Under Pressure

40 degrees is all the water gauge has to say to me
the day I decide to cannon-ball into the deep-end.

I take a deep breath,
a running start
and leapt
straight up into the air,
waiting for that suffocating splash.

Water that cold
leaves the mind numb -
no thoughts, just instincts.
Once you're under
only reflexes remain-
your arms and legs flail towards the sky,
and your chest burns from holding in the air
too long.

I rush towards the surface like a rocket
and my insides are about to burst with pressure.

My body is on fire
and panic surges through me.
I can hear myself whispering over and over
in my head

"just get there before the breath runs out".

I break free
and it's complete ecstasy -
fresh air, new life
like starting over -
but the jolt of the cold
steals my breath
like a thief in the night.
It doesn't matter how hard
I push myself up toward the light,
the surge of water into my lungs
threatens to trap me in the dark forever.

I hate the dark.
I push against the burn
and find my way to the top.

It's my turn to start over.