I am at my desk at work. Imagination wanders like a ranging herbivore. Back of the herd. Eye out for predators. Flick my tail at stinging flies.
Imagining running my first half marathon. Heart pounding. Feet over the ground, stride after stride. Sweat in my eyes. Finish line ahead.
When I run, I forcing good words thru my brain: you can do it, keep going, there it is, you can go faster, keep going. There’s calories in your system, sure, but it’s those thoughts that make you burn. All that fuel goes nowhere without the words.
And in my mind, in this imagining, I hear people screaming. They have seen me. They were waiting and now they see me. (I am having a hard time typing for tears right now.) I hear my daughter, my boyfriend, his siblings, my friends, they have lost their minds cheering me on. I want to do them proud and I find it in myself to run faster.
Cold thoughts pull me back to my desk: Who’s to say these people would be there? I don’t know if anyone would care if I ran like this. The chill deepens: They don’t give a f**k if I joined a race. They have better things to do than to wait around for me to finish running some race.
These kinds of thoughts are how depression bursts back into my life.
I catch myself and I force these next words thru my mind: This cheering and encouragement and excitement is EXACTLY how these people feel about me, EVERY DAY.
I start to cry, because as I tell myself this, I realize that it is true.