caitlin RULES in my book.. and i hope her wrist is okay
wow. caitlin (unmadeira person) is an AMAZING writer.. seriously.
UNDERTOW
Imagine that you’re standing on the shore of an ocean. The waves are lapping calmly at your feet, ice cold, and you want to step back, but you can’t. The icy water continues to rise, until it’s covering your feet, and you’re freezing as it swallows up your ankles and your shins, foam now floating beneath your knees. It rises and rises until half of your body is numb beneath the frigid liquid that seems to be steadily progressing towards your chest.
You see waves steadily approaching in the distance, and yet your feet are still rooted in the mire of sand beneath you.
At first the waves have no power to them, and barely any height, lapping weakly at your neck and leaving you shivering in the air when they depart.
They start getting higher, and now you’re getting regular mouthfuls of saltwater, squeezing your eyes shut to try and stop the burning.
The next wave, and you’re submerged in a glacial blanket of fluid that you have no way of fighting, until it finally subsides and you’re left gasping for breath.
The water is now steadily approaching your chin and your feet lift from the ground, but you’re neither moving forwards nor backwards, still anchored to this single position so far from shore.
You’re treading water as the next wave comes and you’re suddenly sucked in the undertow, dragged across the gritty ocean floor until the pain is ripping through you like nothing you’ve known. The water is pushing you down no matter how hard you fight, and your lungs feel as if they’re on fire. The shimmering surface of the water is inviting, only a short distance away, but you’re still grinding against the sand and the rocks.
Finally the pull weakens and disappears, and you struggle with the last of your strength to reach the surface.
Your lungs burn with the first breath of air, and looking around there are no signs that there were any waves at all. The water subsides, and slowly, slowly, it retreats until you’re standing ankle-deep in cooling water, eventually left drenched on the ocean shore.
-------------------------------------------------------------
People ask me what it’s like to be depressed.
This is the best explanation I could give.
People say, “Why can’t you just be happy? Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just be happy.”
And all I can think is that they must have no idea what it’s like to be stuck in the undertow of a wave that you have no way of escaping.
and now a happy one:)
COCACOLACANS
My eyes were itchy.
That was the first thing that came to mind when I flipped to that photo of you, creased down the center and taped lazily into my scrapbook. I had used an old Holga camera, so the print was black and white, square, seeming to stand aside from the other colorful and rectangular photographs.
You were leaned into the corner between the car seat and the window with your eyes closed, your longish hair whipping around your face. The wind was flipping the collar of your shirt up and around your neck, and the scenery passing in the background was all but a blur.
At the time the radio was humming a song I didn’t recognize, and you had yet to stir after several minutes of driving down what seemed to be the exact same dirt road we had been on for the last three days. Piles of Coca-Cola cans littered the backseat of the car, shaking from the tremor of the car and the breeze, and I waited for you to open your eyes and complain to me to close the top before you froze to death. I realized after a few moments that one, you weren’t complaining, and two, that that must have meant you were asleep.
With no cars apparent on the horizon and nothing but dirt road behind me, I threw caution to the wind and averted my eyes from the road to root my camera from the mess of a backseat; I was glad you were asleep at the moment, since you teased me every time you saw me use the camera, telling me it looked like a child’s toy. Turning my eyes back to the road, I debated stopping the car so I could get a proper shot; I knew you’d probably just wake up and ask where we were, cowering away when you realized I had the camera out. And to tell the truth, I hate developing my film only to find three different photos of your hand blocking the lens. I have enough of those already.
I pondered my choices as I continued driving, finally settling on taking a blind shot by simply holding the camera in your general direction and praying it would come out decently enough.
And so, with one hand on the wheel, I leaned to my left so there would be enough distance between you and the camera before snapping the picture. You jumped at the sound and sat up blearily.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” I asked innocently, both hands on the wheel and the camera uncomfortably wedged between the car seat and myself.
“Oh. I thought I heard something.”
I just laughed, rubbing my eyes with one hand.
“What’s wrong?” you yawned a little, stretching your legs until your feet disappeared beneath the dashboard.
“Dust in my eye.”
