How do you kill the sea?

How do you kill the sea? I asked her. She looked at me blankly. She didn't have an answer, but I also did not expect her to have one. How did we get to that point?I had been describing one more microaggression, I think. I had become seasoned in thinking and rethinking useful analogies to convey what it felt like to __. There was the one that I had derived from a convenient short animation. You see, I began, microaggressions are like mosquito bites, which I'm allergic to by the way. You get one, and it's a nuisance. The area swells and it's itchy and you're uncomfortable for a little while, but the injury fades with time as does your memory of it. One is okay. Ten, maybe also okay. But 100? And more? Then you're in anaphylactic shock! But I had an even better analogy that day. It went with the weight of my sadness. I conjured an image from my past, a time when I was at the seaside. I was no good swimmer at the time, but I loved the ocean and as long as I could run back and forth, advancing and withdrawing faster than the waves could catch me, then all was okay. But that particular day in my memory, the sea was faster than me and it reminded me that it was bigger, more powerful, more destructive. It pulled me in and pummeled me, and I found myself walloped by the waves, one after the other, barely on my feet before I was off them again. What was that I felt? Bewildered? Beleaguered? That was not a fight I could win. I could only either stagger back up onto my legs and gain a foothold in the moving sand or I could drown, just yards from safety – relative, because what is beyond the reach of the sea? That's what that ish feels like, I told her. Like I'm in the sea. It's bigger than me, overwhelming and so much scarier. It can swallow me and sometimes tries, and when it stands up to its full height, the weight of its many gathered droplets threatening to come down like a titanic hammer, I am swept up with it, carried by it and dropped painfully with nary a chance to find my footing before I'm off it again. And when I'm shaking with anger and looking to my hands, or your hands, for some recourse or remedy, all I can muster is a "how do you kill the sea?".