How deep was the well?
Deep enough to echo my name back with indifference.
Deep enough to hold every scream I never let out.
It didn’t swallow my body —
It swallowed the parts of me I didn’t know could drown.
My soul choked first.
And no one saw me sinking.

How deep was the well?
Deep enough for silence to grow teeth.
To gnaw at the corners of my sanity
While I smiled in public and bled in secret.
Where light couldn't reach me,
And hope knocked once, then left.

I threw prayers like pennies,
Wishing someone would hear the splash—
But even God seemed to whisper,
"Not now."

I built a home in the ache,
Hung memories like picture frames on stone walls,
Learned to breathe through grief,
To sing lullabies to my panic
And call it healing.

How deep was the well?
Deep enough that time didn’t pass — it dripped.
One moment. Then another.
Each echo louder than the last.
And all the while,
I was vanishing behind a voice that said,
"You're fine."

But if you listened closely,
If you stood at the edge,
You’d hear a faint voice rising from the dark —
Not begging to be saved,
Just asking to be seen.

Because sometimes,
The worst kind of drowning
Is when you look dry on the outside
And no one knows you’re dying beneath.

How deep was the well?
So deep, it felt like those days I was mistreated,
When I had no one in life but God alone.
When every prayer was a whisper against the walls,
And the silence felt like abandonment.
I screamed inwardly, quietly—
Hoping mercy would find me before despair did.

It was deep enough to forget who I used to be.
Deep enough to blur the surface above me.
And in that darkness,
Only faith kept my heart from breaking completely.

But I’m still here.
And if you’re listening,
Maybe you are too.