i’ve been quite busy the last few weeks. exercising. at any given point for the rest of the day, i look like i have just had major surgery and should not be out of bed yet. graceful? have you ever seen a fledged large bird of prey that fell from the nest and just sort of flaps around, looking fierce and sadly pathetic at the same time? me.
i know it will get easier as my body, with the infinite wonder of the human design, repairs and strengthens itself so that i don’t look quite so painful to look at when i try and stand up, or sit down, or walk. i know that i’ll lose inches far faster than i’ll lose weight as muscle is built. tendons will lengthen giving me back a wide range of flexibility and my mood will improve and my sleeping will as well.
we ignore exercise when we are depressed and struggling when it should be the thing we turn to as it improves the very thing which is suppressing our minds in fog. we abuse food to self soothe, no different than drugs or alcohol, not connecting the fact that it is almost far worse because we can not simple refrain from using it or accessing it. we can;t even stay away from it.
i hate every single day. i wake up and can almost cry because i don’t want to get out of bed, i hurt and i know that once my feet hit the ground i have to start my day, my new day, with purpose and with conviction to do what is right. exercise, eat right, exercise, repeat. and it’s not easy. and it hurts. mentally it’s as hard as it is physically, until one day it won’t be. i know. i’ve done this before. i’ve battled depression head to head 1000 times in the past and will likely do so again 1000 times before i’m dead.
depression doesn’t get to win the war. we just keep exchanging who wins the battles. and now it’s my turn. or it will be, once i can walk without limping again.