Running With Coyotes
The sacred space where spirit and mental illness meet.
The morning cries out with the sound of the alarm.
To others, it is an annoying beep. To me, it is the start of another broken day. It yells, Get up and run so you will be worthy. Worth comes from running and controlled eating.
The world is still asleep at 4:45 a.m. The darkness matches the broken.
I do not know if I love The Running or if I hate it. The truth lies somewhere in between. I run to be perfect. Because I am a good girl, I repeat quick prayers to He Who Blesses. Rote prayers rehearsed for many years, with a Catholic finesse. I say them in my head as I think of other things. I am empowered with this false power of multi-tasking.
Prayers done, marked off the list, music on, and go. I will never be overweight if I run. Running saves me from fat. My mind obsesses. Soon I run to the cadence of the word fat. Every time my foot hits the ground, it sounds off fat as if it were a symbol. The clang is so loud. All other voices are silenced. It blows open the gates of fear. I run to reduce my assigned numbers. Three digits decreased to almost two.
I say the word out loud. It comes from deep inside me. I speak it. Over and over out loud. A crazy person, repeating herself like a broken record. I know this isn’t normal and, yet I keep saying it. In the dark, you don’t have to hide your words. It covers my ugly broken. I disturb the deer. I challenge the coyotes. Chase me, I hiss. I keep running, saying the word that haunts me.
One morning I say it, a tear falls. Somewhere inside me, The Broken breaks differently. It feels strange. A soft, white-hot pain that almost isn’t there. A small needle through the chest. Broken smiles as it hits my soul. Its teeth are bared. It already devoured my mind and heart.
I believe everything it says. I am only worthy when I push myself to the extreme. Broken likes extreme because it makes me fragile. I crumble with ease. The break hits my soul, breath is sucked out of me. I see it leaving, my running slows. Breath is my last hope. I feel the final descent to rock bottom. Here in the darkest hour of the day, I finally see the bottom of the break. I prepare to lay down in it. Let go. And then, I hear it. A gentle voice drifts on the top of my breath. It whispers I am here. Confused and compelled, I strain to hear more. Another tear falls. It is the voice of my spirit. I close my eyes and fall into the voice.
The meeting place of Spirit and Broken is bittersweet. Spirit is gentle grace. Broken is jagged fear. Spirit has been waiting patiently for my tears, it is the only way she is released. The last battle is hers, she is prepared.
The crying starts. Winter freezes the tears. Jagged pieces of salted water run down my face. Tearing at the broken. Crying is admittance which takes so long to come forth and become a truth. In the dark, you do not have to wipe the tears away. The battle starts, the running continues. The tears flow as my spirit fights.
Now I speak to your spirit, Dear Reader. Listen. Listen to me. There is a voice that comes on the edge of tears and breath. It is a small but clear voice, and it brings warmth and a choice. It tells you what is no longer acceptable. We have to choose whether or not to listen. Spirit was made to fight for our worth. But first, the crying comes. Sometimes the tears stay for a while. Mine lasted 20 years. Do not falter.
When you cry, you feel the soothing warmth of grace. Grace leads to strength and understanding of your worth. It is your birthright. We all deserve it, but the first person to give it to you….must be you. You must listen to your grace-filled spirit and hear it’s secure promises of a different life. The dark that hid you becomes the dark that transforms you. Through running, I realize- I am not broken. I am ill and ill is not broken. I am whole and human, struggling in many ways, but none of them makes me broken. Now I run to me, instead of from me. The illness steals my identity, I run to reclaim it.
One morning I wake up and spirit whispers, You are worthy without The Running. I drink coffee instead.
