Drowning in Advice

i don’t know what i’m going to do.

i’m on a boat that’s slowly sinking,

and the water pulling me under

is my depression.

i keep reaching out to every boat that passes,

waving my arms, yelling for help,

and all i hear back is,

“just don’t drown, stay positive, keep swimming.”

as if “not drowning”

is something i haven’t thought of yet.

i say “thank you” with my teeth clenched,

eyes rolling, chest still heavy,

still sinking.

i grab for anything.

someone throws me a life jacket.

great. now i can float

in the middle of my depression

instead of going under.

i’m still out here.

still cold.

still alone.

then i see a lifeboat.

for a second, i breathe.

okay, maybe this is it.

but no one helps me climb in.

they circle around me,

tell me how strong i am,

ask me to rate my pain from one to ten,

then drift away

and leave me in the water

like i was never really there.

when a boat finally comes close enough,

i see a tiny hole in the bottom.

not big enough to sink me now,

just big enough to promise

that if i trust it,

i’ll still drown,

slower this time,

one leak, one waitlist,

one “we’re doing all we can” at a time.

out of options,

i lie back in the water,

let it rise around my ears.

there’s no real rescue coming,

just more voices on the shore

offering advice instead of hands,

doing the bare minimum

and calling it support.

what’s the point of emergency gear

if it only keeps me alive enough

to keep suffering?

what’s the point of reaching out

if i’m handed bandages

for a boat split down the middle,

if every “solution” expires

before i even see the shore?