"what Did You Do?" I Scream. "you

Writing Means Not Just Staring Ugliness In The Face, But Finding A Way To Embrace It.

Don’t Worry About Me Handling The Pain," I Say. "i’ve Had A Lot Of Practice.

My First Instinct Is To Push You Until You Break Just To See How Hard I Have To Press.

I Decide To Do What I Always Do When I'm Not Sure What's Going On: I Act Like Everyone Else.

My Body Rises With The Water. Instead Of Kicking My Feet To Stay Abreast Of It, I Push All The Air From My Lungs And Sink To The Bottom. The Water Muffles My Ears. I Feel Its Movement Over My Face. I Think About Snorting The Water Into My Lungs So It Kills Me Faster, But I Can't Bring Myself To Do It. I Blow Bubbles From My Mouth. Relax. I Close My Eyes. My Lungs Burn.