But just the thought of ever swimming in the ocean
again terrified me. My husband has been really concerned for me because of it,
and my therapist as well suggested that I should go back to do what I used to
love if I want to move past the trauma. But they can’t understand. They have no
idea how traumatic it has actually been for me. But I figured out that since
today is the anniversary of that day the least I could do was to come back here
and mourn that poor girl.
I feel so guilty for having survived. It was I who
should have died, and not that girl whose body I have now been inhabiting for a
year. I was a foul. The ocean shouldn’t be taken lightly, but I knew this shore
so well that I was too confident, and those waves were too big of a temptation
to resist. I remember how scared I was when I got caught in the undertow. I
swam with all my strength but it was now use, the current was dragging me away
from the shore towards the open ocean. I felt my energies leave me gradually as
the waves were tossing me around. I was powerless, and I soon realized I was
going to die that day. As I felt myself losing my senses I remember that I wished
with all my heart to survive. Then I passed out and let the backwash drag me
down.
I remember feeling myself being carried out of the
water, the muffled and confused sound of frantic voices, the feeling of the hot
sand on my back. I felt a pressure on my chest and lips blowing air in my
lungs. I coughed, spitting the sea water out of my lungs and I opened my eyes
to see the bright sun blinding me. The people around me were agitated and
concerned. I heard them talking to me. <<Are you ok miss?>>
<<Charlotte! Charlotte! Oh thank God you’re safe!>>. Those words
would have confused me normally, but in that moment I was just so glad that I
was alive that nothing else mattered. So much so that I started to realize that
my body was different only during the ride on the ambulance to the hospital.
They were asking for my name to which I was responding with my old name Kevin,
but of course they figured out I was just confused. While I was laying in the
hospital bed waiting for the results of the medical check-up I noticed how
different my body was. The long blonde hair cascading down my shoulders, the
breasts on my chest protruding from below the hospital gown, the emptiness in
my crotch. I couldn’t even master the energy to scream in terror when I grabbed
a mirror and saw my new reflection.
Later on I discovered who I was now. Somehow I had
become a woman named Charlotte who was on vacation with her fresh husband and
got caught in the undertow as well. Only she was lucky enough so that the
backwash threw her closer to the shore were people were able to save her. Or
rather it was I who got lucky? The next day I read on the newspaper that a guy
had drowned in those water. The body had been identified as Kevin Marshall, the
guy who I used to be.
What had happened? Did my wish to survive made us two
swap bodies just before I drowned? If that was the case, did it mean that that
poor girl had drowned while in my body? The shock of being now trapped in a
woman’s body was nothing compared to the remorse of having caused the death of
a young woman. I stole her body. I stole her life. I should have been dead but
I was now living a life that didn’t belong to me.
My husband was so glad that I survived. I was tempted
more than once to leave him and start my life anew. But I couldn’t do it. Since
I was most likely responsible for Charlotte’s death the least I could do was to
carry on her life. And so I did. It took me a while to get used to my new body,
and my husband had to teach me everything about my identity. The medics said it
was an amnesia due to the trauma, but they couldn’t possibly imagine that it
was actually a different soul inhabiting Charlotte’s body who now had to learn
everything about her new life.
And now here I am one year later. I and my husband
have moved past that terrible day long ago, and we are now thinking of having a
baby and starting a family. It still feels quite incredible to be a woman, but
I got used to it. I’m just glad that I’m alive, and I know I will be happy
eventually with the life that has been gifted to me. But I can’t help to feel
constantly guilty about it. I’m painfully aware that I’m stealing every happy
moment from the real Charlotte. Will I be able to keep on living like this?
Nonetheless I have a moral obligation to do so. I have been granted the gift of
life, and I’m going to live it to the fullest. I’ll do that both for me and for
Charlotte. I owe it to her. I’ll be happy for the both of us. Thank you
Charlotte. Thank you so much.
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