AN: This story is about a struggle with mental illness. You can use whatever illness you want, with whatever character you want! If you don't get it, try and think "out side the box." I wrote this with the idea of PTSD/Depression in mind with JJ. They symbolize her struggle with the water. ENJOY!
You feel as if you are drowning. A slow, but steady drown. You have no other way to explain it- but drowning seems to work.
Drowning in so many things that you cannot force yourself to say.
Drowning in your past, and drowning now. It's all encompassing and seemingly never ending.
You never imagined drowning to be like this, to take this long. You can still see the sun and the sky and occasionally, you are able to get your head above surface and take a huge, refreshing breath.
And that one breath is wonderful. You can breathe again, you can see again and smile again. And that one breath seems to provide you with everything you lost. It provides you with hope, belief, love, and feeling. It provides you, oddly enough, with life. All from just barely breaking the water's surface.
And sometimes that one breath can give you enough energy for days at a time; sometimes it will give you enough for a few hours. If it even gives you enough for a few minutes, you are eternally grateful for that time. That one breath
Yet, it always goes away. And you always find yourself back below the water's surface, desperately trying to catch just one more breath.
Some days, you don't even feel like fighting and feel yourself sinking further and further from the sun and the sky, from that one more breath. Some days, to you, it's just not worth it. To keep fighting over and over again for something most people take for granted. And on those days, all you can do is pretend everything is just fine, that everything is okay. And it is what you tell everyone.
But they don't believe you. And one day, you find yourself sitting across from a man who is trying to get you to talk. You steadily refuse, you are fine. You got your breath yesterday, you don't need anyone offering extra oxygen.
But he keeps pushing on and there is something about him that keeps you coming back.
You refuse to tell him about your desperation for air, for oxygen, but somehow he knows.
And as your sessions continue, you find it easier to take that breath. To break the surface.
He has held his hand out to you, not to rescue you, but to be there to pull you up for that one breath when you couldn't swim anymore.
When that one breath isn't enough, he will throw you a life saver. You still have to reach for it, but he is there to throw it.
And you begin to do something you haven't in months. You begin to talk. You begin to trust, you begin to feel.
And you do not like it.
Especially the feeling part.
Now, the water you were drowning in is choppy, with sharks circling, ready to bite. The surface is harder to break at times and there are days when the sharks bump up against you.
But the man is there. And he teaches you how to, cope with the sharks. He cannot make them go away, and has never alluded that he can, instead, he gives you tools to deal with the sharks.
And he provides you with stronger swimming lessons so that, as the water becomes choppier, your resilience strengthens.
One day, he figures out that you are not doing well, and as much as you try, you cannot battle the sharks anymore, nor the water. And you are ready to just stop swimming.
He jumps in the water with you, and teaches you how to tread water.
You don't want to. You want to stop swimming, but he refuses.
And days turn into weeks, and you are tired. But you have discovered that you have treaded water, that he is still with you.
And when you start swimming again, he sits next to you in a boat.
Always ready to pull you out, if you ever need it, but always letting you fight the battle without rescue.
After all, you have fought for so many months by yourself, he knows you don't need rescue. You just need a gentle hand to guide you through the sharks, and the water, until one day, you can stay above the surface.