Shouting emerged between groups of surfers surrounding me: ‘’Outside! Outside!’’ I looked around quickly, in a bit of a panic, trying to understand what the big fuss was about. Then I instantly began to feel a knot in my stomach. There was a sizable, rogue wave coming for everyone in the surf lineup. My instincts told me to paddle for the shore, but it was too late for that. The wall of water was about to crash on top of me. Keeping one eye on the wave coming straight for me, I lowered myself off my surfboard and into the frigid water and began to swim as far away from the board as possible. If I was about to get pounded, I didn’t want the fins of my board anywhere near me; I’ve been cut by them before. I watched helplessly as the wave came closer and closer to me and thought, I’m about to get caught inside.

I couldn’t hide, and was instantly devoured by the white water. It folded and twisted my body into the depths, then pounded me against the sandy bottom. I remained underwater, trying to hold onto my breath, and was surrounded by an eerie, underwater silence. Finally, the wave’s energy  dispersed, and everything was over just as fast as it had begun. My head broke the surface and I gasped for air, both my lungs and eyes burning. I swam towards my surfboard and quickly slid myself on it, trying to blink away the burning sensation of what had just happened.

For me, getting caught inside happens both in the water and on land. It’s the experience of being held under by something you didn’t even know was coming. No preparation or anticipation, just a wave that leaves you frozen in fear, then eventually completely pummeled. 

With my personal life, I found myself “caught inside’’ just a few months ago. The harmless feelings of boredom and confusion most teens run into suddenly turned into something a lot more serious: I began to experience symptoms of psychosis. There were times (and still continue to be) where I felt so untethered from reality that it messed with my perception of life and who I was as a person. There are moments that I question if I’m real and days that I genuinely do not know if I am. Additionally, dealing with dissociation felt like I was watching myself from a third-person point of view. Like I wasn’t actually in my body, but more so in a video game. Dealing with early psychosis and the feelings of disassociation had snuck up on me, just like that wave had when I was surfing, and I had found myself underwater, on the verge of drowning, completely in the darkness and so very much alone. My mental health was the worst it had ever been, and I knew I had been caught inside, but this time I had a hard time swimming back to the surface.

All of it started with a sense of boredom in my life. The same days spent from school to home, the same bus rides at the same time, the same friends at lunch. All of it had seemed like one big routine that slowly ingrained itself into me. Everyday was the same, for the most part. With the everyday dynamics of school and home, I began to lose sight of who I was and what I wanted to do. Ultimately, if everyday was going to be the same, why did it matter who I chose to be? 

Around halfway through this school year (my 10th grade), I began to listen to those defeatist thoughts of Why did anything matter? I could feel myself giving in to them more and more as time went on. Laying in bed, exhausted from school, and mindlessly scrolling on my phone for hours, I did not find myself particularly motivated to do anything. My homework became neglected, my parents shunned, all while my mental health slowly began to unravel over the course of a few weeks. The dissociation I would feel from myself would sometimes last several days, and I vividly remember stumbling around campus one day and asking my friends, on the verge of tears, if they were “actually real.” Several nights I would break down crying at dinner in front of my parents, and when they would ask me what was wrong, I just responded with, “Nothing feels real.” It was clear that I was not in a good place. 

Additionally, my mental health was worsened partially by the fact that I would see the day-in-the-lives of teenagers on apps like Instagram or Tiktok and wonder why my life couldn’t be like theirs. Couldn’t be as fulfilling, or as perfect, as the ones I saw before me on the screen everyday. It truly felt like there were tons of people out there living the exact life I wanted to live — but couldn’t. As a result, the monotony of high school only hit harder. I’d contrast the videos I’d see on my Explore page to what I was experiencing — moments where I couldn’t move and get out of bed, moments where I was unsure of who I was, and moments where I wasn’t sure if anything was real. Even the good stuff in my life, too. Who cares if I had fun at a party with friends, when there were kids my age walking red carpets every weekend and living a life that I’d rather have? 

These sort of comparative thoughts encircled me for months, and I began to resent the dullness of my teenage life even more as the year progressed. Waking up, taking the bus, going to school, playing soccer, falling asleep, waking up already exhausted, coming back home and repeating the process again and again. I felt so lost in my existence, unsure of who I was. My perception of reality became more and more skewed because of social media and the consumption of countless peoples’ lives everyday, as well as my own issues with derealization and the grip I had on reality. Little by little, everything else in my life became unimportant, and I began to feel a cycle of unhappiness and lack of fulfillment with my life. I resented it, and then even more so myself, but these cycles just repeated and repeated themself as strictly as the tides do.

