At some point I stopped taking care of myself.
I’m not sure if that happened when we left Ohio, after we got here, or somewhere in between- I honestly can’t pinpoint a specific moment.
I stopped running. I disconnected from people. I became so engulfed in what my family needed. I got a second job and was really focused on paying off the baby’s medical bills (among other things) and putting us in a place where we could finally be comfortable.
Then I got tired. And I started to eat more. And then I got really tired- I couldn’t stay up past 8:30ish and I was truly dragging. And I was sad… for no particular reason.
I think part of navigating my way through life with depression is learning what my triggers are and trying to intercept those triggers. I’m still working on it. Figuring out that something is goin’ down with my depression after the fact… well, that’s never fun.
On Sunday, I ran. It wasn’t pretty (it’s been about 2 months) and I was mad at myself for not running.
I could say that I’ve been busy with homework and making dinner and meetings and… and… and… BUT I have to learn that taking care of myself means making the time to do something for me. No one else is going to give me that time but me and I need to take it.
I did a bunch of 30 second sprints as a punishment to myself. Because I knew it would hurt. Because I thought it’d be a good way for my body to hurt and for me to wake the eff up.
What have I been doing?
Why have I been drowning in my family and my work?
It’s really, really unhealthy.
I ran on Monday, too. Today, I rest because my legs don’t like me so much.
But I can’t keep resting.
As much as I hate running, as much as I suck at it, as slow as I am- it’s really, really good for my depression.
So I’ll run.
I’ll run for my sanity.
I’ll run for myself.