“Well maybe you should put the damn top up, it’s freezing in here.”
I grinned.
UNDERTOW
Imagine that you’re standing on the shore of an ocean. The waves are lapping calmly at your feet, ice cold, and you want to step back, but you can’t. The icy water continues to rise, until it’s covering your feet, and you’re freezing as it swallows up your ankles and your shins, foam now floating beneath your knees. It rises and rises until half of your body is numb beneath the frigid liquid that seems to be steadily progressing towards your chest.
You see waves steadily approaching in the distance, and yet your feet are still rooted in the mire of sand beneath you.
At first the waves have no power to them, and barely any height, lapping weakly at your neck and leaving you shivering in the air when they depart.
They start getting higher, and now you’re getting regular mouthfuls of saltwater, squeezing your eyes shut to try and stop the burning.
The next wave, and you’re submerged in a glacial blanket of fluid that you have no way of fighting, until it finally subsides and you’re left gasping for breath.
The water is now steadily approaching your chin and your feet lift from the ground, but you’re neither moving forwards nor backwards, still anchored to this single position so far from shore.
You’re treading water as the next wave comes and you’re suddenly sucked in the undertow, dragged across the gritty ocean floor until the pain is ripping through you like nothing you’ve known. The water is pushing you down no matter how hard you fight, and your lungs feel as if they’re on fire. The shimmering surface of the water is inviting, only a short distance away, but you’re still grinding against the sand and the rocks.
Finally the pull weakens and disappears, and you struggle with the last of your strength to reach the surface.
Your lungs burn with the first breath of air, and looking around there are no signs that there were any waves at all. The water subsides, and slowly, slowly, it retreats until you’re standing ankle-deep in cooling water, eventually left drenched on the ocean shore.
-------------------------------------------------------------
People ask me what it’s like to be depressed.
This is the best explanation I could give.
People say, “Why can’t you just be happy? Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just be happy.”
And all I can think is that they must have no idea what it’s like to be stuck in the undertow of a wave that you have no way of escaping.
and now a happy one:)
COCACOLACANS
My eyes were itchy.
That was the first thing that came to mind when I flipped to that photo of you, creased down the center and taped lazily into my scrapbook. I had used an old Holga camera, so the print was black and white, square, seeming to stand aside from the other colorful and rectangular photographs.
You were leaned into the corner between the car seat and the window with your eyes closed, your longish hair whipping around your face. The wind was flipping the collar of your shirt up and around your neck, and the scenery passing in the background was all but a blur.
At the time the radio was humming a song I didn’t recognize, and you had yet to stir after several minutes of driving down what seemed to be the exact same dirt road we had been on for the last three days. Piles of Coca-Cola cans littered the backseat of the car, shaking from the tremor of the car and the breeze, and I waited for you to open your eyes and complain to me to close the top before you froze to death. I realized after a few moments that one, you weren’t complaining, and two, that that must have meant you were asleep.
With no cars apparent on the horizon and nothing but dirt road behind me, I threw caution to the wind and averted my eyes from the road to root my camera from the mess of a backseat; I was glad you were asleep at the moment, since you teased me every time you saw me use the camera, telling me it looked like a child’s toy. Turning my eyes back to the road, I debated stopping the car so I could get a proper shot; I knew you’d probably just wake up and ask where we were, cowering away when you realized I had the camera out. And to tell the truth, I hate developing my film only to find three different photos of your hand blocking the lens. I have enough of those already.
I pondered my choices as I continued driving, finally settling on taking a blind shot by simply holding the camera in your general direction and praying it would come out decently enough.
And so, with one hand on the wheel, I leaned to my left so there would be enough distance between you and the camera before snapping the picture. You jumped at the sound and sat up blearily.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” I asked innocently, both hands on the wheel and the camera uncomfortably wedged between the car seat and myself.
“Oh. I thought I heard something.”
I just laughed, rubbing my eyes with one hand.
“What’s wrong?” you yawned a little, stretching your legs until your feet disappeared beneath the dashboard.
“Dust in my eye.”
“Well maybe you should put the damn top up, it’s freezing in here.”
I grinned.