I never know how to start new blogs.
Should I give you a little background?
Should I just jump straight into the point?
Should I just babble?
Does it even matter?!
I guess a blog like this might call for a little bit of background information --- if you care enough to read it.
I think looking back I've always had some sort of OCD tendency but it wasn't something that really bothered me or something I really thought about. Just a "quirk" I guess. It wasn't until around early 2004 that OCD started to creep in a little stronger.
Me and my boyfriend did a lot of napping after school. His house, my house, whatever. We were really big on napping. Well one afternoon his older brother was home and he was stepping on my boyfriends bed --- which I had just been napping on --- with his shoes on. ALL OVER THE PILLOW. I was disgusted. I told my boyfriend about it and his response? "Oh, he does that a lot."
My face was just smashed into that pillow not too long ago as I was drifted into blissful sleep and you're saying I was basically cuddling up with whatever shit was on the bottom of his shoe?!
Needless to say I went home that night and took the longest shower of my life before getting into my own bed for the night.
From there the OCD just got worse. I'd shower every night I came home from his house. Then it turned into I had to vacuum before showering before bed every night. Then other things started happening; I was really big on keeping things "clean" and I suddenly had excessive urges to wash my hands. To not walk around barefoot even though we have carpet. Certain things couldn't be touched after I took a shower if I wasn't sure if it was "clean" or not. If my hand grazed the wall on accident trying to turn on a light switch I'd have to wash my hands. I was set on doing my own laundry because I wanted to make sure it was "clean". I'd keep my door closed so my pets couldn't roam into my room making my floor "dirty" even though my mom still did it and it caused me to vacuum twice a day, every day.
And the anxiety just kept getting worse and worse. I remember the peek of it. I remember how helpless and confined and scared and out of control I felt. I remember how crazy my thoughts were because I didn't know what was happening or why or where it came from. All I knew was that it felt like there was a parasite in my brain telling me these things that didn't make sense, these things I had to do in order to "be calm" and that voice was SO STRONG. I remember it being so very strong and I remember trying to fight it and breaking down and crying because fighting against it meant my anxiety would run wild.
I battled depression since I was 13. But I battled it alone and in secret. My mom is a psych nurse and she could tell I was depressed growing up and she would always say, "if you're depressed let me know" but other times she would say "if they find out you're crazy they'll throw you in my hospital." and for a very long time I didn't want to go to the doctor about my depression or my OCD because I was scared they would think I was crazy and lock me away. And it's a shame I grew up thinking that, maybe I could had gotten help sooner.
In 2006, my OCD had completely taken over my life and my thoughts and I was so far gone that I was completely out of control. I was miserable. I was pretending. I was a huge huge mess. And so I bit the bullet and I started looking for a therapist. It took me two tries to find the perfect one. The first one I saw did nothing but try to push drugs on me which I declined --- I wanted to beat this on my own. And she told me that there was no way to cure it with just therapy alone and it's hopeless to even try. The only way is with drugs. So I thanked her for her time and moved on. The second therapist I saw didn't mind that I declined drugs but he was curious to know my battle plan and for a number of years he supported whatever idea I came up with. While therapy did and did not help, I will forever me thankful for his support when I felt so completely lost. The last time I saw him was in 2008 and I saw him again at the end of 2012 and when he saw me he looked shocked and said "you're not wearing a hood today." and I said "no, I'm not." and he said "last time I saw you, you were really concerned about keeping your hair clean so you'd always wear a hood." and I had completely forgotten about that. It touched me that he remembered and he noticed. Even after all these years.
It's a shame I had to move across the country and find another therapist. No other will compare to his dedication and support.
So it is now 2014 and I've lived with the ups and downs of OCD for ten years. There are times when I will "be better" and there are times where I will relapse and I think with OCD, it's so easy to because it's not some physical thing you can put your finger on. It's something that just happens. You can't really control it physically, you can't see it and you can't touch it.
I recently made the decision to start medication. Because I can't do this on my own and it's gotten to the point where it's taking over my life again. So I'm on the lowest dosage of Zoloft, half a pill a day for 7 days then a full pill once a day for 7 more days just to see where it goes. While waiting for that to kick in I'm on an anti-anxiety medication called Clonazepam again the lowest dosage anywhere from 1/4 to half a pill three times a day or as needed. I usually take half a pill during the day and 1/4 at night since the mixture of both the Clonazepam and Zoloft makes me drowsy.
So, this is my journey.
Hopefully into taking my life back.