The Undo Button

So, there is a monster in the house. A monster in my house that dictates and controls each and every move I, as a person and a mother, makes. The monster, however, is not the person you think. It's not the person I make out to be the monster. It's not the children or the partner that is ruining all things good for me. The monster is me. The monster is OCPD. Precious and fragile things deserve special handling. My OCPD dictates special care.

Yes, I am the monster. My day was essentially ruined today until Ben walked in the door. I was so afraid of the things I thought were going to happen that I was geared up for the apocolypse. I was afraid of abandonment and the worst possible scenario, so much so that I was unable to contribute to my day and to be a whole person. I know a couple of you were even upset. You thought without a doubt that I was making the wrong decision by staying where I am.

I was cutting onions, garlic and carrots when Ben walked in tonight. He came in and told me how much he loved me. He said dinner smelled wonderful, and told me how excited he was to be home with us for the night. This is the monster I created, and he's home. He is not a monster afterall. The monster is in my head. The monster is my fear of not being good enough, of being left behind. The monster is the OCPD that controls my thoughts. The monster is dead for the night.

I'm sorry to have misled you, and I am sorry to have misled myself. My children? There were and are questions of whether my children share my fears; whether they feel loved. Honestly my children don't possess my fears as I do. My fears are unfounded. I shield my children each day from my head and my thoughts. This is what they deserve. This is how they remain stable and whole.

My love is real, as is Ben's love for me and my children; though I know it is unrelentingly complicated. Ben is sitting now, doing I things, while I am writing. We have nothing but love for eachother. I am so essentially relieved that what we feel is real. It is what I believe is true. I believe we were made for it. It's just so hard to believe for me. We were made to love each other.

There was a time that, if I felt unloved, I would leave and never come back. There were several of those times and moments. Those moments shaped my future. There was a time when fear would take over rationality. I'm glad I am not that person today. I am grateful to have gotten that out of my system.

My poached chicken ala Martha Stewart was delightful tonight. Ben said it was the best he had ever had; he doesn't take food lightly, so I believe him. I sauteed the onions and garlic well, browned the chicken and added the broth, thyme and peppercorns just at the right moment. We were all proud of me, even the kids who ate it all gone. Even the Jasmine Rice I served it over was cooked to perfection. Being that I don't cook, the novelty of it is grand. I get better each day, and each day that Ben is home I raise I expectations of a perfect meal to create. It gives me a purpose, feeding my family good organic things. It gives an even greater sense of achievement to have Ben here, to have someone to appreciate the effort I make.

Ben is now using my foot as the gas pedal to his imaginary 1973 Nova 454(seriously).... and we are rounding the curves with ease. My fears were just my fears. My children are great, we are great.... I really have to get better at this anxiety thing. It's going to drive me crazy, literally.

P.S. Nate still has an appointment tomorrow. I want to get him a referral to behavioral therapy. It's worth the effort.

The Road To Nowhere... In Particular:

Written Last Night: circa 9pm.

Of all the fucking things I chose today, I chose to go out of my realm and do something I didn't want to do.  Of course, I should have said no, but I couldn't.  In my mind, the time-line wouldn't work out, and I would have time to kill... at least fifteen minutes of doing nothing.  I gave in, possibly because I wanted to see Ben, and maybe because I knew he had been drinking, and the real reason he wanted me to drive was because of that fact (though he would never admit to it). You'd think we could be honest enough to state the facts to each other, but I digress.  The fact is that I know him, and I know the real reason I should have driven, and I drove.  We always know the real reason behind our actions, he mine and I his.  We belong to each other.  I killed time buying books at the book store for the kids.  I spent time spending money, which is always a bad thing when in the position I stare at each day.

As we drove, I knew he loved me.  He spoke and I listened, as I have for the past day.  My tears always holding themselves back by a milisecond.  Our conversations last night were inevitably about Avalon.  He is the new GM, after all.  Our conversations in the car on the way to the Ashland were about Avalon.  In fact, the only thing we spoke about before I left for work this morning was the Avalon.  At Susan's house, for the ten minutes I was there, it was Avalon.  Sure, we made small talk about books for kids, probably because I had just gone to the book store.  She did, at one point, ask how I was and I said, "I'm fine.  Just tired."  I said that trying not to burst into rage and a full display of tears. Twenty four hours of Avalon talk, and I don't work there.  I'm not involved.  I vowed to focus on me this week.  

It took every inch of me to not break into a full crying rampage.  I really don't want to have a massive melt-down or episode simply because things are changing, because I'm uncomfortable.  I know it's inevitable.  I recognize the danger, or the "warning signs", if you will.  That has got to be a step on the road to recovery, right?

Real Time:

Warning signs are real.  Whatever it is that makes me flip to the other side, it happened again.  However, I could feel it coming.  After a day of tears and high running emotion, Ben came home.  I held it together, tried to stay aloof and not let into the fact I was dying inside.  Overall, it didn't work.  Ben knew something was wrong, and I finally tried to explain myself to him.

