Honesty

No amount of denial is going to change the fact that I am injured again. I can't stop my thoughts from racing ahead; to thinking I won't be able to run the marathon in May 2014. My first marathon. Symbolic of the mental and physical strength I have gained through running and marking the year anniversary of my uncle's suicide.

I keep thinking that if I'm going to train properly, I need six months. That means I need to start soon. So I push myself before I'm ready. I increased my mileage with both kids in the jogging stroller pushing over 60 lbs for four and five miles. And then I ran 10 miles on my long run day. Over wet and uneven trails. Of course I look back and call myself an idiot. But I was feeling strong. Wanted to challenge myself.

Now with a hip so tight I can barely bend sideways to an angle of 15 degrees, I'm telling myself I don't need physio again. I've just started back at work. Where will I find the time? So I rest for a week and then try an easy 3 miler only to have my hip seize up again.

Trying hard to fight the black mood which has slowly surfaced over three weeks of inconsistent exercise and a change in routine, my thoughts keep catastrophizing: thinking that if this doesn't get better right now, I won't be able to honor John's memory the way that feels most poignant to me.

John, who agonizingly went missing only to be found dead three days later. In the woods. After taking his own life. Alone. Found by a stranger walking her dog.

I have felt alone. I have felt that low. I run so I don't feel that way. But I can't run right now and that is what I find terrifying.

Lost

Things have been feeling a bit off lately. I know that I'm off track when my anxieties start rearing their ugly heads. When I can't think because the counter has crumbs on it. When I can't walk out the door to do errands because the dishes haven't been put away. When I absolutely have to wash my hands because a thought about germs popped into my head. And then I have to wash them again because just maybe I didn't do it well enough the first time.

I don't remember anxiety playing such a huge role in my life in the past. Depression was always the headliner. But for whatever reason - hormonal changes, age, experiences - anxiety is starting to settle down into my life and to take a permanent place. And I don't like it.

I'm starting back at work on Wednesday. Part-time. I know that I need this, but change has always been hard for me even when it is good for me.  I'm trying to manage this, the practicalities of needing to think coherently and be a professional, with leaving my children again. My baby for the first time. I am trying to fit in my running because I know that if that slips, things could end up getting a lot worse. And I am trying to negotiate the holiday season, a time that for whatever reason, always leaves me feeling homesick.

Truth be told, I'm feeling a bit lost right now. I don't like the me who is anxious, unfocused, scatterbrained, critical, and negative. These are all symptoms of my mental health slipping. Signs that things are going sour and that I better do something soon or else.  I guess the benefit of managing my mental health for the past twenty years is that I can now recognise this. And I usually know, if not exactly what needs to be done, what direction I need to point myself in.