I want to forget.
I want to love.
My feet are in quicksand.
The more I fight to get out the further I sink into the pit of depression.
I feel the sand fill my pockets and weigh me down.
Pushing me to the bottom of the pit.
My body enveloped in trillions of grains of sand.
The suffocation begins.
The blackness swallows me and I begin to hear a voice in the background.
It's my dad telling me "it doesn't only have to be on your shoulders kid".
I see a light in the distance.
Reaching out for my last desperate attempt.
I feel a strong hand and grasp on to it.
My feet leave the bottom of the pit and I emerge from the sand.
Everyone I love is waiting up top.
My dad, my mom, my brother.
My best friends
My therapist continues to hold my hand while I take it all in.
The pit disappears and I'm sitting at home on the porch.
Talking to my dad about baseball and complaining to my mom about school.
A place where I'm safe from the man who pushed me into a pit.
Who's actions suffocated me and left me as an empty shell.
I thrive now.
I use my experience to protect those I love.
To spread the word of consent.
Occassionaly I'll see the pit come back.
It teases me when I think about him.
My heart begins to race and my hands get clammy.
The nausea appears and tears emerge.
But I'm getting stronger and the periods between episodes lengthen.
I can tolerate more as I move on.
Talk about my experience.
I am grateful for those who have taken care of me.
Those who held me while I cried.
Listened to me when I pleaded for help.
Guided me to therapy.
Thank you to those in my life who make his life insignificant to me.