My depression kept me in bed until 3 p.m. today. But I finally got myself up and made it out to exercise. I was feeling quite low on the walk to the gym. Depression is like a prison for your mind, a lockbox around your head...You sincerely believe that you will never feel better or ever feel any pleasure in anything. I'm trying to give up caffeine this long weekend, so that probably isn't helping matters. My outlook did brighten after thirty minutes of cardio, and I also weighed myself. I've managed to get back under 250 pounds. Granted, I'm like 249 and seven-eighths and a half, but dammit, I'm under 250 pounds!
I had a very nice Fourth of July yesterday, which was fortuitous since I was keen to fall off the wagon Thursday night and Friday afternoon. I finished helping my mother with a project on the computer. Afterwards, my parents took me out for lunch, and we then went to my apartment. My father helped me install a window air conditioner in my bedroom (that my mother bought me) while my mother took it upon herself to tidy up my place. (So yes, I am quite spoiled.) That evening, I went out to an Independence Day festival at a local park with my two friends and their three children to hang out and watch fireworks.
Insult to Injury
As you can see, my parents are very good to me and always have been. I realize how lucky I am to have grown up in an intact home where I was loved and to have benefitted from a thousand other blessings in my life. However, it also makes me feel quite guilty because I'm generally an unhappy person. I feel as if my moods are an affront to my good fortune or, at least, that said blessings would be better going to someone who might appreciate them more. I mean, I do appreciate everything I've been given in life, and I do make an intense—and exhausting—effort to rise above my biochemical handicaps. So I really can't do anymore about the ugly mess that is my psyche, but I still feel overwhelming guilt all the same.
