My consciousness yo-yos, sinks to the ground in exhaustion, then whips itself back.
I don’t know enough yo-yo words to play this out. Something about making a cradle you can’t fit in. Something about making a bed and laying in it.
Something about consequences.
I feel a bit like a failure because I had to book an emergency therapy appointment for tomorrow. It’s right after a doctor’s appointment so I’ll just hop from doctor to doctor, like Humpty Dumpty in denial.
Maybe I can’t be put back together after all.
Maybe I was never more than a pile of eggshell and goop.
Maybe I am frying on the sidewalk, losing translucence, permanently-always-only almost-a-life.
Maybe my old life was just a dream,
and this new life is just a dream,
and every time the yo-yo snaps awake,
a tiny part of me can never go back to sleep again.