I have spent some time, recently, falling deeper and deeper into a pit that feels as though it has a crack of black tar, shiny and viscous, leaking out of it. I have not enjoyed the experience at all, but at least it has not been a permanent state of being. It comes and goes, flinging its arms around me when I wake in the night, and as I step out of bed in the morning it seems to lie in wait under the bed, grabbing my ankles to be dragged across the floor in the darkened room.
I have been through it before, and know where it can go, or rather, where my mind let’s it go, and it is never a welcome journey, but from there I also know that it passes. I know how to deal with it; A long, solitary embrace of the despair is the first step sitting pouring out the painful tears in a darkened room. Talk is the next part of the healing along with exercise. All of these steps have been taken and gently the wall is coming down, the blanket is lifting and the stranglehold on my thoughts is releasing.
. The running helps hugely, and I feel better today and it is a huge relief, but
I don’t know why I have always avoided running on the road. I have lived near an awful park for the past 16 years, yet I still run around it and I do not like the place, but find myself unable to run on the road.
Yesterday I left the dog behind and went the other way out of the house and ran along the streets of Camberwell. Wow, it was great. I was so surprised. I ran so easily, there was no pushing effort, it was calm, quiet and as I ran past some of the houses there was the smell of breakfast or a fresh show, coffee and the occasional cigarette. I am so pleased with myself.
I have also been working on smashing every negative thought with a positive one and it is working. Slowly, slowly, the steps are climbing upwards and the light is falling on my face again.