The water is cool against his skin, it balances out the hot rage that has been building. Why? That's the fuck all of it. Why? There is no easy answer, so he dives deeper, pressure building, wondering if he can hold his breath long enough to go as deep as he needs to go. Until the pressure crushes him like an old, faded beer can.
The depth is important because he is not a shallow man and his problems are like tiny buds that flower into giant, florid disasters.
He looks up and sees sunlight pushing against the water, the water pushes back - it is always like this. Briefly, he wonders if it has always been this way. If everything is just a result of the friction between opposing forces.
The rip-tear of depleted oxygen causes a brief panic, but it passes quickly. He sees images now. Flashes of light. The why is not as important. It has been eclipsed by thoughts and memories long abandoned - they rise now, filling his head with a dim slide show of his life. He had always hoped it wouldn't end with a cliche, but there is no longer a choice. There is nothing to do but watch the show.