Stop Telling Me To Exercise
It’s not going to save me.
Every day, without fail, I see a post on Instagram or a message on Facebook excitedly encouraging men and women to work out and how it will cure their mental illness. I’ve had total strangers comment on my Instagram photos of my personal weight loss progress, asking me to DM them to discuss workout routines and fitness goals (ya know, after reading the well-thought, long caption on said photo about how eating right and monitoring my sugar intake helped me lose 50 lbs and not going for a run). I’ve had no shortage of messages asking what I’m doing to “better myself.”
It has to stop.
I’ve tried. No, I mean I’ve really tried. I’ve joined multiple gyms only to watch my money go down the toilet. I even got a job at a gym so I could get the free membership. I’ve tried Zumba, kickboxing, Pilates, yoga; you name it and I’ve tried it. I almost committed to kickboxing, too. I was fully prepared to pay for a membership at a local kickboxing gym, but when I heard the price tag attached I had to say no).
I know the science behind the benefits of exercise; you don’t need to explain it to me. I know that exercise releases endorphins, and endorphins make you happy (and happy people just don’t kill their husbands), but it’s a quick fix. Endorphins diminish after a while. I would have to work out all day every day of the week to benefit from the happy part of exercise. Because — you guessed it — my mental illness is caused by an imbalance of chemicals in my brain that can’t be fixed with a treadmill or yoga mat. In fact, can’t be fixed at all. Depression and panic disorder are diseases I’m going to have to live with likely for the remainder of my life.
Mental illnesses are not curable. They are treatable. There’s a big difference there. I take medicine every morning and as needed for panic attacks, but it’s not curing my depression. I speak with a therapist biweekly and see a psychiatrist every four to six weeks, but it’s not curing my depression. I consistently went to kickboxing for five straight weeks, and it didn’t cure my depression.
The greatest part about talking about mental health is reducing the stigma. The worst part? Everyone suddenly has an opinion on how I should be handling my treatment. Please stop telling me how to live my life. I trust my medical team a lot more than I trust a stranger CPT on Instagram.
