The thing I love. 

Ocean. 

As my father said it never goes still. 

And it’s one hundred percent true. 

But the truth also is that the thing I love, makes me want to kill myself. 

I often get those images, where I stare at the ocean and I imagine me drowning in it. I imagine me floating to the bottom. Slowly being swollowed by darkness. And then I will give up the fight. I will open my mouth releasing the last bobbles air and let the salty jelly like substance from above fill my lungs. My belly. My whole insides. Then my mind would get consumed by images – memories from the childhood. 

Like when we bought Rex. He hid underneath the car for the first hour or so. He was like a little brown puff ball. That had teeth that could hurt you, yet as a seven year old, that, didn’t seem to bother me at all. But I was still fraily scared that he won’t like me. And just like that we became friends, both scared of each other. We brought him to a lake once. He loved the water. He loved to splash it all over me. I suppose that was his way of inviting me in.  Or the time when we went to the ocean for the very first time. I don’t really remember what it felt like. But I imagine it was cold. What I can remember was my dad and his best friend jumping over the waves. Being happy. And my brother coming into it with me. I think he would have warned me about it. Because he was always the smarter one. But till this day I can help but being drawn to it. Like a magnet of some sort. 

I’m sitting now on top of the cruise ship. And especially when I look down from here. Its beautiful. The wrinkles that are visible on it, because it is ancient, don’t bother me in the slightest. Instead of it being scary it looks inviting. The deep dark turquoise colour. The soft edges that become ever so sharp at each tip of the ripple waves. All of which is enhanced by the golden sun that appears to be tiny silver, flickering glitter. It is calling me. The jump seems so effortless. And with it, it seems to bring the comfort that I lack in my life. The ease that I would have no more problems, however little they are. 

And you may think I’m crazy or weird. But for a person who thinks about suicide quite a lot, this seems to be a mesmerising way to go. It would be nearly like a show of some kind. A spectacle. And in my opinion it would not go into the category of tragedies. Instead, I feel like it would be a pure romance. With a happy ending. 

Why? 

And they lived happily ever after. 

Together forever.

The only problem is my consciousness.

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