As we were lying in bed, I explained clearly my thoughts (or thought I did) about his workload and the worry I have that it will be too much.  Somewhere along the way, I lost him and hurt his feelings.  Personal attacks on both our ends ensued, and he slept in the office again.  This time, I feel we were both at fault.  We both said mean things to each other, things which should never be uttered.  We attacked each other in the place it hurt us the most.  We exploited our own insecurites and threw them directly into the other person's face.  

With all this crying and these feelings of desperation, I begin to wonder: Depression?  Hmmm.  I'm going to say "no" here; though if it is, it's mild.  I think the tears come from realization and anxiety.  The realization is that I'm walking the road to nowhere, and that makes me anxious.  And it fucking sucks.

In an indirect response to a previous comment about some men stepping up to the challenge, I reply:

I'm a single parent, yes.  Do I want to be?  No, of course not.  Do my boys deserve to not have a father figure?  Yes, of course they do.  They are great kids, and they deserve everything.  Am I selling myself short by accepting that "the love of my life" is not willing to step in as a parental figure? Quite possibly by some viewpoints.  However, if a person is doing the best they can, who am I to expect more from them?  Do your best, and that's all you can do, right?  If what we do works for us, and we live a life of love and respect for each other (which we strive for each day), then what more should I ask for?

Today, I am walking and realizing the road to nowhere.  Will there be a career advancement for me?  Will there be a father figure for my children?  Will there be an honest down to the paperwork marriage in my future?  What do I strive for, and what will it take to get there?  Have I sold myself out, for the sake of staying afloat and being content?  Have I done the BEST for myself, and for my children and for  my family? 

Have I been walking the road to nowhere?  I guess it's all in eyes of the beholder.

GO BACK TO MEDICATION!!!

I know you think medication is going to "save me" and help my family.  That seems to be a valid idea, judging by the circumstances.  However, there's something you should know.

I did not stop taking medication against my psychiatrist's treatment plan.  I have to get that out there.  The only thing I did differently is that I stopped completely and did it cold turkey.  The withdrawl was unbearable, but necessary.  The reason it had to happen so quickly is because I moved back to Oregon, and my psychiatrist was unable to renew my prescription for me.  I had two choices.  I either needed to expedite my end date for taking medication, or I needed to find some county doctor to re-evaluate and medicate me.

Doctors love to change people's medications.  They love making whatever cocktail they can to appease the drug companies who produce them.  I don't want to be their guinnie pig.  No way.  I wasn't about to switch doctors and have them try to give me Seroquel (an  atypical antipsychotic) again.  No way.  

Many people think I have "episodes" and problems coping because I have stopped taking my SSRI.  However, the episodes were more frequent and more severe while on medication.  Stopping the medication has put me in a place where I can control my emotions much better, just as therapy has helped me understand my emotions.  You (you know if I mean you) are only noticing the episode now because you read about it and how painful it is for the first time.  You associated it with medication because you are uninformed.  Here's the information.  Read it, research it, then judge if you must.

First of all, there is no medication to treat OCPD.  There are other mental problems that arise with OCPD such as depression and anxiety, caused by the strife the OCPD person feels each day.  There are medications to treat both anxiety and depression, and they should be used where needed.  However, what do you do if you only have OCPD with transitional anxiety?  I was never depressed.  I should never have been given an SSRI.  There are other illness where medication is required, and when stopping the medication leads to horror stories (such as mood disorders ,Schizoaffective disorder, and others).  Keep in mind as well, that you'll never feel as good as you do after your first hit of SSRI, according to some.

However, America and big business drug companies want to sell their products.  I was given my first cocktail four years ago, without a diagnosis or a way out.  I was given an SSRI for keeping my house too clean.  Strange, isn't it?

My prescription of celexa in the morning and trazodone in the evening left me fuzzy, to say the least.  It's difficult to explain, but I see it like having a bag over my head.  I was unable to see the details because of fuzziness; I could not get excited.  I was not sad and angry.  Very rarely was I motivated to do anything besides the day to day mundaneness of life.  It is a sad reality, really.  However, I tend to take my situation and my surroundings and make the best of it.  So, when I wanted to feel something, I'd get drunk.  Makes sense, right?  Drunk is a feeling.  Right.  When I say I drank a lot, I mean, A LOT.  If you want the amount just ask.

When I spoke with my psychiatrist (a real psychiatrist) for the first time, he was shocked and dismayed that I had been on medication for so long, let alone on meds at all.  His first priority was to get me off medication and into psychotherapy.  He said the medication was hindering, not helping me.  I needed to be in control of my feelings to be able to live with myself and learn about myself.  I thrived with control in my world.  He asked what made me think I could be successful if I couldn't control the one most important human trait: feelings.  That was four months before we moved home to Oregon.

When I was faced with the option of continuing my "drug" addiction to Celexa, or just facing the withdrawl (the scariest part) of stopping, and getting it over with.  That is what my previous blog was referring to.  

I am going to include a page on my blog for you to view which will include various articles and sources regarding medication use for OCPD.  Please research and form your own opinion; after all, I'm just a girl with an illness.