Undercurrent

I am being pulled down by the undertow. I can feel the dragging of the sand through my toes and the power, hinted subtley. I can almost taste the salt water on my lips, drying them, making them thirst. When I open my eyes, I am standing alone, in darkness, nothing but the familiar sounds and quiets of my room. But the undercurrent is still tugging. Not at my toes, or the sand running between them. It is tugging on me. As yet, I have stood here, strong stance, holding my own against the tide.

It comes to this again. It is not unfamiliar, only unwelcome. I try not to involve those others, those that I care about so much. This is my own to do, my own to win and my own to fail. Though, even as I say that, I know that I will need them and call on them and they will be there. It gives me comfort to know that they are there, even if, very deeply, I would never wish myself upon any of them. Whether self-pity or lack of confidence, I can't imagine dealing with myself, and I am the only one that truly has to. Still, they tell me to stop, no more nonsense about such things. They tell me they're here for me, as I am for them. I thank them, and love them more and hate myself for allowing anyone to deal with this.

It is all so low. This undercurrent of constant sadness, hidden so well. I am a master at those things, as my passions drive me to smiles and sarcasms and random. The randomness keeps me alive and sane. It reminds me that not knowing can be beautiful. Ignorance can be bliss. And when reality haunts me again, I will not turn and run. I will let the current tug at the sand between my toes and stand there, laughing at the tides, telling jokes to the wind and smiling an effervescent smile. Challenging the world to take me, challenging my health to fail, challenging my heart to break again, challenging my friends to need me, as I stand here needing them.