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.
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