The falling never stops. That's the part no one tells you. You keep waiting for the impact, for the moment when things can't get worse, but it never comes. Just endless descent. I function – work, eat, sleep – all while plummeting. Sometimes I forget I'm falling until I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, and then it hits again. The ground never gets closer. The speed never changes.

I used to think rock bottom would be a relief. A solid place to rebuild from. Now I understand there is no bottom, just different velocities of descent. Fast days and slow days. Days when the wind blows past my ears and days when the falling feels almost peaceful. I've decorated this endless freefall with routines that mimic stability. How long have you been falling? Have you stopped looking for the ground? What if this sensation of freefall is all there is?