The Drowning Fish

The fish that never swam was always afraid he would drown - little did he know he was born to swim. And not only that, he failed to recognize his full potential because he never challenged what he knew.

The fish that never saw what he could become never became anything more than just a fish out of water. 

And a fish out of water is a fish out of place. 

And so I live. Going day to day, stuck in the same routine, trapped breathing the same air that causes me to drown. My mother used to say that I could never sleep during the night time because in my mind it was daytime. But I think it's because I was meant to live on the other side of the world; experiencing life in a way that I cannot fathom. This bubble within a bubble that I live in is slowly suffocating me. My brain losing oxygen causing me not to think straight. Every Sunday at 8:50 a.m. I wake up, find the nearest dress, and walk across the street only to sit inside another bubble of suffocation. Three hours is enough to die from suffocation. 

My mother and I had a stern talk this week. About how my new piercing must come out. I told her I did not want to attend BYU like she had planned for me. 

"You're going to apply whether you want to or not."

"okay, mother."

Probing questions is what they're called, I think. To get somebody to talk more deeply about things without them realizing it. My therapist used that a lot...

And so the hour went. We talked, I confessed, she questioned, I left. There was no oxygen left in my brain. Telling your mother that you do not believe in the church that she does is terrifying. I was paralyzed. 

"You used to have such a bright testimony, what happened?" 

I wish I could explain it. It would clear up a lot of things in my head too, mother. But I cannot explain my beliefs in a way that is expressible through speech. Sure, I was baptized at age 8. But what does that prove? 

I'm sorry that I am a disappointment. The bad egg of the family. I was supposed to be the perfect girl. That's what daddy always called me anyways: his perfect little girl. 

I ran out of the house at 8:25 with no shoes on, pajama pants, and a tank top. I hate when people see me cry. It was freezing outside, but I walked and cried and pleaded to whatever god there is to listen to my cries just one last time. 

Let me leave this place, where I need to lie about what I believe just so I will not be chastised.

Where I am taught that because I lean liberal I cannot be a good person. 

Where it is indoctrinated in me that gays should not be able to be legally wed.

Where I suffer from suffocation in a space far too small for stretching my education. 

god, hear my cries, just one last time. Give me air to breathe or something to speed up the process of death. Because apparently three hours is not long enough to suffocate. Just long enough to feel like a pariah. 

I studied the stars as I sauntered on home. Maybe one day I'll be as bright as you, I said. Maybe one day I'll test the waters and see what I can really become.

 Maybe one day I'll become more than just a drowning fish.