I cried making eggs two mornings in a row. Like pure disgusting snot filled crying and if I wasn't aware that I needed my house to not burn down, I probably wouldn't have stopped. Perhaps the egg was metaphorical for the way that my life has been slightly crashing and burning. An egg is taken away from its parent, sold to vendors, shopped around, purchased and used. When you hold an egg, you know that its shell is hard but its inside is filled with liquid. Fragile. But eggs need to be cracked most times when you are cooking them so we hit them hard until it breaks. We add further insult to their injuries by leaving them exposed in a cold bowl, maybe whipping them into something unrecognizable and we might add in variables that are foreign to them before we send them to a sizzling pan, awaiting the agony of their death to nurture us.
Was that too heavy handed for you? Well, fuck you. I feel like the egg at this moment. These feelings are very much real and my life has been riptiding horrifically for a few weeks now. So what did I do? I went for a jog yesterday despite weeks of not wanting to go outside. The weather has been changing and my seasonal depression has been kicking my ass at an all time high. My son is a type one diabetic who's been experiencing phantom pains whenever it decides to creep up. Two weeks ago was the first time I physically felt a knot on the side of his stomach thanks to his condition. And before some of you ask about his diet, his diet is pretty balanced for the most part. Also note that type 2 is nothing like type 1. Type 1 is an autoimmune disease. If you're curious about it, know that it's worth the Google search. Anything, and I mean absolutely anything, can send his sugar levels to the roof, including depression. I have been losing the closest people in my life because I have been accused of being an inconsiderate jerk without emotions. You know, they might actually be right, although I beg to differ most times. I find that like humans, I have bad days and more lately than usual.
So what do folks like me with diagnosed mental issues do? Sometimes we sulk. Folks like me run. This is not another blog that will tell you that running cures your depression. If you are looking for that, please stop reading now and I apologize for wasting your time. Running HELPS but it doesn't cure your depression in the least. Some people believe in natural or alternative approaches. Some folks need medication. And that's okay. Personally, I am too scary about pills of any sort so I take the hippie approach with a modern day twist. I talk to a therapist and get my chi together by running, being active, eating less sugar and doing yoga.
Here's what running does for ME:
Listen guys. Life blows. This entry may not help anyone but myself today. The way this week has been going and as much as I'm not trying to do it, I might be crying while making dinner tonight. Regardless of what you may be going through, especially during this holiday season, I hope you know that it gets better. Self care is the BEST care that we can give ourselves. Don't neglect the mental. If anything, running certainly taught me that in my pain, I'm still breathing. The breaths may be shallow or rapid but air is still entering and exiting. Find your happy. Happy trails.
Latoya Shauntay Snell
For my pretentious ass bio, check out the about me page but for anyone interested in who I really am, make me a good meal at your house and I'll tell you a dope ass story.
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