Reflections

I know I share intimate details on this blog, which might lead you to believe I have some level of confidence, but the truth is, I suffer from anxiety and depression and I take medication daily.

This won’t shock anyone that knows me. But, part of my problem is the insistent need to overshare.

Maybe that’s why you like me. Maybe that’s why I make you uncomfortable.

If you don’t suffer from anxiety, you may not understand, but I’m guessing, if you read this blog, you have some knowledge in this area.

Isn’t everyone a fucking basketcase, in one way or another?

Why am I telling you this?

Just another example of oversharing?

Maybe.

A warning that what I write is either fueled by anxiety, depression or, if I’m lucky, a mid-level red, costing less than $15.

Relax! I love to write on caffeine, too.

I recently made a list in my journal of all the things that cause me anxiety/depression (and what,EVEN, is the fucking difference?)

Here it is, in NO particular order:

1. Family
   
2. Autism
   
3. Future
   
4. Money
   
5. Autism
   
6. Asthma
   
7. Friends
   
8. Career
   
9. Students
   
10. Work
    
11. Autism
    
12. Weight
    
13. Health
    
14. Etc
    

I could go on and on, and get into some serious minute detail, but I’ll spare you that shit. You have your own worries I’m sure.

I take pills for my blood pressure, too. It’s as bad as my anxiety/depression insofar as it makes my day more difficult than it should be.

So there it is; I take three pills every morning.

I wish I didn’t, but if wishes were fishes… to steal a phrase.

So to my workout...which is the point of this post.

Christ, I can ramble.

I’ve started Working Out, as you may know.

Maybe it makes you roll your eyes.

I visit CrossFit about four times a week.

I don’t love it, because that’s stupid. That shit hurts and makes me sore and nauseous, among other things. I am loving the people, for sure, but the workout...it’s hard and it hurts. I can’t do most of it and spend my workout scaling everything back to a manageable movement.

I’m always last. I’m always slowest. And, for the most part, I’m always confused.

But there is something that makes me want more. Something that makes me look forward to my next visit.

That’s so strange to say.

Why the Fuck, would this tired ass, obese (relax, the truth hurts) teacher and autism mom, enjoy a level of self-harm that puts her emo-stage in the early 90’s to shame?

Here’s what I’ve discovered (and yes, most of you probably already know this)

When you kick your own ass, there is something released into the brain that rivals the pills I take to make it through my day.

Do you hear that?

CrossFit makes me happier.

Isn’t that the most fucked up concept?

This special-needs mom, with a severe level of anxiety and mild depression is telling you…that...exercising until you think you might vomit on an elite athlete’s shoes, is better for your head than any pharmaceutical out there.

There, I said it.

And if you don’t believe me…

Fuck off, I don’t care. CrossFit doesn’t make me nicer.