Okay
For the last eight and a half years, my biggest fear has been returning to the horrible place in my head where I was after my blood clot: depressed, plagued by negative thoughts intruding into my mind every minute of every day, unable to stop myself from panicking, and basically having no quality of life even though I had friends, family, and plenty to live for.
Every time I felt myself backsliding even a little, I instantly became terrified that I would become “bad off” like I was back then. I watched myself carefully for signs and symptoms of decreasing functionality, and I always felt the need to ask my psychiatrist who guided me through that horrible time in my life if she thought I was heading back in that direction.
Every time, she would always say no. And every time, she - and my family - would tell me that I have much better coping mechanisms now than I did then, and I know what medications help me when I need it most. I would be able to figure it out if it ever happened - not that it ever would.
And then, the puppy incident happened.
When the puppy was in my house, my brain was revving at all hours of the day and night. I wasn’t eating and thanks to the puppy screaming whenever she wasn’t touching me, I wasn’t sleeping. Just like eight years ago, I started to despair that things could get better, as I had intended to raise this puppy and keep her throughout her life. I could feel myself slipping, and I made the difficult but ultimately right choice to return the puppy to a breeder for more specialized physical and mental healthcare.
As soon as the puppy was out of my home, I started to feel a little more relaxed, but I was well aware that I was experiencing a relapse. I hadn’t had a relapse like this in years, and naturally, my mind went to eight years ago and the similarities I couldn’t ignore.
Even though the specific negative thoughts were the same, I was living with many intrusive thoughts making it difficult for me to concentrate on work. My favorite activities felt less fun and I had way too much energy. I started to wonder if things were going to keep deteriorating until I was at that same point I had to work for over a year to claw myself out of.
The next week, I did every coping mechanism I could think of. I built time into my schedule to hang out with my friends. I made sure to eat and sleep as best as I could, even if the sleeping came easier to me. I made time every day to go outside for some fresh air and physical activity. And every time an intrusive thought entered my mind, I told myself that “thoughts are thoughts, not threats” and did my best to move on as quickly as possible.
After a relapse, I always have a harder time being alone, so when the COVID restrictions on Chicago increased, I returned home once again. By that time - the following weekend - I was feeling a lot more like myself, albeit with more intrusive thoughts than usual. I settled back into a comfortable routine. The next week passed quickly, and a thought occurred to me while I was out getting ice cream with my parents on Sunday.
Two weeks to the day after I returned the puppy to the breeder, I felt okay.
In the meantime, I was having an increase in intrusive thoughts. In the first few days when I noticed this, that old, familiar fear came back to haunt me. Even though it had been over eight years, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget how it felt to be a prisoner in my own head. But within the first two weeks, I was able to banish the intrusive thoughts and calm myself down sufficiently that I didn’t feel like I was in a relapse anymore.
I still feel like I’m in a more fragile state than usual. Everything happened so fast and so recently that I’m still finding my footing in some ways. But, as opposed to the fear I’ve held for the last eight and a half years, I was able to conquer this on my own.
I didn’t “go crazy” like I feared. Instead of flailing about like a chicken with its head cut off, I knew exactly what was wrong and what I needed to do to fix it. I didn’t fall so far like I did in college, even though some of my physical and mental responses were reminiscent of back then. I was stronger. I was able to keep myself calm and use the principles from therapy and CBT to keep myself afloat, and returning to normal took a much shorter time than I would ever expect from a relapse.
Just like my family and psychiatrist told me, I am strong enough to beat a relapse like this, especially using the same techniques that helped me all those years ago. Contrary to the thoughts that have frightened me since then, I am able to conquer a relapse far more efficiently and effectively than years ago. I can be okay, even after I don’t think it’s possible.
I hope to carry this increased faith in myself to the next relapse, which I’m sure will happen at some point. I used to like to think I had “outgrown” OCD once I stopped doing most of my compulsions, but now I am reframing things: I live in a state where I am okay most of the time, and when I’m not, I know the steps I can take to get me back there. I don’t need to be afraid of losing control if I know that I can gain it back and go back to the life I have worked so hard to live.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.