And I ran, I ran so far away…

Sorry this post is a week late. Life is chaos, chaos is life.

Edited to add: Chaos indeed, in the first edition I forgot to put my finish time! Well, I did better than I thought: 2hr 28:55!

But well, I ran the Wales Half Marathon and it was amazing. Last year it was incredibly painful, and I could only call it fun in the most masochistic sense of the word. This year, with a tiny amount of training (a weekly run with Jog Belper, a bit of yoga, and one eight mile run) it was actually an enjoyable challenge to run 13 miles. Well, most of it. Some of those long evil hills could only be power-walked. Still, it was beautiful.

My last-minute sponsorship quest for Derbyshire Refugee Solidarity paid off, with £115 raised so far. This includes £10 given to me during the race itself, by two guys running for the equally excellent charity Hand in Hand for Syria. This was a really touching gesture of solidarity as we struggled up Manorbier Hill.

manorbier
A beautiful place for a run. It feels more hilly when you’re standing on it.

Thank you so much to everyone reading this who sponsored me. That money will go a long way towards supporting people displaced by the wars and unrest in the world. It seems a weird disjointed blog post, thinking about them and going on to write about champagne, but I suppose at least something good has come from this, for more than just me and mine. Spreading the love.

We stayed the whole weekend in Tenby, a big family affair. My cousin cycled 112 miles, which is an unimaginable feat of endurance. Mum, two aunts and brother did the half marathon, and my brother’s girlfriend did the 10k. Chris was my essential moral support, waiting at the finish line with a bottle of champagne.

mefinishing
Finish line: “Gimme the fuckin booze!”

Afterwards we went paddling. Because why the hell not? Champagne on the beach, the glow of athetic achievement… what a buzz. Never felt anything like it. All kinds of magic.

Oh yeah, just to be annoying, why not donate to:

Derbyshire Refugee Solidarity

Hand in Hand for Syria

Or hey, why not go for a run yourself? Or a walk, a bike, a stretch, a swim, whatever you feel like doing, whatever is possible for your own body. I was skeptical as hell about exercise improving mood, but I think I’m convinced now. I’m already looking for the next race…

 

And I ran, I ran so far away…

Looks bad, when you put it like that…

I’m 26 and have never had a job. So far I’ve known the joys of clinical depression, anorexia, bulimia and self harm. Right now my life is enhanced by Borderline Personality Disorder, Depressive Personality Disorder, and probably some kind of anxiety thing. Oh, and G.E.R.D. (gastro-esophegeal reflux disorder, a.k.a. heartburn all the goddamn time, with plenty puking up for no reason thrown in just to make me look even stupider). I’ve flunked and failed nearly everything I’ve tried, except for university, which I managed to graduate 4 years later than everyone else, after wasting 50% of the whole experience being too depressed and panicky to interact with other human beings. The other 50% I was drunk, which was honestly great, though I wish I could remember more.

I’m getting more and more sad. This always happens around this time of year, but right now it is ridiculous. I’ve pretty much lost all the progress I was trying to make, and can’t stop crying. If I ever had any impulse control or discipline, I don’t anymore, or at least it’s all been used up in making sure I don’t cry 24/7. I know they say you should express your emotions, but when I start crying, that’s a day wiped out. One good thing about having a long history of being a miserable fuck is that I know the signs. Feeling on the edge of tears, but unable to cry, means something bad is coming to my mind, is brewing in the background and will eventually explode and ruin something. Constant tearfulness is a prettty standard symptom of depressive disorders. I keep thinking I might have hormonal problems because it’s like having PMS, but nearly all the time. On paper I’m making great plans, I have a full diary. In the real world, I struggle to move. I do manage, though. I went to a poetry night last week and performed two poems. I went on a 6 mile and a 9 mile hike with my dad. I write bits and pieces. My creative work sends me alternating between suicidal despair and driven joy, and is the only thing that occasionally breaks up the ocean of pathetic derealisation and depersonalisation, which are the main alternatives to feeling like the whole world is as tragically sad and unfair as that bit when Bambi’s mum dies.

I have been told in no uncertain terms that the way I live is not at all good enough. I need to be working, driving, exercising daily, and having some kind of hobbies. I need to eat better and wake up earlier.

I got a sleep timing app and it tells me I average about 6 hours sleep a night. I had assumed that I was lazy and wasting time by waking up late, but on top of that, I’m still sleep deprived. I exercise 2 times a week vigorously, not including strolling round the shops or whatever. I cycled 10 miles today. But I didn’t get anywhere and later had a panic attack because I hate shops. The mildest annoyances make my brain flip out and give me a front row seat to the Experimental Jugular Opening Trial. What will work best?
Luckily this is all idle speculation, this is just how I calm my thoughts. In reality I’m just sitting hunched, chewing my fingers/sleeve/scarf, staring into middle distance away from you. It’s actually great progress and mental strength, that I don’t act on self destructive urges any more.
But that won’t get me a job because I’m still a pathetic mental patient who can’t do normal activities without freaking out, so how do I get job and life and stop being such a loser?

Looks bad, when you put it like that…