Sides

when it happens i call it relapse but it's not
i call it that because it feels more like a fluke
when really all the time in between is the exception

as the cycle goes
it knocks me off my feet, sucking the wind out of my sails
i fall i roll up into a ball then i get up again, each time less reassuringly and
yet
somehow i get up everytime
but faithfully followed by the ole hazy head and a rude shot in the arm of reality
i'm sick. and it's permanent. it's my code, my mode, my life.
unavoidable. undeniable. true.

when the medicine works I forget, I float on the lil cloud of hope
and flutter from dawn to dawn
living the dream of functionality
until
until the sickness gets me
and it always gets me
it settles in my chest, it shakes in my veins
just skin deep, waiting. it's always waiting.
for that one -- peek -- of vulnerability

and it cuts just as deeply as the first time.

and I drown just as deeply as the first time.

and I lose the ground just as terrifyingly as the first time.

and I think of the permanent cure just as terrifyingly as the first time.

then it flies me up to the fan and chops me into bits

...spend the week putting myself back together again

i come back into the world, everyone's still moving around in today
and i'm in the dust of yesterday, trekking through the aftermath trying to get to tomorrow
because tomorrow
tomorrow is new, un-fucked, and possible.

tomorrow could be better
but i don't lie anymore

tomorrow could be better
but it'll still find me.
and kick me when I'm down.
knowing that. knowing it's waiting. off in the distance of days, weeks, hopefully months, preferably eternity...

weighs on me.

and i fear.

that one day i will.

up and give in.

but tomorrow.

tomorrow is new and un-fucked.

and I cannot give up on the chance.

that tomorrow could be better.

sometimes that's all I have.
and sometimes that's enough.

sometimes I forget. I forget, and I'm happy.

Maybe that's the cure.