I am constantly torn.
Just feed the good wolf.
Just do it.
I have to do it.
Because, otherwise I’ll end up somewhere else. Like, inpatient. Or in the ground. Because this doesn’t have an end. It does not have an end. There is no thin enough. I cannot even see what I actually look like.
Today on the treadmill, yesterday on the treadmill, Sunday on the canal, Saturday on the canal: I am running and my heart is skipping. My breathing is not right. It’s not syncing. I keep running. Because I have to get to the predetermined mileage. I’m just lightheaded because I need more water. I’m just seeing stars because I need more sleep. I have to finish this run, then I’ll figure it out.
I can’t pass out on my kids. I can’t do that. I have to keep going. I have to feed the good wolf. I have to show up. I have to keep trying. I have to eat.