It's coming up to a year since I embarked on my journey along the South Downs Way. I still remember how hard I found parts of it but most notably day 2. Day 2 was when my feet really started to hurt and I also spent the majority of the day without bumping into anyone.
I still find it fascinating that not really seeing/speaking to anyone was one of the hardest parts about that day, considering I spend so much of my life avoiding interacting with people because of the immense anxiety that I get from socialising.
What I remember most about that day though, was reflecting on what I was actually doing. I was out there in the South Downs National Park, by myself, walking 100 miles, just to see if I could. Actually, it was to prove that I could. To myself.
To explain why, I have to go back 6 years earlier. 6 years before I did the South Downs Way I was sat in a mental health workshop at the office, it was a full day event and it was to teach us about how mental health affects the workplace and to make us more away of things like presenteeism. As part of that course we all completed a checklist about life events and stresses, this gave us all a score that was supposedly a predictor of whether we would have a mental breakdown in the next 12 months.
My score was off the charts. It was more than double the upper threshold.
The next day, I was in a car accident involving a cyclist.
The day after that, I received a call from my mother who thought she was having a heart attack.
Cue mental breakdown.
As someone who has spent the vast majority of my life with undiagnosed autism, suicidal ideation is not something that is foreign to me. But this time it was different, I became so anxious and afraid, of everything, that I really did not want to be alive.
"If this is living, then I don't want to live" I remember saying to my partner at the time.
I was afraid. I became afraid of so many things but through therapy I realised that at the heart of it all was a fear of death. I was so afraid of death that I wanted to die because I couldn't cope with the level of fear that I had. Make it make sense.
I got to the point where I was checking my heart rate over 200 times a day, I know this because in a session with my therapist we sat down and did the maths. It was then that the acronym "OCD" began to float about. But realising that it was really death that I was afraid of made something click for me. I felt like I had a reason now, a reason for all the fear and I could work with that.
I began to expose myself to the things I was afraid of, and what this looked like in practice was me putting on my boots and going to my local country park and walking, a lot, up and down steep hills, and quickly. I began to get comfortable with my heart rate rising again, I was spending more time outside and I was feeling healthier. Still afraid, but like something good was coming from it.
I started to go on longer and longer walks, and then eventually I realised that driving was still a big source of anxiety for me. So I sold my car, and then I thought, "how will I go camping". Well, the answer is obvious: on foot.
I went on my first camping trip by foot, and then my first "thru hike" (which was only 20 miles, but I camped in the middle, so it counts!)
Eventually I decided that I wanted to try a real challenge, I looked into the National Trails, and toyed with the idea of completing one. I picked the South Downs Way because it seemed to be the most beginner friendly: lots of (clean) water available, plenty of campsites, no tricky terrain, and pretty close to home as someone who lives in the South.
And there I was. 6 years later. On the South Downs Way. On day 2, crying about how much my feet hurt. Thinking I was stupid for even thinking I was capable of such a feat. Wondering if it was really possible that I could finish. And then I realised something. It really doesn't even matter whether I finish, it isn't about the destination, it's about the journey.
There was a time in my life where I was afraid to go outside, afraid to get my heart rate up, afraid to be alone (I literally would come home from work and then lay on the living room floor flat on my back and just wait for hours for my partner to get home, not moving. I thought this was the only way I could stay alive), but now here I am, 25-30 miles or so into a 100 mile journey, with 12kg worth of gear, food, and water on my back, alone.
Every step is a new record, every step is something to be proud of, every step is further than I have ever walked, every step was proof that I can overcome my fears, that I can overcome the darkest days in my life.
And now here I am, another year on. 7 years since my breakdown. 1 year since the South Downs Way. I've now also got the Ridgeway under my belt, plus the Boudicca Way, and I'm about to embark on the Cleveland Way.
I've proven to myself that I can overcome great fears, that I can do hard things, and I will never stop.
I am no long afraid of dying, I'm afraid of not living.