There was a time in my life when I felt like I was drowning...no air, no direction, just me trying to stay afloat in something much bigger than I could handle. I remember that moment clearly. The sea was salty., so salty that I could taste the weight of everything I couldn't say. Every wave that hit me felt like a reminder that no one was coming to help. No one was going to reach out their hand. So I helped myself. I found a rock...rough, sharp, and unforgiving. It was covered in barnacles that cut deep into my skin as I climbed. It hurt. I bled. But I chose the pain. Because that pain meant I could finally breathe again. Sometimes healing isn't gentle. It doesn't always look like comfort or peace. Sometimes it looks like dragging yourself out of something dark with nothing but your own strength. And when no one listens, you still have to speak-if not to others, then to yourself. These words I write now aren't just for me. They're for the version of me that stayed silent for too long. The version that thought pain had to be hidden to be survived. They're for anyone who's ever felt like they were gasping for air, waiting for a hand that never came. Even when the ocean is swallowing you whole, even when the only way out is painful, you are still capable of choosing life. This is a letter written by a sea.