Drown and Drop Neglect
To drown is a beautiful thing.
Do you remember why I named it drowning? Because there is a safety there, an assurance there. A sort of peace there, when you’re holding me under the surface.
It’s something I have only ever experienced when submerged in water and sinking. It’s a letting go. A letting go of control, a quiet release and acceptance that I have only ever before come across when beneath the water, still and silent and unconcerned with life or death.
I found that in you… and I named it drowning. “Subspace” isn’t the right word, at least not for me. “Flying” intimates some form of conscious control over where you are going.
But there is no control when you drown. There’s only water and weightlessness and silence.
Before you, only in the embrace of water had I ever allowed such a full and complete release of control and responsibility.
That peace? It was one of the strongest lures for me where my fixation on death was concerned, although I didn’t realize the correlation until recently. I didn’t realize that YOU giving me that peace was a part of what made those cravings for death ease. I can’t say it was the sole reason my suicidal urges slipped away, my medication is a huge factor, but… that doesn’t change that the peace you gave me in those moments provided me with something I needed that I thought only able to be reached in death.
And then… it was gone. The possessive intensity and confident assurance you had possessed turned into a needy cling and desperation. A desperation that flavored the water of the drown and made it impossible to sink as deeply as I once had.
And the drop that came after, that horrible torturous time of vulnerability that ravaged my insides and tore them to ragged shreds…. you were no longer able to assuage it. Not because you weren’t there, but because you weren’t… you. You were too preoccupied to be attentive and focused.
And then you were too preoccupied to even tell I was drowning at all… or dropping in the days after.
In that other site, we tried the last time. It wasn’t the first time the drown had faltered or the neglect had happened… but it was the last.
Because you had to ask if I drowned, which I had. And then you had to ask if I dropped, which I had. Yet, when I said no, you were too far gone to realize I’d lied. You didn’t even bring up a token protest of “Are you sure?” Nothing. There had been a time when you would never have let that answer go so easily, even if you couldn’t tell I’d lied you would have dug at it.
And that’s when I knew I couldn’t do it anymore.
I cried. I cried a lot that night, and then I closed it away. I slammed a door on the drop and forced it down until it strangled in on itself and shriveled away. It didn’t die easily, but it did die eventually. And I shut down that side of myself, the one that looked to you for protection and sought you for that taste of the peace only you could provide.
I realized that side of me couldn’t survive in that neglectful environment. It was safer to close it off than allow it to die.