Over the past month, I have been undergoing a medication change. It has been hell. The physical side effects of tapering off a medication I’ve been taking for years, and onto a new one, were less than pleasant. But the side effects in my brain – of not having enough medication in my system during this process – felt unbearable. OCD is generally treated with higher dosages of medications. That means that the tapering down of Med 1 and the slow increase of Med 2 takes a long time. And in the middle, I’m not getting that high, therapeutic dosage.
My brain needs medication to work properly. I am okay with that. So many of my friends hate being on medication, or don’t want to be on it, or refuse to be on it. It doesn’t phase me in the slightest. I need it to be okay, and that’s okay with me. That being said, it’s been incredibly frustrating the past month where I’m doing everything “right,” yet I feel like crap solely because of a lack of medication. I said, multiple times, “It’s just not fair! It’s not my fault!” Not that it’s ever my fault if I’m having a hard time, but it was so frustrating, just knowing I had to wait it out.
I vacillate between depression and anxiety. I used to think those were two separate diagnoses – and for many people, they are. For me, they’re just two points on the same continuum: the OCD continuum. When the thoughts/fears/spins/worries/obsessions/compulsions become too much, and take over my brain and my being, I become highly anxious – butterflies in my stomach, heart racing, on the verge of panic attack, etc. Or, I become depressed – shutting down, cloud of doom, pit in my stomach. But it’s all one in the same, really.
The end of last week and last weekend, I gave in. I voiced what was going on in my head to the two people who would understand and/or know what to do and say. I allowed myself to be hugged and nurtured and coddled. I gave up being in charge and allowed my best friend to truly take care of me. I told her when I was feeling anxious, when my heart was racing, when I had a scary thought, when I needed a hug. she encouraged me and supported me. she is really the best. I don’t give in like that often – really just give up control for that many days. And you know what? It was really really nice. And it helped so much. I’ve been thinking about what exactly was so helpful and a lot of it just comes down to the fact that for those few days, I stopped fighting it. I stopped fighting where I was at, and just let myself be in it. Without judging myself, or hating myself, or wishing I wasn’t in it. I rode it through and let others help me stay afloat.