I have had my fair share of therapy, a decade full of therapy actually. And whilst hating each and every single badly lit session, it did help me. In the short term at least. I have dealt with ocd without any form of medication for as long as I could, until I couldn’t anymore. When I finally did hit rock bottom and literally saw no way up again I caved. Well technically, 1 psychologist, 1 psychiatrist, 1 (now ex) husband, 1 mum and 1 dear friend made me cave.
Being on anti-depressants was not something I (or anyone I assume) had desired during all of my ocd filled years. I had always been reluctant, but the state I was in when I finally so called caved, left me with no other options. To be fair to the pill shaped fella’s, they actually became my friends. After the initial hesitation came the acceptance, which then led to me bonding extremely with the meds.
Anyway, I took the damn happy pills for two years. Two very eventful years I might add, this timespan included a divorce, a co-parenting agreement, a move (number ten for those who were wondering), a lot of crying, a lot of debt and some tinder dates. Which all concluded in me finally feeling like myself again, finding the greatest love in an unexpected way and in the end, being able to get off the anti-depressants.
For the foreseeable future I strongly prefer self-medication by indulging myself with MaxMara inspired faux fur teddy coats, thank you H&M, kisses, lots of kisses, French fries and Look-o-Look strawberry flavored sour stripes. Any other brand of the before mentioned candy makes me want to go back to my prescribed medication days.
Ps, I wrote this post a while back, when life was filled with sunshine and holidays. So hold your horses and keep scrolling down for part two.
And just like that it got worse. Well, actually not just like that. First of all, winter does not agree with me. Ever. I get extremely moody, bordering some form of depression. Second of all, I cannot really handle chaos. Moving twice within three months, packing tons of boxes, renovating a new house and selling an old house, being a family of three again and missing two thirds of my belongings all whilst working a fulltime job got me reaching for the happy pills again.
In all seriousness, I had a bit of a meltdown. I could not think positive anymore, thought I was for sure going to die of 3 different diseases and to top all of that I cleverly came up with at least a dozen new routines I had to perform on a daily/hourly basis to avoid above mentioned causes of death. So what’s a girl to do? In my case the answer was walking back into that dreaded doctor’s office and kindly ask for help. As in, please give me back my damn pills, but then in a non-addict kinda way. Thankfully, the lady was kind enough to see my desperation and obeyed. Right now we are a couple months in and I can say that the clouds finally seem to be shifting to sunshine. This took some prescribed meds, as well as some hospital visits to be ensured that in fact I am not dying and my child will not grow up motherless. Whatever it takes, right?
I guess I will stick with the happy pills for a while now, at least until the actual sun will show its friendly face again.