Good:
•Bike ride with great friends on Saturday. Travelled to Cannock Chase, as a central meeting between Sam and me, based in Leeds (and Rob who was up for the weekend) and Mark (Tamworth) and Rich (Oxfordshire). Rode Follow the Dog and the Monkey Trail. I was really surprised at how good and generally fun the trails were. They really make the most of the landscape and limited altitude to create a fantastic mellow, flowing red route, with some interesting, though not overly technical short black options. I wouldn't travel 2 1/2 hours purely to ride here, but will be happy to meet friends there again.
•Short blasts on the CX bike first thing in the morning. No more than 2 hours. No less than exhausted when I get home. Definitely good for my mental health
•Lunch with an old friend and her two year old boy. Don't often get to play cars or diggers when you are 30. (er it was nice to see you too Gemma)
•Headtorch-lit trail run above and around Halifax. Standing on top of Beacon Hill, looking over the Halifax town centre, stretching out to Wainhouse Tower and the moors beyond. Had a few issues with my light shining off misty breath, making it difficult to see. Tempted to get a dedicated headtorch for running. Can anyone recommend a relatively cheap one? Alpkit? Back to the run. For a few short minutes I felt totally and utterly calm. No stress, no worries, not even the nagging sensation that I should be worrying about something. As I hit road again, my mind started wandering, and again the familiar stress drifted back, like the annoying guy at the bar you chatted to once, but now insists on sharing his wisdom with you while you settle down to a quiet pint.
Not so good:
•My girlfriend moved out yesterday, into a room in a shared house 10 minutes away. I helped as best I could, but my head wasn't doing me any favours, and I made things worse, other than being able to move the heavy stuff. I don't know what's going to happen now. I can't picture a way back. I like being able to dream, to visualise, to be able to create what I want in my head, in every detail, so I can almost touch it. I still just feel empty, shell shocked and heartbroken.
•I hate that I'm hurting someone that I love so much. It is all consuming. I have found it so hard to think about anything else. I have to fight the deep miserable sense of loss, guilt and self-hatred. The tips of my fingers are hanging on by the last joint to sanity, to a life, to wanting to exist. It could be so easy to let go and revel in a spiral down into the darkest nastiest depths.
•My (our?) house no longer feels like a home. It felt like a dirty hovel last night, with bizarre, fake holes torn out where the tell-tales of happy co-habitation once were. Suze's favourite mug gone, 75% fewer shoes by the door. An empty dressing room. Dusty footprints where furniture once rested.
•I couldn't face tidying last night. I couldn't really face it this morning, but started it anyway. Started with the bedroom. It almost feels clean and like my room now. Its hard though. I don't really want "my room". But, like the medication, I know deep down it's what I need and good for me. Certainly better than a tangle of hangers on the floor and piles of books stacked on half opened drawers.
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