Gallons of the Stuff

I hate swimming.

From the moment my parents forced me into swim lessons at age seven, I despised it. Not just because my instructor was covered in tattoos and likely was an outlaw, but because I am just not meant for water. Ironic, I was born in Seattle and have lived in the Puget Sound my entire life, thus making me like a fish that breathes air. I just can't coincide in the depths.
Don't get me wrong, I love water. We drink it. We are full of it. Water, quite literally, surrounds me. I have near constant contact with views of water and frequent journeys across it on boats and ferries. But that's when I am dry. When submersed, it's a whole different story. Water is weight. It pulls you down. It drags you under. It fills your lungs and suffocates as the dark liquid pours into your every opening and washes out all hope and light. Not sounding like Blue October here, I just hate swimming. There are some freak people out there who actually ENJOY the feeling of liquid pressing the air out of them and find some way to propel themselves through this fluid for sport (cough, cough, Michael Phelps). I am not one of those people.

I have an intense fear of drowning. Aside from blood (and the occasional clown/math teacher), this would be my number one phobia. When you can't breathe in. When your lungs decompress and you gasp for air but your mouth fills with water and as you panic with your body losing oxygen, you slowly sink as the weight of thousand of gallons force in upon you. That's the fancy Blue October version. But in reality, this happens all the time. And I have the incessant fear that I may become the next victim of a drawn out agonizing demise.

I guess living around water has given me some fascination with it. The power it has over us, the space in our lives that it occupies. And the utter mayhem it could bring when brought down upon us. Water has a mystery, it has a certain enigma. It's a dark beauty almost. This stuff brings us life and gives us death. The delicate balance of the fluid that makes up our world but could flood it in seconds. I have always been fond of admiring the ocean and the awe-inspiring power it commands. And living in the Puget Sound I bear full witness to this magnificent body of water. The consistency, the mystique, the thoughtful and imposing beauty of such a dark and inspirational ocean. I love it's emotive power, the ocean can symbolize love, pain, freedom, loneliness, and silence. The ocean is so empty you can almost project yourself onto it. The open miles of water muffle all noise and keep it's surface tranquil. Peaceful one moment, but consuming the next. Sucking life and land under to feed an empty belly. Sucking all life down to a watery grave. I have always loved this aspect of the ocean. It's almost an art. The beauty and perfection put into a consistently serene open water. I admire the consuming strength of such a powerful substance. Perhaps this reflects on some darker part of me. Something that admires the raw power and symbolism the ocean holds.