I mentioned in my first post here on the blog, that I stopped blogging for medical reasons. For a long time I had reservations of sharing what these medical reasons were, but in other news, I quit my job yesterday! Quitting made me think a lot about freedom, and how much effort I’ve put in the past couple of years to hide from the world. You can’t just go around and tell people your deepest darkest secrets, I’m no vegan, so sharing useless facts about me is not my thing. I was ashamed that I wasn’t normal and there is a solid reason why I named my blog Beauty In Insanity.
I think today is the day in which I should finally do the laundry and in the meantime, share my deepest darkest secret. If this helps at least one person in the world, it would be totally worth it. So, here goes nothing!
Hi, my names is Slim Shady and I’ve been dealing with OCD and suicidal depression for a big chunk of my life. I say dealing, because initially it was just that. It was coping.
A few years ago, I slowly started to develop Obsessive compulsive disorder, which sounds like herpes, but it’s not, I swear.
When most people think of OCD they think of weird cleaning rituals and counting numbers like crazy, switching light on and off because your family will day, but OCD, especially the severe one, can leave a person paralyzed.
My OCD was from the severe kind where I couldn’t do anything, because the intrusive thoughts were so hardcore I couldn’t think straight. OCD feels like the world and the people in it, are horrible and horrible things happen all the time, and it is all your fault. You are not a special snowflake, you are the lowest of the low. My OCD was so bad my boyfriend back then, couldn’t deal with that, and so I went back home to my parents and just laid in bed crying day and night. I was going to therapy and I was showing some progress, but overall I couldn’t fight it. I was fighting it for so long, everything was a nightmare, I started each day with a crying fit and ended it like that as well. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. If you’re wondering how I’ve staid so slim through the years, truth is, I didn’t eat a damn thing! After a couple of years like that, I finally got fed up and gave up.
Now, most people think of giving up as something a coward could do, but when you give up and stop fighting, and you fall deep underground, but you keep on digging down and down and down, and you fall to the lowest of the lowest point of your life, something happens. Something snaps. I snapped. I remember the moment I finally realized I can beat this thing. It was a snowy winter day… *cue David Attenborough’s voice.* I was walking around downtown feeling like shit and listening to the OST of The Witcher 3 game. I went to my town’s dock and just stood there in the freezing cold watching the big ass cranes and then it hit me. I knew I can beat this motherfucker and suddenly I was no longer scared….
Slowly I started making progress and going regularly to therapy, I started building character and mechanisms to get rid of this OCD once and for all. I split up with the boyfriend because we both decided we were not for one another. I found a job, I left my parents, I bought this ridiculously looking roller skates and started building a life. Back then I thought I’ve won. Until one day I started falling down once again. I’d rather not get into details what brought me down, but it was partially motivated by the chemical imbalance in my brain.
I started growing sad. Extremely sad. Nothing was making me happy, not even remotely content. I started looking for some kind of a pain relief in alcohol and various toxic relationships.Nothing helped.
At that time I found a boy, the sweetest boy in the world. This lifted me up for a while, but due to my brain not willing to cooperate,on some days the pain was so strong I started thinking about suicide.
The idea was so tempting, I started making plans and hiding my sadness from the world. Day after day the sadness was slowly being substituted by emptiness. That’s when you start realizing something ain’t right, but you’re too fucked up to care. You slowly begin to loose your attachment toward people, your hobbies look boring, every movie you watch feels like a drag, the only relief from the pain is sleeping. So you sleep like Tony from the Sopranos and when you wake up you just stare at the ceiling.
Staring at the ceiling was my all time favorite activity, I was so tired of pretending I was not dying from the inside, that the moment I got home from work, I just slept or laid in a pile of dirty clothes.
The depression couldn’t get any more obvious, but I didn’t even remotely care. All I could think about was dying. If you’re like me, you’d probably have a very strong survival instinct. Whole my life I’ve been trying not to die by my own stupidity, but now suicide looked like the most wonderful thing in the world.
The number of attempts I tried killing myself is like the number of times I’ve tried to impress a guy with my vast knowledge of IMDB ratings. I tried pills, I tried alcohol with pills, I tried cutting my wrists, I tried drowning myself in a bath tub, yeah dude, seriously. I really tried hard, but there was always someone saving me or I just couldn’t kill myself properly because I was scared. Yeah, suicidal people are scared of death, they do not want to die, they see it as relief from their pain.
One time I slashed my wrists a bit too deep, so I had to go to the doctor so he can glue them, and when he and the med sis saw me, they wanted to give me a whole month of sick leave and started making awkward conversations and asking me what’s wrong. By then I was starting to think that maybe I need help. If someone out there, is going through shit, no matter how small it may seem to you, go to fucking therapy. It fucking helps, I swear to baby Jesus, find your therapist and stick to him/her. If you don’t have enough money, find a support group, one that does not only complain, but understands. Find books on your issue, try solving it yourself with the help of others. Do whatever it takes, just fucking do it, I know you don’t want do, but no is not an option.
With the help of people around me, who didn’t left me to die, you bastards you, I began going to therapy and psychiatric therapy as well. Right now I am on so many meds, people with drug problems, envy me, but hell if I care. Initially I cared though, initially I wanted to get better with just therapy cause I was strongly against any kind of artificial chemical in my brain. What happened was that because I was willing to die anyway I thought, hell let’s take drugs, what they gonna do anyway, kill me?
So, with the help of my family, friends, therapy, pills, my own stubbornness, I began living again. I studied depression, I studied OCD.
And here we are, three months later, I am a happy idiot. I roller skate, I read, I swim, I laugh, I drink (don’t tell my psychiatrist), I quit my job and I am going to a new one, I have a doge and I am fully capable of doing shit most people are afraid to do. I feel like I am living for the first time in my life, but you know what? When you fall as low as possible and you break yourself, you finally realize the important things in life. You have a clear picture of what is worth it and what is not, you are not afraid of anything, because you’ve been through hell. And if someone is reading this right now, and you feel like crap, know that there is a way you can retain your life back. Okay? No matter how big the problem, you can make it, you know why? Because if a coach potato did it, so can you!
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