I went through treatment for my mental health issues. I have diligently done all the things that keep a person like myself content and sailing along smoothly. And by "person like myself" I mean someone with a predisposition to suffer anxiety and depression. I have taken meds, exercised diligently, exposed myself to sunlight, taken vitamin D, eaten healthily, knitted, sought professional help as needed. In short, I have been a model for recovery and living life to it's fullest with mental illness. In fact, if I didn't talk openly about it, before this year you likely had zero clue that I ever even had a bad day. That's because, for the most part, I rarely did. I was genuinely happy and full (brimming in fact) with joy and enthusiasm. When life tossed me lemons, I'd squeeze the fuck out of those little bastards and make the bestest lemonade ever, goshdarnit, and then deliver it to someone whose day needed a little cheering up. I was nice and unselfish and funny and kind and succesful and a good mother and a good wife and a good person. I was pretty happy if a little unfulfilled in some ways, and I sought even to change that and make that better.
Seeking to change, made everything change.
At some point in my life I will share the events of the last year with more people, but for now, just know that 2015 has not been my easiest year.
And I am, to put it blankly, a shell of the person I fought so hard to love.
I realised when chatting to runners the other day, that the hardest part of every run, is the actual decision to get out of bed in the morning and go. I understand, because truly, there is no greater task that I face every single day. It takes every single ounce of my strength and willpower to sit up and get on with my day. This is NOT me.
I have, despite all that I have been handled to cope with, a charmed life, and yet I have to fight myself to get up and live it. There are problems I must face every day,that's for sure, but mine are so insignificant in the scheme of things that it's laughable that I give them more a passing glance and struggle to get on with my day. I have a roof over my head, people who love me, a nice car, a full time job, friends and so much more to celebrate. But, to my chagrin, I can't find an ounce of joy and gratitude for even one little bit of it.
I am lost.
The fact that my IPod needs charging and I have nowhere to charge it today, was akin to a national tragedy for me today.
Who am I.
Where is the self-confident, got it together motivator who makes things happen. The woman who thrives on pressure, loves a challenge and makes shit happen? Where is she?
Guilt.
The overwhelming shame and guilt and grief for feeling like this when people are starvingdyinglivinginfearpovertywarfamine. I live in Canada for goodness sake.
Helpless.
I never stopped looking after myself - never missed workouts or ignored signs. I have taken care of myself.
Yet here I am.
Shame.
My persistent best frenemy.
Dragged myself to yoga this morning to hear this timely little pearl of wisdom:
"Sometimes we have feelings, physical and emotional, that arise in times we are challenged. The hardest part is not attempting to fix them, but just allowing ourselves to live with them until they pass and we feel whole again."
I realized, when talking to my running friends the other day, that they were right.
The hardest part about life, is deciding to live it.
See you tomorrow.
Find Your CORE
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