Ocean - A Short Story About Depression

Ocean

There were many forces that pushed me further and further toward that ocean.

I never intended to approach it, but the unstable sand shifted under my feet, and my body lurched forward with each unexpected crisis.

As the hands on the clock rotated more and more, slowly but surely pushing the ages on, so did my stress become more and more.

Time thrusts me toward that ocean.

A child's only care is to be happy for themselves, a selfish but protected world. Children do reach out to others like them, and have friendships in which they care for others' well being, but essentially it is up to the adult figure to provide for their child's needs along with everything else they are responsible for. But time marches on, and that child becomes of age, forcing them to choose their own people to surround them, and to care for their own needs.

Responsibility pushes me towards that ocean.

Childhood wonder is crushed by the mounds of responsibility one is given in their teenage years. Pounds worth of school books in which they must complete an impossible amount of questions, only to lose that knowledge a few moments later to take in new information.

Failure drives me towards that ocean.

The American dream: what a fleeting sensation. To pursue a stable career, one that you'll stay in the rest of your life to provide for your inevitable to-be spouse and children, to live out your days doing what is expected by your peers, and to eventually retire into a life of either comfort or misery; truly I ask, what is the purpose?

Expectations throw me toward that ocean.

Alas after nearly two decades, I stand at the point of no return, where the water will reach the point of my standing on the shore.

The waves farther out rise and crash, sending a powerful mist that caresses its fingers through my hair, and the water from the surge laps over the tops of my feet.

I look behind me. I am afraid of land. There's too much to take in. The land, the place I've always been, has too many people who expect too many things from me. I see my job and how fruitless it is. My creative pursuits just as equally futile. And as I grow older the expectations and responsibilities only increase more and more. I can not bear to stand on this land anymore.

I can fix that for you. A soothing yet unsettling voice calls. The words slide into my mind and take root.

The water is up to my knees now, and the mist still embraces my face and hair. I look back out at the endless sea.

"How can you fix this? I have nothing."

Oh, but just step into my waters. Submerge yourself, and you will feel comfort.

After only a few more life calamities, I give in. Alas, the water is all around me.

It wasn't better. The water was cold, and I couldn't breathe. Every moment I felt more and more panicked, waiting for a moment to have a breath of air, but it never came. I tossed and turned in the waves that pushed me farther down. My body grew weary after a while, and I let myself be carried in the current.

The ocean didn't lie. It was comforting. Despair was overwhelming, but I didn't want it to leave.

I didn't want to leave.

But even though I ran from responsibility, I had to go back to what responsibility I did have. But as I stepped out of the ocean, the water still clung to my skin in a thin layer over my entire body. My face still covered by the water, I still was suffocated, and my vision warped.