The Dive

“Within a six-dive list, at least one dive must come from each of the diving categories: forward, back, reverse, inward and twisting. The sixth dive may come from the category of the diver’s choice, but cannot be a previously used dive.” (Franklin, 2018)

I was always the worst of the best. I was in honor society but had no office. I was a senior with no friends. Cum laude but nowhere near valedictorian. And having been on the swim team for just two years, I only had six dives. Having six dives was nothing to sneeze at, and I was grateful I could compete in dual meets. I just couldn’t compete in championships.

My high school was too poor to afford their own pool, so the swim team used the rec center next to a 25 story, completely empty building. I always felt like I was climbing those floors when I ascended the ladder. You could see the entirety of Prairie View from that diving board. Nobody had anywhere better to be than at a high school diving competition. Then again, neither did I, and my name had just been called. I stepped up to the diving board, a non-regulation, 25-feet-tall monster.

Step One

“Michael, I’m honestly just tired of this. You’re eighteen. How are you going to move out on your own if you can’t even clean your room?” That was my birthday speech from my mother on the way to school, on my eighteenth birthday. Happy fucking birthday to me. She had been insufferable since Dad left. She’d become what the internet calls a “wine mom.” The thing is my room was clean. She was so shit-faced that she hadn’t realized it was her own room that was full of mini bottles of various airplane sized liquor bottles, makeup smeared tissues, Ben & Jerry’s containers, and I could have sworn I had seen a condom on her floor but I looked away too quickly to know for certain.

“Mom, are you coming to the meet tonight?” Mom looked like she had no idea what time or day it was. “No, Michael. Like I said, you’re eighteen. You need to learn to be independent. That’s the difference between me and you.” I looked at her closely before whispering, “That and I can path a breathalyzer test.” She tried to yell after me, but I knew she wouldn’t risk getting out of the car and being seen drunk at 7:00am while driving by any school staff.

Step Five

When I sit down the people near me go quiet. I don’t have to wonder what they were talking about. My “friend group” had dumped me for my depression. I had a rough time for a while and ended up in an inpatient facility until I promised I wasn’t going to do anything to harm myself. When I was near death, I had more friends than ever. People love you when they think you’re dying. Students who hadn’t said a word to me since elementary rushed to post photos of me in any way they could use to get attention. One girl even posted one of me smoking a cigarette alone on a bench while she and her friends sat across the park. I didn’t even speak to them that day. She captioned it, “Please pray for my best friend Michael. No questions please.” Once they all learned I was actually fine, they went back to pretending I didn’t exist. That next week when I went to sit with the few friends I did have, they said they felt uncomfortable if they had been my friends all along and I didn’t tell them. I’m fine, really. I don’t need sympathy, but I also don’t want to suck the joy out of every room I was in.

Step Fifteen

I felt disconnected. From just over midway up, I could see so much more than I had ever remembered, but it was like the view was from somewhere else. I could see the rec center, and the people outside. I could see my house. I could see my girlfriend, who had just dumped me, talking to another guy. I could see the text in my head. “THEN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT. I’M DONE.” This was my punishment for not having time to get her Starbucks before the last meet. Starbucks was 40 minutes away. She told everyone I was abusive.

Step Twenty

I’m losing my mind again. I don’t recognize the people around me. Who were these people poolside? Where was the pool? Why were they all yelling at me to get down? It was my turn. I had practiced for months. There was no going back.

Step Twenty-Five

I had reached the top. My legs were tired. It was cold. But I had a flat surface to walk on. I stood at the edge for a while. People kept yelling. Some said to get down. Others said to, “Do it!” Cap on, goggles over my face, I struck my pose. You’re never supposed to look down after you get into position, but I did. And just as I went to jump, I saw what was beneath me. Pavement, cars, people, lots of people; the news was even there. “Hey man, it’s not worth it.” A diver from another school slowly approached me. “If you need help, we can get you help.” A second unfamiliar student stepped forward. Hyperventilating, I put my arms down slowly and stepped away. I had been scared to ask for help. Everyone who knew me so intimately had ran when I needed them. Yet here were these strangers, literally talking me down off a ledge.

I hadn’t realized my phone had been blowing up. But it wasn’t phone calls or texts. It was social media notifications. People again had posted how close we were and how they had suspected this was coming from conversations that had never even happened. People took photos of me just before I stepped away and had posted “RIP” Mike. Nobody called me Mike. I hated that name.

Two Months Later

After a couple of months in a new facility, I came to realize I wasn’t the piece of shit I thought I was for the way I felt. I was surrounded by toxicity. That town had nothing to do but to use my mental health for their personal clout. I graduated, started teaching swimming lessons, and got my own place in a neighboring city. I made new friends who understood me. These had been people I met during my mandatory hold who got out around the same time as me. One was now my roommate. My dad saw the news and apologized to me for leaving me alone with Mom. He said he had left because of her, and he knew that didn’t make it ok. We had a much better relationship without her around. My old school started a mental health awareness course. Better late than never, I guess. I hoped nobody had to be where I was, but at least they had help now if they were. I blocked every person who posted me on social media who hadn’t tried to reach me first. In fact, there was only one person who fit into this category. She was my partner for a science project one time; a quiet girl who I didn’t even know would care. She left town after graduation too, but we stay in touch sometimes. It feels good to know I had at least one friend when I was at my lowest. I realized you don’t need validation to have a fulfilling life. It became a game between me and my roommate to call people from our past out at random. We’d be in a silent room and one of us would yell something like, “AND FUCK JANELLE, TOO.” It felt good to let out what we could never say before, when we thought we were the problem. He also had come from a toxic situation. Some days all we had was each other. We promised each other, no matter what happened, neither of us would post on social media when the other was gone.

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References

Franklin, W. (2018, October 29). High School Diving Competition Requirements. Retrieved from Liveabout: https://www.liveabout.com/important-aspects-of-high-school-diving-1100253