If you have been following me for a while, you know I’m depressed.
In order to get well, I started to improve my lifestyle by eating healthily, having enough sleep, exercise five times a week, meditate, read up resources on mental health, see a psychiatrist and a psychologist, pick up hobbies, get to know more people, and experience new things in life.
Things are difficult at first, I don’t want to do any of those. But I persisted, and after I get my momentum rolling, I started to see some improvements, and now, I’m on my way to getting out of depression.
That’s what happens, and what’s supposed to happen, right?
WRONG.
Well at least, not in my case.
See, I’m indeed doing those things I mentioned above, but I will never forget how I felt stepping into the gym after a long while.
And let’s rewind time to before even stepping into the gym. My mind was totally empty, everything felt like it was falling apart. I felt totally like crap, and this question of “isn’t killing myself better than going to the gym?” just kept lingering around. Every minor setback even during the preparation was like a slap in the face telling me how much of a failure I was. Why did I not know what I was supposed to bring to the gym? How much water is enough? Should I signup for a membership because walk-in is more expensive and I needed to commit? Why did I not know how to get ready? Did I eat properly for gym session to be effective or would that be just a waste of time? What if I fainted in the middle because I hadn’t exercised for so long and people started laughing at me? Why was working out so easy for others but so hard for me? As different questions started bombarding me, I started getting teary and I could feel every cell in my body protesting. My mind was a freaking mess, and it really felt like dying was the easier way out. I wanted to lie down, run away, disappear, die, whatever.
Even the journey to the gym was not easy either. The gym I headed to was near my house, probably within 1 kilometre, and while driving to the gym I saw other cars driving to their respective destinations, and I started kicking myself down again. “Why did these people know where to go all the time? Why am I so lost driving to a place I don’t even know whether I want to go?” “Why are people so happy going to Starbucks and McDonald’s and I’m going to torture myself at the gym?” “Why do I keep running into red lights? So freaking annoying!”
If those thoughts already felt terrible, it only got worse when I entered the gym.
F*CK, so many machines! How to use them correctly and which one should I use? What’s the right sequence?
F*CK, these people are so ripped already, some of them are even younger than me.
F*CK, they look so determined in working out, I really am a failure because I can’t even get myself motivated to lift weights for the first time.
F*CK, look at me! I’m so fat, unattractive, messy, depressed, if it weren’t for the fact that I am a paying customer, those people probably won’t bother smiling at me.
F*CK, F*CK, F*CK! WHYYYYYY AM I EVEN HERE??? I’M NOT EVEN STARTED AND I ALREADY FELT LIKE THERE’S NO FREAKING POINT.
And then finally the most dreaded part. I sat on a gym bench for like minutes staring blankly at myself in the mirror, looking from the outside it will feel like I’m just resting or what, but in reality my mind was fighting. I just don’t want to do this, I really don’t want to do this… Please, let me go home… let me die. Not only mentally, but I physically felt drained and tired — energy was leaving me before I even started.
Reality kicked in anyway and I just sort of grabbed a barbell and did the only thing I was still slightly familiar with, benchpress, while hating myself and feeling weak. And it didn’t get easier. I was lifting that empty barbell because I didn’t know how much weight I should put on the barbell, but I remembered seeing that ripped dude with his friends doing squats in front of me. That barbell was slightly bent from the weights. I felt like shit. Soon I was tearing up again.
I didn’t know how to get started. Didn’t know how to properly warm up. Didn’t know how to lift. Didn't know proper nutrition. Didn’t know the proper lifting form. Didn’t know what exercises to do. Didn’t know how to set a proper schedule. Didn’t know what my expectations should be. Didn't know about anything. All I felt was emptiness. failure, and I wanted it all to end.
Now it no longer sounded like a story of recovery, did it?
And these are already considered the “diluted” story of how my first gym for a long time goes, but that’s still not the complete story. There’s an important part I did not mention — one that I think plays a really big part, but we’ll talk about it next time.