It feels like drowning; an overwhelming emotion consumes me. It is fatal, yet I lean into its beautiful embrace and the current pulls me away...

My husband sits next to me, keeping an arm around my back. He is my hero and my doom; he is my life and my death.

If I escape death, I’d be trading one cage for a bigger one. If not death of the soul, it would be death of the body. He may be my death, but he holds my life as well.

I often find the line blurring between the two, other times I try to blur the line myself. The middle between life and death; surviving.

I feel a sharp jab in my shoulder and that knocks me out of the quicksand of my thoughts.

He says something and I understand it. I say just that and smile, like an actress saying her lines. Then I feel another jab, except in my cheek.

I hold a hand to my face, it burns. No longer an ocean, but a storm. He yells and I try to listen. This is death, this is my death.

The waves are rampant, and then they stop. He is my death but he is also my life, I remind myself. I feel a sense of calm as he rubs my face. He tells me my worth and draws me in.

Without him, I’d be worthless. The pain is worth the aftermath; without the aftermath, all that’s left would be the pain. I should be grateful to him. He is my life, he must be my love too.

. . .

Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into

months. An ocean has turned into quicksand and is devouring me as much as my thoughts. No longer is the sweet poison that consumed me, but a sea of sand and regrets.

I want to leave, but I'm in too deep. He is my life and without life, I would be truly nothing. I would be as worthy as a rock at the bottom of a bottomless sea.

He is my only rope, but my strength is running low. If this is life and if this is love, maybe true death will feel better. I feel the rope slip from my grip, I feel the possibility of succumbing to the unknown. It terrifies me, but not more than him. He may be my life, but I’d rather be worthless than be worthy of him.

Taking a leap of faith, I let go.

. . .

It hurts, I feel awful. All that's left is death, pain, and sorrow. I expect a new ocean, another wave to be my doom, but nothing comes. The pain writhes through me, yet the ocean is empty and all I have is me and my past misery. I look at the land, it feels so bare and also fresh. I feel almost clean.

It's a fresh start.

((This is a fictional story and not based on true events)).