This week has been a powerful one. I realized I few things, I began to mourn a few lost fragments of me and I started my new medication.
A few nights ago, whilst laying in bed with my partner, we got to talking about running. The dreaded cardio! Well dreaded to him, it is fondly missed by me.
I got to reminiscing the last real run I went on and the most special of my runs. It was May 2016 and I was holidaying in Wales. I was in the middle of a month long sponsored run for BHF and I did not pause for my holiday. Instead I took to the most glorious scenery the UK has to offer. Towering mountains, moist spring grass, beach air; ah the joys of a getaway.
I was telling him about the beach I had been running on. The firmness of the sand, the way little streams come up the beach and I had ruined my shoes running straight through them. I recalled the wind blowing against my ruddy cheeks, the vibrancy of my run outfit (hot pink) and the glory of pausing after, in order to stretch whilst looking out over a raging spring ocean and a spattering of smiling dog walkers.
I burst into tears at the recollection. I was devastated to remember so fondly the girl I once was; the girl I had worked so hard to become; the girl I had now lost. The version of me that he would now possibly never see.
That version of Willow is gone. She is well and truly dead. When I think of her, I see her laying in a coffin, running shoes still firmly around her feet, pale and crumbling.
I miss her enthusiasm, her confidence, motivation, passion, her energy levels and sporting ability. I miss the way she walked into the pub without a care in the world, the way she talked mindlessly to strangers on the treadmill, the way she twisted herself up in yoga class, the way she tapped vigorously on the keyboard while writing essays.
I miss who I once was, in a way like I have never missed anyone, not even my own children.
I have not allowed myself to grieve her. I have missed her, cried for her and tried to resurrect her countless times; just to fail. Maybe what we both need, now we are separate entities, is to give her a funeral. To let her go peacefully and accept I have a new start to ficus on. So here it is.
I have cried the most tears I can. I have suffered the worst pain I have known and I have succumb to morbid misery that is unfathomable to some. I have visioned you. I have prayed for you, screamed out to you and I have begged you to wake up. No more! I am letting you go. I know you were not happy. You were tired, sad, used, abused, suffering self hate and you were torturing yourself. You were not, despite my initial belief, the healthiest version of yourself. You deserve peace in your afterlife. You need not suffer here anymore. I release you sweet girl. I know you loved orchids, runs by the river, G&Ts, the strawberry fair, chocolate fudge cake and sunny afternoons with the lads. All these things will be waiting for you where you are going. I promise. Do not be afraid to be lowered into the darkness; in the dirt, because that is where we grow from.
That girl, although fit, full of life and frenzied in her goals, was destroying herself to get to those goals. Her friends were poor choices and her intentions were not pure. Why would I want to resurrect that version of me? I deserve better, she deserves better.
Another thing that came parading into my brain, as I lay there, listening to my partners infuriating snores, was that I have given up trying to become anything at all.
My whole life, every time I tried to become a better version of me, or to do something with my life; it was taken from me. I tried to be a daughter; I was given away. I tried to be a mum; my kids were taken away. I tried to be fit and a PT; my disability halted that. I tried to be a sport student; my illness put up the barrier. I tried to be a wife; addiction took that away. I’m trying to get my new business off the ground; my anxiety is threatening to take that from me. That and a certain social media site which has no fondness of success unless they make money from it.
Given all this and the loss of some of the biggest things in my life, it is no wonder I have given up. I am not afraid of failure, I just don’t believe in success anymore. How do I overcome that mindset?
I have a long way to go. I died. I am yet to be reborn. I am currently meandering mindlessly in limbo, or what I like to call purge-atory. I don’t for one second believe after death we sail straight into the next lifetime. We need to heal. I am healing. That requires time and effort and a knowledge of the self….
I have a plan in my head. So far I lack the resources to put into motion my grand schemes but something, somewhere, deeply seeded in my soul; tells me that this all about to change. I am gestating, crowning even and I can’t wait to burst out screaming and fresh for a new journey.