I don’t really like calling it depression. I never have, mostly because I’ve never been clinically diagnosed. And while I’ve taken those little quizzes at the doctor or counselor and have been told I have mild depression and moderate anxiety.
Wait. Hold up. If I’ve taken those assessments at the offices of people in the medical field trained to recognize the symptoms and they tell me that I’m on the scale, does that mean I have been clinically diagnosed?
I realize that sounds super dumb but I think in my head I always thought for it to be, like, “official” depression it had to be severe and the kind that needs medication. But maybe not….?
Well. Certainly didn’t see that coming.
So, anyway, this is my way of explaining that things this week have been….off and I haven’t been blogging. I call it my autumnal ennui, a cyclical depression that hits every fall. Sometimes in September, often in October, never in November. So the timing is right: as summer sunsets into winter I fall into a sort of melancholia that burrows deep into my bones. Usually by the time the calendar flips to my birthday month I’m fine, which means once the weekend is over I should start to be able to peel back the covers and see light again.
For now, though. Well. This week I’ve done, like, zero exercise and my food choices have been horrendous. So much so that I didn’t go to my Weight Watchers meeting yesterday.
I know, I know. That kind of goes against the whole “face the scale” thing, but I just couldn’t. I wanted to wake up Thursday and start clean. Blind, I guess. I wanted to start blind. I wanted to be in a place where I made good choices and exercised because I want to, not because of the effect it would have on the scale. I mean, really, isn’t that the ultimate goal?
On the exercise spectrum, I was up super early and made myself get out of bed and got on the treadmill for 30 minutes. It wasn’t much, but after almost a week of sedentary days, it was a step in a positive direction.
Love from the ashes,