One of the reasons I exercise is that I have depression. While I don’t keep my depression a secret, I don’t talk about it a lot either because it isn’t all that relevant in most circumstances. Also, it’s challenging to explain. I don’t walk around looking at my shoes and crying all the time. It’s more like I have the worst teacher/parent/coach you can imagine living in my head telling me I suck all the time. On a good day, I can ignore it. On a bad day, I may not make it out of bed.
On the day after a bad day, I exercise. As soon as I can gather enough gumption to get up, I figure out when and how I can get sweaty and breathless. It works like a high-powered vacuum on my head.
I am one of the lucky depressives. Medication mostly works for me. I have a list of things to try whenever I start to fall under the sway of the monster, up to and including massive doses of Julie Andrews. But always, one of the very best choices I can make is to move my body.
If you have a similar problem, I am ready to be here for you, whenever. Call/text/email/smoke signal/telegraph me in an emergency, or just because. And please, consider going outside and moving. It helps.