Winter in Kiev.

There is a voice in my head that I try not to listen to.

It whispers to me all the time. At training. At work. In my sleep. It speaks with a wisdom I can’t argue with it.

It tells me I’m no good. It tells me I can’t do this.  It tells me it’s too hard. It tells me I’m too tired. It tells me no-one cares. It tells me nothing matters.  It tells me I’ll never amount to shit.

I try to push it aside. Try not to think about it. I ignore it. But it always comes back.

There’s no point. It’s too late. I don’t care enough. I’m not good enough. I’m not fit enough. I’m not smart enough.

Sometimes I listen. I drop my guard. It eats into me.

I can’t do anything. I’m useless.  I’m nobody. I’m worthless.

It tells me things I want to hear. It says I don’t need to be doing this.

It tells me I have a choice. It tells me I don’t have to be here. It tells me I could use a rest. I’ve trained so hard already. One session off won’t matter. I could just stay home. I could just stay in bed. I could just stay asleep.

It tells me I’m too old. Too injured. It tells me to tap. It tells me it can all be over. It tells me I can’t breathe. It says my back isn’t strong.  It tells me I’m in pain. I’m exhausted. I’m trapped. I’m beat.

It tells me to stop fighting. It tells me it’s easier. It tells me to acquiesce.

It tells me to. just. give. in.

I listen to it. I obey it. And I hate myself.

There is a voice in my head that I try not to listen to.

But sometimes I do.