It is also gosh dang terrifying. I am not so much curing my depression + anxiety as much as I am running away and trying put enough stuff behind me that it can't catch me.

But when it does, it is difficult to get started again.

I'm not sure I like that way of looking at it. I choose to look at it like I'm an addict. Addicts, even once they're sober, consider themselves to be addicts their entire life. Any day they can fall off the wagon, even after years of sobriety, so they're constantly vigilant. I look at my depression the same way, only not doing the necessary things that keep me well is my version of falling off the wagon. Just like addicts do, I try to keep my streak of "sober" days going as long as possible. And when I slip up, I try not to beat myself up and just try to start an even longer new streak.

It's somewhat empowering to gain a little measure of control over it, even if it's really, really hard. But it's also important, I think, to realize I'll always be a depressive my entire life, even if I'm not feeling it at the moment.

I'm a runner with depression. I track my mileage, diet and general mood very closely and have started to brace myself for a depressive periods after major races.

I need redundancy with coping mechanisms, and the OCD nature of distance running is potentially setting people up for a fragile system should an injury occur or low-mileage phase crop up.

I'm writing this on a recumbent bike. I've averaged ninety minutes a day for four years without injury. I've also read a ton of books on my kindle.

Mere therapy isn't everything, but neither is only taking care of the non-brain parts of your body.

Sorry, not a grammar nazi, this one just always makes me grin :)