It's like a dream, the dream where I call after you and you don't stop, though I know you hear. It's like waking up with a nail driven through your chest and thinking, "But, I don't even believe in the hammer." It's like your hands drop everything they carry because your mind insists there is nothing you can lift or grasp for long. Have you ever been there, insisting your eyes are wide open when you've glued them shut? Do you describe with conviction the world you imagine as though you can see through your own eyelids?
Perhaps we should go away somewhere. Pack up everything we don't need and bring it with us. Leave the practical world to get by. I'll sit on the beach with you, though you know I hate the sand, and you can face me. We'll only tell each other the truth, nothing between us but the warm, salty breeze blowing in off the ocean. The sun will set and the moon will rise. The tide will ebb and flow. Can you hear the birds? Where have you gone?
Sometimes the familiar comfort of being unwell draws us into its cottony grey. I'm learning, that's all, to recognize the pandering lies of my own mind. I have wellness in my hands, holding on tight.