cw / suicide, drowning, depression.
I remember the splash of water.
The coldness that surrounded my body like a tight blanket. The wetness clinging to my skin. The deafness underwater. There was no sound except for the rush of the streams. The rain just finished; and the loaded river raised almost to twice its normal volume, riding downstream with fierce, unwielding heaviness surrounding my body.
There was almost nothing but water. Theoretically, there would’ve been dust, soil, trash, and whatever remnants carried by the stream along my body. But, I couldn't see, couldn’t hear, could feel anything other than the sheer volume of water. The water was everywhere—at first it was around me, and then it was in me. The water breached through my nose, my ears, and later on; my mouth. FIlling my throat with its heaviness with no mercy nor forgiveness. Breaching to my lungs, stealing the leftover oxygen I have in my lungs with ferocity. This is not the place for air, the water demanded. You’re here. Underwater. You will breathe water until your lungs give out.
Therefore, I did.
I should've felt suffocated. I was indeed suffocated. I feel my lungs gasping; trying to save whatever gas left behind in my body. Instead, the water seeped deeper into my lungs, choking me from within. Suffocating me effectively as the streams whirled my body deeper—hugging, rocking me downstream.
I should’ve felt suffocated. I should’ve felt drowned. This is the moment where I should’ve regretted my decision to jump off the bridge. Perhaps I should’ve taken the hanging route instead—but, I was worried about my parents’, or my siblings’, reaction when they found my body. Perhaps I should’ve taken the jumping route. Yet, it would be cruel to the workers to scrub off my blood from the pavements later.
Yet, I found myself having no regrets. I let the water enveloped me, in all its cruelty and claiming possession of my lungs. I let it enveloped me, succumbing my body deeper into the darkness. I was indeed drowning; my body screamed in complaints with all the water inside me, but I didn’t feel drowned. Instead, I felt a sense of familiarity—for I have been drowning in my whole life. Drowning in my own expectations and regrets. Drowning in hope and helplessness. Drowning in everything my life had offered and taken, taken, and taken—
A life where everywhere I look; there was nothing but a veil of darkness. There wasn’t any much difference with being underwater; everything’s dark. I can’t breathe. Even if I can move, the water around me will move my body more furiously. There was no point in fighting it; the water and the darkness are much stronger than I am.
It wasn’t exactly a life without happiness, really. I laugh a lot. My friends knew me as the jokester—the cheerful, joyous Nina who always said the silliest jokes and whose laugh was closer to an older man. It was all facade. One that I built to cover all my sadness and hopelessness and helplessness that drowned me. One to hide every disappointment I have every time my limited life forced my dreams to be swallowed. I used to swim in life; not drowned, when I still believed in the kindness of water. They said, the water will bring you to where you belong. To where you should be. But, what if, the water brings me to a place I didn’t want to be? And the place the water brought me, was a place that I didn’t want?
I wanted to reach the stars.
I didn’t have to be one. It was a dream too far, too impossible for me: the first daughter, oldest of five siblings, with parents working as civil workers. I couldn’t be a star with too much weight, too much expectations on my shoulders—a star wasn't born from a young girl trying to earn money in the ways she knew; little crafts sold to her fellow students; hairclips and bracelets and everything cheap enough to be produced without much investment. And yet, just as my business started to grow—life got in the way. It was forbidden to make a business in an elementary school. The headmaster scolded me; then called for my parents.
It was a moment of shame for themselves, a silent truth that screamed in their face: they couldn’t provide for their family, therefore their daughter had to provide for them.
I didn’t mean to make them feel ashamed. I only wanted to help. I expected that I could help; and instead, I disappointed them.
I disappointed myself.
The cycle returns around and around. Everytime I dared myself to dream; of helping, of succeeding, of reaching the stars—life forced the truth in my lungs. When I was fascinated by the musician who played violin in the city square; I wanted to learn music. And yet, the money was a dead wall I couldn’t breach. I wanted to win the Astronomy competition; yet, there was only a limit on how a high school student who lives in Bogor and studied in Jakarta could learn. Everytime I try to swim; the water always seemed to pull me deeper underwater, drowning and suffocating me.
With time, I learned to stop fighting them anymore.
Even now; I don’t fight the water. I let them fill my lungs, my ears, even my eyes. I surrender into the helplessness; one that I have known in my whole life, and I saw again in the end of my life.
Then, I woke up somewhere else.