Numbing Waves

Dim Lighted

I dream every single night. Not every night, but some nights, I have nightmares.

I can never scream. As much as I try to frantically scream for help, I am inaudible. I can feel the force of my lungs desperately trying to make a sound, and the croaking in my exhausted throat.

But I can never scream.

One thought comes to my mind. I never just try to scream a simple absentminded onomatopoeia such as "Ahh".

There is only one word I am trying to shout.

Your name.

Every single nightmare.

I am calling for you. For you to help me.

And you never do.

Your name translates to "She whom has light". It's true, you are an immense blinding light. Even you must be able to see your own light. How else can it be explained why you are so blind to all that surrounds you?

My life is a vast ocean and stretches well past the depths of time. Dark, murky chilling waters deeper than a good samaritan's conscious. No sky above the ocean. Instead, a pure white background that seemingly surrounds the ocean like a massive dome. Well lit by expensive studio lighting you can never see.

Absolute silence.

There is no wind to create waves that crash upon each other.

There is no animal nor human not in the sea nor in the air.

There is no hope for escape.

Somehow, I am always alone floating on the surface of the onyx waters.

How could I have ever gotten here?

Truthfully, though I try to deny it to myself, there's only one person who could have possibly placed me here.

You.

Yet it is still your name that erupts from my lips as the waters begin to wrap themselves around my ankles. Trailing up my legs. Dragging me by my limbs below the surface.

I am screaming your name at the top of my lungs, destroying my vocal cords in the process. But there is nothing to be heard.

My arms desperately trying to save me, but there is nothing to hold on to.

I am hopeless.

For the first time I can hear something.

The sound of the water crashing and filling into my ears and the ocean drags me deeper and deeper.

You don't know.

The salty water pooling into my mouth.

You don't know.

Chilling to the marrow in my bones.

You don't know.

I know you're somewhere out there, possibly above the invisible clouds. Watching me suffer.

But you don't know.

You watch horrified, wondering if there's something, anything you could possibly do.

You are plagued by your ignorance.

You don't know that you're the one who did this to me.

The oxygen bubbles in the water surround me. I'm wasting them all on your name.

The panic of not being able to scream for help, the perturbation of knowing that I am dying, and the horror of loosing you is the ocean.

Every awful thought and disturbed emotion is grabbing at every inch of my skin. They are the only things I can feel.

And you don't know.

Ignorance is truly a gift from the gods.

I often imagine how it would feel to be as ignorant as you. Not numb, but truly unaware. What a bliss to be able to live this way.

I have known you for as long as I have existed. Yet to you, we have only just met.

When I was a small child you grabbed my hand and you told me that the world did not like me. That the odds would never be in my favor and that I would be unalterably hurt.

You failed to mention that these were only true if I believed them to be so.

And you made sure that I did.

So as you watch upon me as I am drowning, completely clueless as to why, I cannot fathom how you don't know that you are the one who threw me into the ocean in the first place.

Your idea of love is synonymous to abuse. Yet I still call it love and let it misguide me.

I know you can't hear it -lord knows I can't- but I hope one day you'll set down your drink of sedated liquid-y ignorance for long enough to realize what I have been screaming all of this time.

"MOM!"