Personally, I find that in order to get out of self-destructive habits, responding with self-love is what is needed most. However, self-destruction can strangely return, like an incoming tide, no matter how much self-love I give myself. For example, taking mental health days and recognizing my limits when it comes to certain situations with academics or my social life, and being okay with it all, are all great examples of self-love that I try to apply in my life. However, when there are periods of time where I fail to show myself understanding, and instead become meaner to myself, life will naturally worsen. Overall, my self-esteem and general mood will plummet more to a depressive state. I’d find myself criticizing everything in my life, or myself, for not doing enough: I’m not studying because I’m lazy; I’m home on a Friday because everyone hates me; I’m arguing with my parents because they’re fed up with me. The school year kept persisting, but I wouldn’t even try to combat these thoughts and attempt to soothe myself. I had given up on trying to cultivate any sense of compassion or flexibility and was now full-on wallowing in my depression — partly because I didn’t think I’d be able to pull myself out of it, but also because the sadness is what ultimately provided a break from my disappointing and confusing life, from school and sports and friends and family. The sadness was engulfing me and I just let myself go.

I was distracted, depressed, and eventually completely caught off guard by the slump that just so happened to creep up on me in these moments. I found myself “caught inside’’ in my own personal life, too. By February, I felt completely held under by a wave of confusion, sadness, and self-hate. I felt myself getting pushed deeper and deeper into the darkness. Everything was cold and still. I was disoriented, feeling my body going places but never knowing why. I let myself continue to be pummeled by the force of the wave. At this point, I had to just hold my breath and wait for it all to be smoothed out with time. 

And with time, around May, a strange calmness was brought to mind; in order to live my life with more positivity, I could no longer surround myself with the negative energy and thoughts I had created. The self pity and self hate, all of it restrained me from moving forth with my life and being content with everything that is good in it. Additionally, I was able to begin a type of therapy to help with my dissociation and symptoms of psychosis. The therapy helped educate me on how to deal with these strange experiences, and even better, to help normalize them. I talked about the symptoms I’d experience to my therapist and my family so that I was able to acknowledge my symptoms and thoughts with less stigma. By getting the professional help I knew I needed, I began to experience real spurts of motivation and self-care for the first time in months: washing the dirty dishes cluttering my desk, tidying my room, writing in my planner more, and making a genuine effort to get the important things done. Specifically, school work. My mindset began to shift as I told myself it would all work out and that I had control over my life, and each day I set out ready to try and make the day a good one. Really, I found myself trying to paddle over each breaking wave, trying to avoid getting caught inside and held under again.

And as Spring began, I could feel the wave of unhappiness let go of me. It no longer had control over my body, or my actions, and instead I could feel myself slowly floating towards the surface — towards the light, the air, and emotional resolution. My grades slowly improved, and I felt less anxiety about the world. I joined a study with UCLA that involves weekly therapy and began to understand the disassociation I’d feel, the ways I could help prevent it, and the ways in which I could handle it in the moment. I also began going to a regular talk therapist, which helps me unpack everything that goes on in my life in ways that are less stressful and healthier for my well-being. Therapy also helps me realize the ways in which I can improve my mindset and the ways I react to the events in my life, big or small, even if it doesn’t have to do with dissociation or psychosis. 

With time and practice, I was slowly able to appreciate the world around me. I realized that the idyllic life I had been wanting has always been there: the late nights I’d spend with my friends, the dinners I’d enjoy with family, and the small moments of peace I’d feel throughout the week. I no longer worried as much if someone was having a better time than I was, and with letting that anxiety go, I was able to be so much more appreciative of what I did have right in front of me. Ultimately, I was able to find my way back to myself and understand who I am as a person with so much more clarity. Even if I had faults, even if I didn’t do something right, I became able to understand that I had the power to change, and, more importantly, to react. It wasn’t my thoughts or the current state of the world that decided who I’d be that day, but, in fact, it was truly up to me to dictate the ways in which I chose to be.

The sun is spreading its bright glow across the beach as I manage to zip up the back of my wetsuit. Slowly, I wade into the water, a hand on the surfboard floating beside me as I feel the pebbles and shells turn to sand as I walk further into the water. I trudge out into the chilly ocean until it’s at waist level, and then slide myself onto the board, beginning the paddle out into the lineup. Waves slowly came forth and paddling over each one, I continue to make way out of the impact zone where all the waves were breaking in quick white streaks. In the near distance, I spotted a once-familiar site: A larger set wave in the distance moving fast towards me. Instead of freezing and panicking in the water, like I had last time, I put my head down and just paddled further away from shore and towards the wave, faster and faster out to sea, determined to meet the crest of the wave before it broke. The water around me transformed into a blurry agreement of blues and grays as I paddled faster and faster, determined to get over the wave in front of me. After a few seconds, I approached the bottom of the wave’s face and felt myself being lifted up over the rushing wall of water. I bobbed back down, over the hump, and immediately sat up on my board, looking behind me as the wave continued on. I was left unharmed. Moving fairly quickly, the wave face began to slow as it met the sandbar nearby. From behind, I could see the white lip of the wave pitch over and break with a vast, echoing crash, leaving a spray behind that landed on all the surfers of the lineup, a little reminder that we had made it over unscathed. I didn’t get caught inside this time.