A small voice

It's common to spend time at this age reflecting on the past and contemplating what's left of the future. Perhaps you're looking back at achievements, planning a few more steps along a career path, paying off a mortgage and topping up the pension. Perhaps you're thinking about what you and your significant other will do once you can retire- projects to make the house nicer, adventures to go on, ways of celebrating those big anniversaries.

I don't get to do any of those things as I have no career and a pension that is hardly worth anything. My job pays so little that retirement isn't an option- I need to die in the next 15-20 years really. I have no house and there will be no adventures or holidays or anniversaries together to celebrate. Looking back I see that where I am now is because I've spent almost all my life trying to do right by everyone else, putting other people first because what they were doing or what they needed was more important than me.

Women in particular can find themselves caught between the responsibilities for their children and those for parents who are now ageing, frail, ill or dying. That's where I am now- having to put what others need first. I don't begrudge supporting my children- they need what they need in order to be able to leave home and follow their own paths, and as a parent it's your job to ensure they can do that. How can I not support my dad whilst my mum is slowly dying? No one should have to go through that alone so it's a weekly 500 mile round trip on top of everything else.

I am trying to accept that there will be no time for me- that the choices I made in the past have led me to here. But somewhere inside there's a small voice raging at the waste of me- the potential that was never fulfilled, the love that was rejected. Running a long way doesn't prove anything but it's all I can do to let a bit of that voice free, except that I'm not even sure I can do that now. The time I do have to train I'm just so tired, so demoralised, that it becomes another battle to fight.

The last couple of months have seen me visibly age: there's a bunch of new wrinkles and deeper worry lines than there were at the start of summer, and there are many more white hairs. But despite looking so old, the small voice is still young and still raging to live.

Quantum entanglement

Do atoms or molecules fall in love? They can behave as if they do. In certain situations, atoms that were together can still affect each other when they are far apart with no apparent means of communication. They have become inextricably linked. It's called quantum entanglement.

If you listen very, very carefully, shut out all the external noise, in the deepest dark and despair you will hear my heart beating. You'll feel it too. Sometimes it flutters, but you don't need to worry about that. If you listen very, very carefully, behind all the other sounds you will hear my feet stepping beside yours. They aren't sure-footed but are still there, running and walking alongside you every mile.

It might be comforting, it might be the opposite. You don't have to like it. You can always not listen and drown out the noise with everything on the surface, although that will become ever more difficult as you tire. Nevertheless, the heartbeat and footsteps will be there and neither you nor I get to choose. 

Disclaimer: I am not a quantum physicist and do not claim to have any particular knowledge of this subject other than what I have learned from reading about it. 

Shades of grief

 I'm grieving for the loss of someone who isn't dead. It's not a good place to be. Waves of sadness, pain and anger wash over me, sometimes at quite random moments. The unexpectedness unbalances me, sweeps my feet from under me, and I'm submerged- unable to see or breathe.

I'm grieving for the loss of the future, a shared vision, adventures. Your footsteps, smile and steely blue-grey eyes haunt me every time I lace up my shoes and run. Memories cling to me like the mud on my shoes weighing me down, making every step so much harder. Memories that are now punctuated with doubt and second guesses- events that should be blissfully remembered are tarnished because the truth of them is no longer sure.

I'm grieving because I thought I'd found my place to be- somewhere safe, warm, where there was love and respect. Instead I'm cut adrift and far from the sight of land. I'm surrounded by empty, grey, ceaseless motion when all I want is to stop moving and rest. 

I'm grieving because there was no chance to say goodbye, to come to terms. One moment the sun shone and I was in your arms, the next you had cut me off and were gone. It is as though you are dead. Whilst you enjoy your new lease of life I'm still falling further and further from the light. 

"In the end it didn't even matter"