I overworked myself. I watched myself do it too. I thought casually ‘you’ll blow your knees’. ‘You’re going to have a mental break down’. ‘You’re over training’. I still let myself become overwrought.
I moved out of home, I thought I met a boy, my ex boyfriend decided to touch base, I forced a training schedule in the hope that it would force normalcy, I lost it at work and was overrun by work related confusion.
So predictably my knees blew up and I got sick. Sicker than I have been ever, physically at least. I came home to see my GP about some heavy duty anti-inflammatories and ended up with pneumonia.
I fainted in the early hours of one morning, putting a tooth through a lip and an ambulance was called. Three of my vital organs were distressed. My temperature sat above 39 degrees. I ended up spending four nights in hospital, they’d have kept me another I think had I not become so fed up with the headaches and lack of sleep.
I suppose the strangest thing for me here is that I have no real concept of how sick I was. I was simply too unwell to soak up the fear and stress around me. Especially in that first 24hrs where there was terrible concern about my heart and a possible clot in my lungs. Every morning the doctor kept saying ‘you were very sick’ and now I’m home with the evidence of a 6kg weight loss and yeah, I guess I was pretty fucked up.
My body had to do something though, to get me to stop. Pneumonia seems a touch dramatic.
There is so much to unpack in this post, and I intend to do so eventually. If only to soothe the many trails of thoughts and feelings that I have spent weeks, maybe months, allowing to fester.
I am unhappy at the moment. And I let it become a train wreck. I’m promising myself now I’ll do better.