It’s on the telly this morning. There was a time when it broke my aching heart, but I’ve been over it for years.
I came home from war, hurt, badly hurt, but still with my young action man mindset. Determined to make my limbs work again and get back running and stuff. Watched the London marathon from my day bed two years later and vowed I would run it one day.
By the time it was on the telly again the following year, my arms and legs were moving but not in the old way, certainly not in the old way, and I’d had my severe ME/fibromyalgia diagnosis. Chronically ill. Crash course in knowledge I didn’t want.
Still action man in my head. I’d got my limbs working and nothing was going to stop me from running that bloody marathon sometime.
Well, guess what, action man. A year later, everything had crashed from overdoing everything and the London marathon on the telly taunted me into hot bitter tears. Never gonna happen, mate. Never. Just, never. See this bottomless pit? You’re in it. Right in the bottom of it.
All that was about 20 years ago. I’m over the London marathon now. It can’t make me cry anymore. I found another marathon. Two really.
One, the ME/fibro one, came without me looking for it or wanting it. I’m still running it. No choice.
The other, learning how to write novels, the one I started to keep myself sane, is also a long distance run. Six titles published so far. Number seven on its way in May. That’s a marathon I can enjoy. Take it at my own pace. At ME and fibro’s pace. At my life’s natural pace. It doesn’t hurt me. Doesn’t make me crash and burn. It’s okay. My life is okay.
Yours will be too. If you’re reading this and hurting, I love you, and you should love you too. Your life will be okay. Be gentle with yourself.