At the beginning of August 2016 I was living a normal life. Maybe not “normal” in the sense that many would call normal, but normal for me. I’d just turned 45, my husband and I were about to celebrate our 14th wedding anniversary, and we’d still failed to unpack or sort the chaos in our small flat following a rushed move a couple of years earlier. I spent my days studying when I could, playing music, running, being with our animals, and forgetting to eat lunch. All as usual.
I had, however, started to feel unwell again during the previous year. I’ve struggled with my mental health for decades, and was diagnosed first with anxiety and depression, then later with bipolar disorder. But I’d been reasonably stable since around 2013, had started to play the viola in orchestras again, and had generally spent much more time out in the world, reconnecting with friends, trying to rebuild my life, in the hope that I might one day be able to work again and be back to some sort of genuine “normal”.
But my health had started to decline. I’d had to drop a concert and several chamber music sessions, withdraw from my Open University study yet again, pull out of some races I’d planned to run, and by July I’d been back to my GP and picked up a prescription for the medication I’d successfully come off in 2013. It seemed obvious that I was headed for another breakdown, another episode of depression.
However, looking back now, there were things that didn’t tally with the descent into breakdown. For many years, I assiduously kept a mood diary. Just a simple cross in a box each day, to indicate an elated or depressed mood. My mood was still reasonably stable. A little under, but nothing that would indicate a severe mood shift. On the same chart I had a box into which I’d write a “score” for anxiety each day. The anxiety measurement was consistently high, and rising. That anxiety perhaps explained why I spent so much time feeling sick, why I would suddenly panic and shake for no apparent reason. I needed to calm myself somehow.
I was also perpetually exhausted. Going out to rehearsals sapped my energy and left me worn out and needing to sleep for days. I couldn’t drag myself out of bed much before ten or eleven, even on the best mornings. I’d go shopping to the supermarket and buy a small trolley load of groceries then come home and need to sleep for a couple of hours before I could put them away. That would then be me finished for the day. Going out for lunch or dinner would entail a two day recovery period. I’d had times like this before, but things were getting noticeably worse – no matter how well I ate, or how much mindfulness I practised, or what CBT tools I used, I was bone-numbingly exhausted whenever I went out.
A few people suggested chronic fatigue syndrome, but I knew that wasn’t right. I was still running, and once I’d recovered from the exhaustion I could easily do a 50K training run. Although I was really struggling at races – at the Brighton Marathon expo I’d had to take my husband with me to collect my bib as I’d been hardly able to speak to tell them my name. When other runners chatted to me during marathons I felt my legs get weaker. I got to an aid station only 30K into an ultra (no distance for me) and was unable to get a cup of tea because I had a huge panic. I sat by the side of the trail, shaking and in tears, before eventually pulling out of the race, assuming I had the flu because I felt so ill.
But the summer was approaching. I knew things would be quieter and I’d be able to catch up on sleep and get some rest. I could also pause my training schedule, chill out a bit, and I’d planned to spend much of the summer playing orchestral and chamber music and catching up with friends. I knew it would be busy and I’d be camping, but I also knew it was something I enjoyed. I’d even bought a new tent!
And so I set off with my tent, but without any idea of what was going to happen. I didn’t know then that I was only days away from something that would start to trigger a chain of events that would change my life for ever. Neither was I aware that the next few weeks and months would be an emotional rollercoaster like nothing I’d ever experienced before, and that the biggest discovery of my life was about to occur.