Hitting the wall

Getting in from work, I found myself stood in front of my long, rectangular mirror in my bedroom, filled with the usual self-hatred. At only fifty four years old I was dangerously obese, the sides of me not even fitting in the skinny mirror standing several feet away. My face was haggard, the lines filled with deep sadness and time wasted. My eyes looked like I had been in a bar brawl, dark circles engulfing my once pretty blue eyes; years of neglect and 3 hours sleep a night visible to everyone. What was left of my hair was grey and plastered down with sweat, typical after walking up the two flights of stairs to get into my tiny flat. I was breathless, years of smoking making just breathing an effort. Life only added to this. So hard to believe that in my late teens and twenties I used track running as my outlet, now look at me.

I battled with depression for as long as I could remember, sinking bottles with my only friend Jack Daniel, pushing away the constant and overwhelming feeling that I wasn’t good enough for anything good to ever happen for me. I awake every morning and need to do it all again, to stop feeling. That crushing disappointment at the pathetic life that I have created was too much to bear.

I always told myself that I’d been handed bad cards in life, whether that was being raised by an abusive, alcoholic father, failing in school and being bullied relentlessly. Or not being gifted with even ok looks to find someone who might love me. Why would anyone when even my own mother left me in the hospital after giving birth to me?

I have spent my whole life alone and I’ve blamed the world for everything. I have always found an excuse to buy that pack of cigarettes and find that numbness at the bottom of a bottle. But nothing could fill the hole in my life and the ache in my chest.

I’d just been fired from my shitty job at Tesco. I wasn’t even wanted there. So I stared at myself now, tears falling unwelcome down my cheeks, thinking about how I desperately don’t want to be here anymore. What was the point? No one would miss me. Truthfully, I had been feeling like that for a while. Talked myself down from a few ledges, literally, in my lifetime. Fifty four, and I felt like my life was not only over, but had never really begun and I was guilty. It was all my fault, I’ve always known that. Now it feels too late to do anything about it. I’d been having some niggling health problems that I knew needed to be checked, but I figured if I’m on my way out anyway, a self-inflicted disease is only fitting.

I went to the kitchen and ate cereal out of a jug with stale milk for the sake of it, nothing else was washed up and clutter filled the sides. In one visual sweep, not even moving from the kitchen, I could see my whole flat and everything I owned. Dirty laundry filled any chair or table I possessed and there was barely any floor space to move about. How did this happen? They always say time flies when you’re having fun, but for some people, like me, it just flies. Then one day you look back and realise you really have fucked this up. You have nothing to be proud of, no achievements, no family or even a career.

I sat on the one space that there wasn’t shit lying around on the part of the couch that was dented from my fat arse and I cried some more. I moved only to grab a bottle of Jack and took large swigs from the bottle, wincing at the burning pain in my stomach that only got worse as the weeks wore on. Just a few more gulps and it will go away I told myself.

Normally, I would keep swigging, hoping I would pass out soon and praying that maybe I wouldn’t wake up. But tonight, above the depression and the pity and the self-loathing, I felt something else. Deep down, I still had fight left in me and I choked up again, but this time, at the butterflies of hope that washed over me. But I kept thinking about how I wish I could turn back time and sat wincing at painful memories; an endless video of the pain and embarrassment that my life was. I would do anything to start again, to go back to a time when everything still seemed possible and I had my whole life ahead of me. But we can’t change the past and so instead of feeling so out of control and sorry for myself, I thought about the things that maybe I could change. I had officially hit my bottom, the only way from here is up right? I didn’t want to be this person, it was time to start fighting for my life. “You can’t run forever.” I whispered to myself and took a deep breathe. Perhaps it’s not too late, I won’t know unless I try. Just put one foot in front of the other.

I stood up with more determination than I’ve felt since I turned thirty and poured my good friend down the sink. I grabbed a black bag and threw away the trash and clutter that resembled my life and scrubbed until the sun rose. I laid on my now empty couch and let my eyes flutter close, feeling physically exhausted but also a sense of achievement. Part of me thought as I drifted off that I would wake up and all that hope and determination would be gone, but I pushed that thought aside and drifted off into a wonderful sleep.

Night fell and the sun rose again before I’d woken up in a haze of confusion. Looking around at my clean flat, I smiled, the hope was still there. First thing I knew I needed to do was get a job, maybe do something I actually like and want to do, find a spark of passion. I was good with computers and money and had always seen myself in a bank or large office somewhere once upon a time, but I didn’t even know where to start. I decided to start with my CV, having to really elaborate with a few white lies to make it not look so embarrassing. Then I spend the afternoon sending emails and calling any company I could to get a foot in, even if it meant being an assistant or fetching coffee in the meantime. I had to start somewhere, even small steps towards a brighter future was miles from where I am now. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

I went for a walk to get some exercise and fresh air. I inhaled deeply, really taking everything in, it was a truly beautiful day. I let the sun wash over me, feeling like anything was possible. This was the first day of the rest of my life, and as much as I wish I could go back in time, I knew that it’s never too late to start living.