Shrinking as though from age I can feel fishhooks in my back, not anchored but instead tied to the end of their strings are all the little burdens and mistakes I never took the time to shake.
Each time I think I’m used to the weight another hook embeds itself and I have to adjust everything again. My gait changes and I can’t get comfortable in my own bed anymore.
Every night the moment I fall asleep slips later and later, though it’s less that I’m falling and more that I’m fighting, dragging myself towards any scraps of peace I can find.
When I was younger I spent so much time worrying about the fishhooks that I didn’t look down. Didn’t realise the ground I was walking on was getting softer and softer. Wet tar beneath my feet. And now I’m worried what happens when I shrink further, when the weights tied to the hooks make contact with the floor.
One of these days those weights will hit the ground, and I’m terrified I’ll get pulled under.
Recovering 