“I had that strange dream again.

I was drowning.

It was the same as the other times. I was 16 and visiting the ocean for the first time. I didn’t know how to swim but I let my friends drag me on a boat ride. But they’re not really my friends. I don’t think. It was a group of girls. I was sitting on the sand with a group of girls, and suddenly we’re all taken for a boat ride. We stop for a bit, far from the shore and everyone jumps off to swim around.

‘Jump in, Genesis,’ they yell at me. ‘We’ll help you swim.’

I tell them no. I don’t know how to swim. I’ve never been in the ocean. It’s scary. There’s sharks and what about jellyfish? They can swim and I’ll watch. But they keep on and on. They don’t stop pressuring me.

‘Jump in! Jump in!’

I can feel the judgement in their eyes. ’16-years-old and doesn’t know how to swim. How fucking lame.’

They laugh at me.

They’re laughing at me, doc! I didn’t do anything. But they’re fucking laughing at me. The jackass driving the boat starts laughing at me.

So I jump.

There’s cheering and then I can’t hear anything but the roar of water in my ears. I keep sinking. My arms are flailing. Reaching for a hand or a leg or a part of the boat. Reaching for something to hold onto. Something that will pull me out of the water. Something that will tell me I’m okay.

But there’s nothing, and I can’t breathe, I’ve swallowed water. My eyes are burning from the salt. I can’t see anything.

I try to hold onto what little breath I have but I can’t, I can’t. I clench my eyes closed and I try to scream.

And I wake up.

I’m breathless and sweaty and exhausted.”

Dr. Kein looks at me as she takes notes.

“What time is it when you wake up from this dream? Is it morning already? Middle of the night?”

“It’s usually happens in the morning when I have this dream. Right before I have to get up for work. Usually leaves me drained. I can’t function on drowning days.”

“Have you been able to figure out who the girls are in the dream?”

I shook my head. “They seem so familiar. Like I knew them, but it seems like a lifetime ago I was a teenager trying to fit in with girls who hated my guts.” I grimace and bring my legs up onto her cream couch. “I’m such a fucking cliché, doc. ‘Ooh I’m a teenage outcast desperate to fit in with mean popular girls who tease me and make my life hell.’ Sounds like a shitty coming of age movie. Except my movie didn’t get better, I just finally broke. I’m still a loser, and all the mean girls are just grown up now and we all live in the same fucking town and I don’t know who’s more pathetic, me or them.”

Dr. Kein smiled. “You are not a loser, Genesis. Remember that.”

“I’ll try.”

“Say it.”

“Please don’t make me.”

“Say it. ‘I am not a loser.'”

I hugged my knees. “I’m not a loser.” I mumbled.

“Again.”

I breathe deeply. “Please doc.”

She arched an eyebrow at me.

Sighing and raising my voice just above a whisper, “I. Am. Not. A. Loser.”

I look up at her hoping that was enough.

“Better. How are the new anti-depressants I prescribed working? It’s a lower dosage. Are you still nauseous?”

“No. I’m not nauseous. But I still feel a little lost.” I scrunch my eyebrows as I try to explain how I feel. “Like, I’m me, but fuzzy. I guess that’s better than how I was feeling?” I wasn’t sure. Before, I knew I was sad. I knew I was hurting. I knew I was a piece of shit and I could wallow in it, because it was the truth. The pain was almost delicious. It was mine.

But now? This was a drug-induced dullness. I could function without breaking down, the darker thoughts were under control, they were at bay. It was weird though. I didn’t know who I was anymore without my pain.

“Tell me more about the fuzzy feeling.”

“Like, every feeling, every emotion, are very dim versions of what they were. Which I can appreciate, I dunno. I just don’t feel like myself. I guess, I’ll get used to it.”

“Stay with it, just remember, if you start to have any suicidal thoughts, stop taking them and call me immediately.” A timer goes off. “You made it Genesis. Another full session. Good job!”

I smile sheepishly at her. There was a time where I’d just walk out, 10 minutes into our session and not appear for weeks. Dr. Kein called my mother– my emergency contact, and she started bringing me to my appointments and staying in the waiting room until I came out.

“Is there anything else you wanted to bring up before we finish?”

I shake my head and bend down to pick up my black boots and slide a foot inside.

“Okay Genesis. Remember, you are not a loser. You are not broken. You are healing, and you are doing your best.” She handed me a little note.

In the process of healing.

“Put it up on a mirror, on the fridge, next to your bed, somewhere you’ll see it on a daily basis. A reminder.” She smiled at me and I finished lacing up my boots and stood up.

“Thank you.” I placed it in my notebook and threw my book in my tote bag. “I’ll see you next week.” I walked out of her office and saw my mom waiting, half asleep, with a magazine in her hand. She looked up when she saw me.

“Ya, mija?”

“Si, mami. Let’s go.”