I'm pretty sure these aren't the motivational words rattling around our Olympians' heads right now, thank goodness, we'd be a pretty miserable sight if they were. These are the words written on my notepad. I stare at them, tears rolling down my cheek. Then I drawn a box around the top word, making it bolder and bolder until the word itself is almost hidden by the thick lines of blue ink.
I shouldn't feel any of these things, but I do. I am surrounded by family and friends who love me dearly and yet they are helpless. They are left to watch from the sidelines while I battle these horrid feelings, alone.
I don't want to but there isn't a choice. This is happening to me. Not them. It's a selfish, all consuming thing that swallows me up and pulls me away. It doesn't matter how many physical people there are around me, there's no shaking the loneliness that C-Monkey has brought with him. He wraps it around me like a blanket I can't shake off. (I'm not even a blanket person, I've always found them a bit...musty. They always remind me of old people and wet dogs...)
I know it would only take a word, a mere glance in their direction and they'd all be here, in a shot, running in fact, to stick the kettle on, give me a hug and chat for hours on end. I know how lucky I am to have them and that they're all there, just waiting for the word, the sign that it's okay to approach....
But there are days when I just can't do it.
It's such an alien feeling not wanting to talk. I like to talk. A lot actually. All the time in fact. I once flew to Australia by myself which involved two pretty epic flights alone, not talking. To anyone. For hours and hours and hours. It was torture. By the time I landed in Singapore I was fit to burst. The poor lady in the duty free shop got it all in one go, she only asked how I was. By the time I'd taken a breath she'd pretty much heard my life story, including why I was going to Australia (to mend a broken heart), who I was visiting (my oldest best friend Faye, born two days before me, our mums are best friends, my middle name is Faye by the way...) and the story line from the five, yes five, films I'd watched on the plane.
I'm like an old lady at a bus stop, just waiting for some unsuspecting youth to walk past so I can regale them with tales from my youth, even though there's probably only ten years between us....
If talking were an Olympic sport I'm pretty sure I'd be world class. Move over Wiggins, here I come, making my bid for Gold in the freestyle talking nonsense relay - complete with signature hand gestures, accents and facial expressions. The Italians, who, let's face it, would be the only real competition, wouldn't even come close!
Even up on the podium I'd be chatting away "Oh isn't this lovely, I really don't know what to say. I'm speechless. Completely speechless. Wow...This medal is actually quite heavy, I mean seriously. Feel it, go on, it's really heavy isn't it. Is yours heavy, can I try it on? The silver one is nice, it really suits you. I mean obviously I love the Gold, but Silver is still such an achievement too, you should be really proud. Where are you from again? Oh, I've never been, I'd love to though. It's meant to be beautiful. I think my sister may have been once or maybe it was my friend...yes it was definitely my friend because my sister doesn't like flying, she's okay on boats though. I hate boats, I always think about what's underneath all that water. All those big fish, sharks mostly, just waiting....you know, to eat you up, chomp chomp chomp! (small chomping hand gesture) I think I'm still scarred from Jaws. I love that film, it's probably one of my all time favourites, Spielberg is a genius. I did also fall in to a fish pond when I was little, so that might explain why fish kind of freak me out. I like to eat them though. Have you ever had fish and chips? You'll love it. Make sure you get loads of salt and vinegar on top, but not so much that the batter goes soggy, that's a bit gross. I like your flag.... oh here come the anthems. Yours is really good, very lively. Can I sing along?"
You see, I love to talk, just chatting away happily, it's nice. You're never really lonely if you're able to have a good natter with people. Ask questions, be friendly. But now. Well for the first time ever I really don't want to talk. At all. I don't know how to get the words out properly. I mean how the hell can I, it's all so much. My head is literally rammed full with every thought, emotion and feeling possible. I'm exhausted by it all. It weighs me down but I can't seem to let it out. I just want to be quiet.
Also if you start to talk, well then you have to deal with the consequences. Other people's emotions, reactions, thoughts, suggestions, advice. Nope, can't do it. Don't want to make them sad or hear how it's all going to be okay. I know it will. I really do. It is already so much better than it was before and I should think of the positives, I'm so lucky, it could have been so much worse...and then here it comes...GUILT! Big wet guilt ball, right in the face. Nice.
The weekly pumps are still continuing. I thought I was on track, inflating nicely and filling out in all the right places. Less wonky water balloon, more small, if slightly odd looking, grapefruit. But it turns out I might have jumped the gun. Apparently I'm not pumped enough. It might only be a small delay, a few weeks, a month at best. So nothing to stress about.
Nothing to stress about at all. But I can feel my stack of cards shaking. I can see the knock on effects of the delay. The set back to my plan to get back to me as quickly as possible. It's rippling through everything I'm desperately trying to keep steady, to hold on to. My life, work, money all that "stuff" that shouldn't matter but it does. The smallest shift and it feels like everything could come tumbling down.
Okay, okay, that's enough now. Step away from the panic button. Breath in and out. No more caffeine for me. I will not panic or loose control over this, it's a minor set back. In the grand scheme of things all it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. I am very, very lucky. I just need to remember that. (Dodges another guilt ball attack.)
C-Monkey needs to let it go too. He's like a dog with an old chewed up ball, he won't spit the damm thing out, maybe he'll choke on it. Here's hoping.
I guess he's a bit like me, he won't spit it out when he needs to, just keeps chewing it over and over into a thousand little pieces, all over the carpet. Well I'm not cleaning up his mess, I only hoovered yesterday.
Okay, so maybe I'm not ready to spit it all out just yet either, or give that gold medal in talking a go, but there's nothing to say I can't cheat a bit and write it down instead. After all, talking to myself is still talking, right?
And who knows, maybe I'll win a gold medal in something else, like eating cheese...now that would be good!