I’ve never hidden the fact that I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder but I have at times concealed my compulsions. OCD (and I’m talking the debilitating kind) is not only frustrating, it’s freakin’ embarrassing. I’ve struggled with varying degrees of paranoia since I was thirteen and the low points are…Well, I could say “terrible” but that doesn’t sound shitty enough; “completely shittastic” would be better but that’s not exactly elegant.
Sometimes the OCD creeps back into every day life little by little until suddenly it’s in control and I wonder when did this happen??
I finally decided it was time to try medication again.
I was drowning in a sea of random and inexplicable anger and fear, but I have emerged. I can see the sunlight again. I can smell the roses. I mean, I can still smell the shit, but now I can see that it’s just shit and not my impending doom.
I resisted the medication because the first time I tried it, I turned into a zombie. My panic attacks were gone, but so was everything else. I wasn’t on it long before I gave up. That was around ten years ago. Since then it was up and down – but mostly down. Months would go by without a single panic-free day and I was burning through soap at alarming rates.
When life stress gets me down, everything starts to look like rabies. (Yep. Rabies. Most of my nightmares involve me and a frothy raccoon. Ugh. Raccoons.)
Thankfully I found the right medication and dosage, and I’m finally functional. It took time, of course, but I’ve been on it for a while and I feel good. My hands don’t look like raw hamburger and I’m not (as much of) a pain in the ass to live with. Halle-frickin’-lujah. It took another few months to adjust to the medication, but my panic attacks are drastically reduced and I seem to have abolished the “Woe is me” evenings.
OCD isn’t something that ever goes away completely, but I’m going to thoroughly kick its ass and make it stay in the corner wearing the dunce cap. I’m tired of living in fear.
I still hate raccoons, though. They’re creepy as hell.