I don't know how to describe this well. I know how to describe it badly, though, and so I guess that's what I'm about to do. You've been warned.
It's like I'm made, not of water and bone and goo, but of clay. Hundred of bits of clay, all stuck together. Ranging in size from that of a marble to that of, say, a baseball.
I walk around, I exist, I go through the motions of life like an actual normal person, but every now and then, a piece of me falls off. It falls off, and it hits the ground, and usually it shatters.
I always notice it, when a part of me falls like that. It's not really painful, not like it used to be, it just something I notice. On those occasions when the piece doesn't shatter, I usually pick it up and try to stick it back on, like sticking a piece of wet clay back onto its vase. It never sticks though. It always falls again. I eventually give up.
What's gone is gone, right?
But I can't help but wonder what will happen when I run out of clay. When there's nothing left of me to fall.
There, I feel better now. I've had this stupid clay metaphor stuck in my head for weeks.