I saw a butterfly fly past me towards the park today. Mr W and I were heading out for our evening run. Recent events have seen me a blubbering mess and frankly such a hideous sight should be locked away behind blinds, windows and panelled doors. But our evening plans to run were calling and I needed something positive to happen. The butterfly was quite large, its colours were so bright I stopped for a moment to watch its flight. 

I usually people-watch while I run, mostly to stop me from running into them, or to make sure they see me coming. There are many times in which I indulge in people-watching. On the beach, in restaurants and in shops to name a few. However, there are only ever a few times in my life that watching has turned to interaction. I remember leaving work one day, years ago, I was lost in thought and consequently a little old lady walked straight into me. No fault of either really, her eyes were on her misguided feet, mine were in the clouds. I apologised profusely, and she said “there are worse things dear” and tottered off.

I wasn’t sure if she meant that having her stocking gathered around her ankle was the worst thing or that an accident on a token sunny afternoon was really such a big deal. How often do we stress about the small stuff until it becomes this spewing volcano in our not so bad lives? I remember a visitor to my office during that time that had lost her husband recently.  She had two children. Both girls. The older one had graduated a few months after they lost him. Having been through University myself I know how much it meant to have my parents around when I graduated. Telling them the results, taking the photos in my cap and gown and simply being able to make them proud. The younger girl in that family faced moments without her dad. It doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Tonight, and most of this week to be fair, I’ve had my fair share of wobbles. Emotionally I’m not where I would like to be. The world feels isolated from me. I couldn’t manage our run. It’s the first time I’ve physically not been able to move. My legs wouldn’t cooperate and my brain couldn’t force them on. Maybe because mentally I’m at a stalemate too. I sat on a bench staring at the trees wondering what the answer was. Mr W sat beside me and I felt so ashamed. To feel so lost and searching for an answer. I’m not unhappy. My life is so blessed in so many beautiful ways. But there are times when I can’t see the good, when I can’t find myself. This week has been one of those times. 

As we left, well hobbled, out of the park, we saw a car with its hazard lights on pull over to the curb. The man jumped out of the car and looked as though he would throw up in the bushes. Seconds later, he was half kneeling half squatting and Mr W went to investigate. An unmarked police car sped by with his lights flashing as I crossed the road to see if I could do anything. I offered the man water and as quick as my banged up legs would take me I rushed home. I returned with fruit, biscuits and water as Mr W kept an eye out. We stayed until the man felt well enough to drive to work and quit for the night to go home and then we carried on our way. Mr W expressed shock that the police hadn’t pulled over to ask if everything was okay. I said they probably didn’t realise what was going on. It made me realise that mental health will never be addressed until we ask for help. If we had waved down the police I would think they would have stopped. If I wave down Mr W, family, friends, they will stop and help me. They just don’t know how. And neither do I. 

It’s only when I stop and think of the people who too are going through a difficult time and what I would do to help them that I realise I’m not so isolated from the world. Because I too have help when I need it. I just need to ask. Naturally there are going to be things in life and people in life that make us cry, push us down and make us question if we are the person we would like to be. Am I a bad person? Is my bad mental health my own fault?

I’ve suffered for so many years with questions. So many questions that make me doubt who I am to myself and to others. Because these questions are never answered I close myself off. Even when the questions are answered I don’t trust them. Why do I fail so hard when it comes to my own mental and physical health? Why can’t my body do what I tell it to?

More questions.

I want to believe one day I’ll break free of my cocoon, where I’ve spent so long growing and adapting, that I too will be able to rise above the questions and avoid bumping into the old ladies. I’ll have the ability to not sweat the small stuff, to view it from a higher perspective and be content just admiring the view. I just need to ask for help. And not feel ashamed for doing so. One day I’ll find my wings.