It was the moment when I felt surely alone. The moment when I was the only one awake, in the dark, in the silence, and I couldn’t talk to anyone. I cried silent tears, trying not to wake anyone.

That night I didn’t dream.

That morning I didn’t speak.

That afternoon I didn’t smile.

That night I cried again.

I had dug myself into a very deep hole.

That Sunday I went to church, but I sure didn’t feel any ‘presence of God’. That was the only thing that hadn’t changed. My lack of a saving grace. Every time I tell someone how much I don’t believe that He is really there for me no matter how much I pray, they tell me a story. A story of how whenever you feel alone, God is just carrying you. But it really felt like God had dropped me off on the bank of an isolated island, and left me to fend for myself amongst the wolves inside my own being.

During the afternoon, while rain was pouring down, I lay in my room alone, buried under the covers, my nose just peeking out of the comforter. I stared up at the ceiling, tracing the streaks of paint with my eyes.

I wish the clock would stop ticking.

I wish the clock would stop counting down the seconds until my misery would begin again.

I wish the clock would stop.

I wish the clock would stop.

I wish the clock would STOP!

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

I fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning, and I go to swim practice. I keep my head down. I sit down on my towel on the concrete pool deck, fold my hands, and wait.

While I’m swimming, my left shoulder, left knee, and ankles hurt.

I don’t say a word.

The next morning I repeat.

The same with the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

I feel like a robot, repeating the same schedule every day. Until something changes. Someone talks to me. Includes me in a joke. Makes fun of me like I’m part of the group. Comes to find me when I come to the pool in the afternoon, and simply just talk with me. Hear me out. Help me through those problems I’m facing. They give me someone I can trust.

After a while, I see the light again.

That hole becomes shallower.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

I walk into swim practice, a hood shadowing my face.

Tick.

There stands the group that helps me get through the day. Someone steps out of the circle. It’s a teenage boy of about sixteen, tall with dark hair, giving me a bright smile, laugh lines around his eyes. He waves and calls me over.

Tick.

I wave back.

Tick.

The ticking stops.

And I smile.

I walk over to him and whack him in the arm.

“Welcome back.”