These days I feel as if I am treading water. Managing to keep my head above the waves, but still getting water up my nose, making me cough and choke. I continue the slow steady movements that will allow me to keep breathing, even if in my heart I know there is no rescue ship on its way. I can't let myself give up, that is not an option. But at times my arms and legs feel leaden, my chest aches with every breath, my heart hammers against my ribs, and the cold seeps into my marrow. But still I kick my feet and flutter my arms in a valliant, last ditch effort. Bloodshot eyes scan the horizon, hoping for a glimpse of a rescue party, a glimmer of hope, but all I see is wave after wave. But still I tread. Although I lose faith in rescue, I hope for the sight of land. Even a remote island, where I can relax and breathe easy for a bit. At this point I would be happy to find a rock to rest on, a piece of flotsam to cling to, anything to give me the feeling that the constant struggle to remain afloat is not in vain, or foolish.
As the days pass, and I continue to tread, I search the horizon for an island. My island. My piece of salvation. Solid ground beneath my feet. Stability. Once again I find myself feeling that I am placing too much faith in rescue. That I need to place my faith in self salvation. I will be the one to come to my own rescue, again. I must continue moving in an attempt to find that patch of sand, pile of rock, safe haven, sanctuary. I can find my way to land, I have the strength to continue to fight against the waves that wash over me and threaten the very air I breathe. I continue to find that I am so much stronger than I ever imagined I could be. I have an inner core of steel that will carry me through any and all trials and battles. Despite the fatigue that threatens, the daunting seas that seem endless and hostile, the rescue that will not come, I will tread and swim until I feel solid ground beneath my feet once again. That's all I need is just a bit of solid ground.