This time last year I was very unwell. The darkness was almost overwhelming.
I was struggling with my depression and every day I was worried that I would lose the fight. While I picked my way through the dark times that had led me to that point (with professional support) I had the boys as a shining light to guide me back through the darkness. Mindfulness was something that wouldn’t work for me, but the Moors were a place that I could go and feel Small.
And if I was small in this vast landscape then my problems were not that big either.
If the problems weren’t big then I could get past them.
November came, with my birthday, and I reached the lowest point ever. The boys weren’t enough… I just wanted to sleep, to give up. My GP told me to go to the moor, just for a short walk, knowing it would do me good as it was one of my coping strategies. I vaguely remember arriving at Buckland beacon and sitting down on top for a rest and to take it all in, maybe do a little self tie, which often proved helpful.
It was too much.
I don’t remember how I got home, or into bed, but had I not had some rope belonging to a friend in my bag I wouldn’t have made it down safely. How could I ruin her relationship with rope? I shall be forever grateful to her for being relaxed about me returning those hanks of blood red jute-y goodness late.
As you will probably have gathered from my tor bagging adventures I spend a lot of time on the moors, but I had been actively avoiding this spot. That isn’t a hard task when you think how much space there is to roam free. On monday I was brave and ran up there, bagging another tor, well, more specifically a point of interest, for the collection.
The association is gone.
What a difference 8 months makes.
It doesn’t quite fit with where I have got to in my story, but I wanted to share this now as I was so proud of my achievement, but also I want to inspire hope. Darkness is so very difficult, but it can be overcome.