“The end, not one more step, empty, barren,” words that came flooding into my mind this morning after a very long and restless unforgiving night.  I am reminded of a passage I read from a book, “I’m exhausted by the cumulative consequences of a lifetime of hasty choices and chaotic passions.  I feel like the soil on some desperate dry farm, sorely overworked and needing a fallow season, so that’s why I want to quit.”  This was all going through my mind on my trundle around the block.  My light footed glide has been replaced by heavy feet, heavy legs, heavy body and a desperate gasping for air.  I refer to this torture as my stagger.  My stagger is an overwhelming success actually, as I had been warned that I would never run again, but I constantly, without intent think back to how easily I used to fly around the streets, drumming along the pavements and up and down into the forest.

I am self admittedly  an all consuming kind of person, a tad overwhelming for many.  When I make my mind up to do something or love someone, my whole body, heart and soul is involved.  I will love everything about you and you can have my time, my undivided attention, my family, my dogs, my cooking, my home, my party mood.  If I love you I will carry your pain, I will protect you from your pain,  from your real insecurities and those you never even knew you had.  I will buy you extravagant birthday and Christmas presents and probably for your whole family too. I do the same when I tackle sport or a new idea.  I ran and ran, I injected my foot, pushed anti inflammatories, until I could not take a step without the ricochet of pain shooting from my shattered foot and dislocated toes up my leg, I persevered, because I had done the training, because I had committed to a race date, because I had committed to the friends I ran with, but in the end  on every level I end up so absolutely exhausted and depleted that I can’t work out what is wrong and how I failed to read the situation.  Do I fail to see the signs, even when they are physically painful?  Am I like many of you, who hopes the pain or misery will pass and all will be well if I ignore things for just a little longer?

Our eyes are the windows to our souls I believe, and mine look distinctively weary,  they look strained and hollow, like the eyes of refugees on foreign territory.

This is not a story of despair, because I know that with each new day, there are new opportunities.  I know that some new people will come into my life and once again I will be so excited with my new adventure that I will be carried away with the romance and drama of it.  The lighthearted part of this tale is that I am about to tackle horse riding lessons and I am wondering if I will be able to do this for simple pleasure, or if I will soon be decked in jodhpurs 24/7 and smelling like a stable.

Am I alone in this, do any of you relate, or should I seek the comfort of a Professional’s couch on a more permanent basis?