Today I ran and the pain in my knees was excruciating. I kept running until I was out of breath and tears rolled down my cheeks. I remember how much I used to love to run. Pull on my shoes, lace them up and just go. The feeling of my lungs burning, my face on fire, my legs twitching, and the boom, boom, boom on the pavement with every contact. Pushing past the burning in my lungs, taking deep breaths and feeling so goddam free. Like I could run forever. Just keep going.

Whether I was happy, sad, angry, frustrated, feeling caged, wanting to punish myself - whatever emotion I LOVED TO RUN. Those days are over. With no cartilage left cushioning my bones, I can literally hear and feel the impact of bone on bone, and my knees ripping with pain. The best I can do is a fast walk, and i fucking hate walking. The cross trainer is good as far as impact goes, but its not the same as going for a run.

So on the cross trainer I realised I was scared. I was scared of immigration not letting me into the USA on the 28th September, scared that my green card won't arrive before then, scared that Jas would find out I was coming and call immigration, scared of working as a social worker again. I was such a fucking amazing social worker. Unorthodox possibly, as in not worrying about the environment I was in, but keeping true to my grass roots, keeping true to the principles of social work, embracing my political days in youth work, and giving 500% to the people I worked for. I wasn't a social worker to make friends with co workers, I was a social worker to make sure people with whom I worked got what they wanted. And I was so fucking good at it. Consultant Psychiatrists would ask for me specifically to work with complex and chronic cases. Cases that other workers couldn't get results with.

I was happy to break into a persons apartment at 2am in the morning because they had overdosed on a bad batch of heroin, perform CPR on them, call ambulance and hold them in my arms whilst they vomited over me and we waited for officers to arrive. Go home shower, go to bed and be back at work at 8am the next morning to do the same thing. I knew who I was. I liked who I was. And I felt normal in an environment of dysfunction.

I was petrified going back to that environment. My social worker bubble had burst. I doubted everything and started to question if I had actually lost it. If I was such a good social worker how the hell could I not have foreseen what was happening in my own life. I have worked intensively with mental health for 15 years. I have spent more time with people living with mental illness than I have with undiagnosed people. I fucking specialised in working with women with a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. I had exceptional working relationships with these women because of an understanding, experience, skills and boundaries. In a work place that capped BPD clients at 3 per worker because of the high burnout rate - I HAD 9.

And I never saw it coming. I saw the scars. I estimated they where eat least 15 years old. I know people recover and no longer act on impulses to self harm. That it might have been a small period of coping required to survive. I didn't see it fucking coming. I was played beautifully. I refused to social work myself. My relationship. The environment. I cried. I cried for my foolishness. I cried that I allowed myself to be played so well. I cried that I gave everything, again as I do, and got played. I cried that I lost a woman I thought I loved. I cried because I lost a father I so desperately wanted in my life, that stopped being my father 35 years ago. I cried because I lost my mother, a woman I would have died for over and over again. I cried because she chose him over me. I cried because it felt like even though I try to the right thing its just one loss, continually again and again.

I cried because I felt so alone, so useless, so scared. I cried because the woman I married, who is still legally my wife, has a boyfriend. I cried because I mattered so little to a person who I let see all of me. I cried because I wondered if this is how good life will get for me. If this is it. I cried for being so desperate for love and being wanted, that I feel so pathetic and worthless. I cried because he was probably right. And I cried because she couldn't love me....