Ever since reading about pearl divers as a kid, I've wanted to dive as far down as I could swim on a lungful of air and touch the bottom of the ocean. I've been on a couple of scuba-dives fifty feet down and loved every moment, but it's not the same. The gear is bulky and breathing out bubbles muffles the stillness of the ocean. Even though I knew there were risks, I often wondered what it would feel like to go even deeper, and get there on my own.

In the early spring of 1999 I'd hit an all-time low. I was unemployed, penniless and very single. Although a country boy at heart, I spent my days pacing around a dim, pokey flat in London feeling like a prisoner. The streets were packed with busy people rushing for buses and glancing at watches. They all seemed to have a purpose, a job and a mobile phone. I was afraid to go out and felt trapped staying in.

After months of misery, I was desperate for a change of scene. Though I felt a bit embarrassed and awkward about tagging along, I ended up packing my bags and joining my parents on their summer holiday to Greece.

Soon after arriving, I found a small wooden rowing boat on the end of a pier. I took it out to sea a few times and peered over the side. The water was calm, almost peaceful. I thought again about free-diving. The fear of drowning, blacking out, or having my eardrums burst from the pressure had always been enough to keep me on dry land. But at this particular time in my life the risks were part of the attraction. I needed to prove to myself that I could do it.

After some prodding, I convinced my father to help me. One still morning, we headed out to sea with a large coil of rope, an anchor, a pair of flippers and some goggles. We measured out sixty-five feet of rope, attached it to the anchor and threw it overboard. Maneuvering the boat a while longer until the anchor reached the correct depth, I clambered overboard. The water was freezing, and I couldn't see the bottom, just the rope and shafts of light plummeting down into absolute darkness. Seeing my thin, white legs kicking out against the dark blue unsettled me. I spent a few minutes calming myself, slowing down my breathing, before sucking in a load of air and submerging.

I kept my eyes fixed on the rope - it was the only thing to focus on. After about fifteen feet, the temperature of the water dropped. It was cold and getting darker. Thirty feet down and I still couldn't see the bottom. I kept kicking but I felt alone. I got the fear and kept glancing over my shoulder. After several hard kicks, the bottom loomed towards me. Anxious and running out of air, I panicked, stopping short of the sandy floor. I just managed to touch the tip of the anchor with my fingers, before swiftly turning back to the boat.

After scrambling back on board, I felt excited but unsatisfied. I wanted to conquer the fear and take the whole experience in. I wanted to touch the sand on the ocean floor.

Confident I could dive even deeper this next time, my father and I rowed the boat further out and measured eighty-five feet of rope. I jumped back in the water, took several slow, deep breaths and dived. As I descended, the rope slid through my hands. My heart was pounding, but I felt calmer and more determined than before. After a while, I was aware of how still and quiet everything was. Only the deep hum of the sea and the muted sound of a distant boat could be heard. At around fifty feet, distant shapes appeared and the ocean floor again faded into view. The last stretch seemed to last a life-time, sixty feet, seventy feet - how long it had taken I had no idea. Seventy-five feet, eighty feet, I started to reach out with my fingers and I was there.

I scooped up a fist full of sand, let it run through my fingers and took a moment to gaze around. The ripples in the seabed stretched into the blue haze. I looked up to the surface in awe of the sheer volume of water above me. The boat was small enough to block out with my thumb.

Several years on, I often think of that moment. It was strange to be in a place so calm and beautiful, where almost no-one goes. Completely alone down there, it helped me to feel myself again. I felt free.

On those days when the world fails to make much sense, I think again of that private place, eighty-five feet below.

Olly has since been working for 4 years as freelance animator and illustrator. Click here to visit his online portfolio.

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(c) 2DO Before I Die 2004