I went for a run today, for the first time in weeks. In an attempt to raise my endorphin levels and snap myself out of the low mood that took hold about a month ago I hauled my weary body out of the house and half heartedly around a not very big patch of the common. I barely broke into a sweat but the relief I felt just to be in my trainers and actually doing something positive was tangible.
I’m hoping to prove to myself that if I can just stick with the exercise that my mood and serotonin levels will no longer be at rock bottom and that I can recapture the feeling of optimism and good spirits that got me through the summer. Nothing has changed in my external world of late but I’ve been wandering around underneath such a nasty black cloud that you’d think I was adjusting to some terrible news or grieving a tragic loss.
Grumpy, irritable, nerve jangly, permanently on the edge of tears and please, let’s not mention the sighing. I’m doing an extraordinary amount of sighing – a sure sign that my default setting has switched from moderate to low. I’m not exactly a joy to be around. I keep waiting for my four, probably led by Ella, to break the news to me that they’re off in search of another, jollier, altogether more likeable Mum.
‘Going to love you and leave you now, mum. Take care. All the best. Ta-ta’
Right now I’m not quite sure how I’d convince them to stay.
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