Thought I was well enough for a run this morning. Nope.
I was fine while I was running. I was fine while I was stretching. I started being not so fine making breakfast. By the time I’d eaten and had a shower I was so light headed I couldn’t stand. Or even sit. I blacked out as I fell off the toilet. No strength, but at least I could talk and move. More bed rest.
I felt so angry. But not at Gloria. At my body for letting me down again, and for being so pathetic that it needs food. At Tony for trying to make me get back on the recovery road.
The thought of all the food he wants me to eat makes me want to run away. I was very close to cancelling all health care appointments this week. I nearly gave in completely again.
But (there’s always one of those) I can see today as a tiny step forward. I do want to run again. And be strong enough to come home and keep on living, get up and run again tomorrow. Running is the only time right now that I love my body. And I know what I need to do. So even though my hands shake as I put food (that isn’t muesli) into my mouth, even though I want to heave at the foreignness of the feel of it on my tongue, even though each meal seems like a mountain, I will not give in. Oh, how much I want to give in. How easy giving in is. But it only brings days, weeks and months like this.
I’ve slipped so far back down this hill, and it happened so quickly. I’m bruised and sore and heavy of heart as I look up again. I’m hoping that because I have climbed this part of the path before I’ll find it a little easier this time. Please, dear God.
Gloria is not me.