I’ve had a couple of training sessions without updating my training log: a fairly good bench session on Saturday and a squat session on Monday. I tried to hash out my thoughts, but I’m struggling to articulate whatever it is that I want to say. So I’m just going to put it all out there and hope for a semblance of sense.
I am fucking depressed. There is no way around it. And as a result, apart from the stress eating (which I am generally ignoring), I cannot say that I am physically well: my Monday workout wass cut short because I started having an anxiety attack and sobbing in the squat rack.
Trust me: I know that this is not rational or normal behaviour. I did try and reign myself in. But the more I tried to get a hold of myself, the more I started thinking about how no one actually cares if I squat 300lbs. And I as much as I’d like to be able to squat 300lbs for my own sense of self-satisfaction, I care a whole lot more about getting a job and earning an income. So maybe I should just cancel my gym membership because I can’t seem to workout without feeling guilty over the fact that I should be doing something more productive.
A part of me doesn’t want to talk about this at all. There are a lot of people who don’t understand how depression works. The rational part of my brain can see that I probably will not be homeless and unemployed for the rest of my life. But there is a much larger part of me that feels totally hopeless. And no amount of internet doctors who say “Just keep lifting and being hardcore” will silence that voice. Nor does hardcore-ness pay the bills.
On some level, I recognize that there are people with problems a lot worse than mine and I’m not trying to whine my way to a hand-out. I want to be a competent human being who is gainfully employed and can afford to buy the basic necessities with a few perks once in a while. And I recognize that other people have money problems. But when I’m not exactly living extravagantly and my emergency credit card gets declined trying to buy $12 worth of lemons and coffee and lettuce, I start to feel a little terrified about where my next meal is going to come from.
Too bad deadlifting isn’t a currency, because despite all this emotional bullshit, I did managed to set a rep PR tonight. And I know they’re ugly and hitched to the max, but at least I felt genuinely happy for a few seconds. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like.