#84; i am not my mental illness.

There are days when my sight is so blurred by a cloud of sadness that it takes all my willpower to simply get out of bed. There are moments when sitting down with a cup of coffee and a Psalm is all I can bring myself to do. These days aren’t too common, but they do happen. These are the days when I implore my friends to pray for me, and ask for support to do those things that normally come easily. 
These are the days that I am sometimes tempted to let define me. 
These are the days that would darken every step if I allowed them to define me. 
You see, I started exercising in an effort to manage depression. I started taking part in races because it gave me tangible achievements with which to fight those dark days. It is still at the forefront of my mind as something to be aware of. It is impossible to ignore, and I know that as soon as I begin to ignore it, it will creep back into every aspect of my life. 
More than anything, though, depression is not who I am. It is simply something I live with. It is the black dog that follows me around persistently some days, and from a distance on others. It is the thing that I fight. It is the voice that I ignore every time I step up to the start line of a race. 
There are days when my sight is so blurred by sadness that it takes all my willpower to get out of bed. Saturday was one of those days. Saturday, I faced up to the start line of Mud Run and kept going all the way to the end, even when the mental weight found it’s way to my legs and made them feel heavier than concrete.
I am not my mental illness.
But I do overcome it daily. 

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