“I—”
I can’t get the words out.
I turn away, putting as much distance between myself and the two men as I can. Angus doesn’t say a word.
That pisses me of. How dare he not stand up for me? Defend me? Ewan is in the wrong: all I’m trying to do is help, and he’s there shouting at me. What have I done to deserve that?
A few minutes later I pause, out of breath, and realise I’ve left the group far behind. A dense mist has descended, and whatever direction I look, I can barely see a few metres from my face.
I’m alone.
I take another couple of painful, tottering steps. The ground is flatter than yesterday, the walking easier, with fewer roots and drops and uneven stones. But in the mist, I can hardly see any of the landscape I’m passing, as if I’ve stumbled into a cloud without a compass. Am I even going the right way? It’s impossible to tell.
Why am I doing this? What seemed like a good idea tucked into the warmest of pubs with Marnie, crying, yes, but doing it with my best friend, as she patted my back and stroked my hair and told me what a brave and beautiful person I was, now feels like a nightmare. Yesterday morning, I wanted to be alone, craved the solitude of my own thoughts, but now I feel trapped inside them, locked in by the silence, and the fog, and the bone-deep fatigue and the agony I feel in every part of me.
I can’t do this.
I don’t want to do this.
But I’m miles from a road, even if I knew where to find one, and I can’t bear to go back and admit my weakness. Especially after Ewan’s outburst.
There is no way out.
A tear slips down my cheek, and then another.
How could Ethan do this to me? How can I have failed, again? Even the safe option doesn’t want me enough to stay faithful to me. Even the lowest risk path has still seen me hurt.
Nothing I do is enough.
I’m not enough.
Not thin enough. Not disciplined enough. Not fun enough. Not adventurous enough. Not rich enough. Not clever enough. Not ambitious enough.
And now I’m alone. No degree. No plans. No flat. Stuck in a job I don’t like, that there’s no development in, where I will never get promoted and which takes pains to make it clear how little it values me.
All the dreams, the spark, the passion I had when I was young, gone.
And I can’t even finish one fucking hike.
The clouds I fear so badly aren’t hovering at the edges now, they’ve well and truly taken over. I know what I’m doing: I know these are intrusive thoughts, that they don’t reflect the entiretyof me, that I’m catastrophising, that I’m ruminating, that I’m spiralling.
But still, I can’t stop them, can’t close the floodgates now they’re open.
Useless. Waste of space. Pointless. Failure.
Every thought a jab at my heart, a weight in my chest, another stone slowing my steps.
I know, I know, I know that I’m doing this to myself.
Need to think positively. Need to try harder. Need to wear a brighter T-shirt, put on a bigger smile.
I can hear my mother’s voice, the echoes of her pleas from when I returned post-university, post-collapse, tail between my legs. She didn’t understand. No one did.Why can’t you try, Rowan? We love you. Everyone loves you. Why don’t you get up? Why don’t you finish the degree? I know it’s hard, but you’re a smart girl. And you’ve always been such a hard worker. Come on, love. Give it a go. Why don’t you try?
I couldn’t then. And I can’t now. I’ve run for so long, made my life so easy, hidden from the world in TV and wine and fluffy dressing gowns, tried to do everything perfectly so that the thoughts wouldn’t have anything to latch onto, wouldn’t have a place to land, wouldn’t catch me, but here they were anyway. Ready to ruin my life. Again.
I can’t go back to that place, where there is no light, no colour, no joy. I can’t be that person again.
But one thought creeps in, the one that scares me most of all. Have I ever really left that person behind? Or is she still in me, every day, my shadow self? Is she the real me, and everything else a façade?
