Release in Toxic Waters.

 It would be so temptingly masochistic to fall back into the pattern. 

 It would be so disturbingly comforting to give into the worst parts of myself. 

 It would be so incredibly fulfilling to find release in those toxic waters. 

 I dream of deep diving back into you. Up to my neck, not trying to stay on the surface at all. 

 Sinking so far into the ocean where you drowned me for your own sadistic pleasure. 

 Your waves pulled me into the depths of the darkest parts of my mind. 

 My ears filled with your waves, your words, stealing my mind. 

 Swallowing every drop you gave me, in hopes of finding ecstasy. 

 Gulping back my words and choking on yours, all while gasping for air. 

 Your needs were a ball and chain, keeping me from swimming. 

 And I relished in the need to please you, and the validation that followed. 

 Your praise felt like getting high, like the one drop of oxygen I earned.

 I stopped drowning long enough to keep breathing, you gave me just enough. 

 You kept me alive and writhing, but barely clinging to life. 

 Your air in my lungs was my only lifeline, and you got off on that. 

 Making sure that we were alone and drowning together was your speciality. 

 The blackest of oceans and no one but the two of us, chasing a release.

 Me from you, I wanted to swim, to breathe. And you from yourself. 

 The drowning was your favorite part, wallowing in the water. 

 Thriving on the lack of air, and life; you just needed someone to drown. 

 Someone to die with you, so it was less lonely, but it’s a big ocean. 

 And a bigger world, my release is not for your pleasure, or your pain. 

 And your release will no longer be my pain, simply because I was stronger. 

 I chose to swim alone, while you tried and failed to drown with me. 

 Whether you sink or swim, is not up to me, nor will I take the guilt. 

 I am swimming, and breathing, and that is something you can’t say. 

That's the First Step.

 I used to love the forest. I loved how big it was, and how small I felt. I enjoyed the rush I felt when I looked down at the ground from the top of a tree. I liked the way that time and real life disappeared, I could be anyone, forget everything. I was a warrior, an assassin, a princess, I was free. It was like as soon as I stepped in between the trees, I was anything but who I was. I would sit high up in the branches, and hug the trees and nap. I felt like the trees deserved love too, and they were my friends, so I hugged them, and talked to them, they were safe. They were my escape. 

 I loved the small fields I would find if I walked far enough. They held sunflowers, I think that's why they're my favorite. I liked to pretend I was a fairy, and dance around to the sound of the birds. I would lay on the ground and find safety when the blades of grass made a cocoon around my small figure. I counted the clouds, and picked the flowers, and fell in love with the way the earth goes quiet. So quiet, I could hear every bird chirp, every howl of wind, every crunch of the ground with my steps. 

 

I decided my favorite part was when I would find patches of empty land between the trees, and I'd make forts. I hung sheets for walls, and logs were used as chairs, I dug holes for my poems and songs I'd written, and hid out there for hours. I loved that it was my own little home. I felt safe there, in between trees and cotton walls, I'd bring snacks, and water, and a bag of toys. I decided when home got too loud, or too quiet, I'd go there. I left the sheets up for years. I kept going back. I stopped taking toys, and started taking my paints, or my guitar. I kept burying my journal in the hole for years. 

 I stopped going into the woods the older I got, and found comfort in other things, though not as often. I missed it, but it slowly came to hold darker memories and no longer brought me the peaceful feeling it once did. I loved the forest because it was an escape, and what I was escaping started to take over my mind. I forgot the beauty, the sound, the feeling, that I felt. Even if I was escaping, I found my calm in the storm. I found what made me sing. I found what made me safe. 

 Though I didn't see that silver lining till recently. I let the forest represent a dark and terrifying journey, I let the fields remind me how alone I felt, I let my first safe place, become my biggest fear. All because it resembled parts of my journey that I didn't want to remember. Recently, I saw the woods. I didn't go into them. I know now that with age, I've become scared. Scared of how large the trees are in comparison to myself, and I can't imagine climbing one now. I've since gained a fear of heights, and the unknown. The fear of being lost between the trees, or finding myself alone in a field holds me back. I know I'm too old to play pretend, I no longer hear the trees talk back to me. I don't feel the childlike joy that gave me the courage to dance alone in a field. I hear the birds, but they no longer make a song. 

 I've since removed myself from every last drop of my youth, and all that remains is the trees and myself. I spend copious amounts of time outdoors. I still don't go into the trees, or dance in fields; but I look, and I listen. I watch the trees sway with the wind, and I hum back to the birds when they chirp. I sing when it rains, and I think about when I used to dance in it. I decided that's my goal, to dance in the rain. And really feel it. To cry into the ground with mother nature, and be bathed in rain water and scream at the sky. I want to feel every part of nature, I want to bury a poem, and hug a tree. I think that's the first step, really. Wanting to feel better, and safe, and make peace with what brought you pain. It's progress at least, to sit in silence with the earth and realize that in that moment between the trees, with my feet in the grass, I'm safe.