It is clear to me now that I have long dealt with Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). For most of my life, though, I just thought I was 1. a depressed and depressing kind of person.
2. a very, very, very exceptionally talented worrywart.
I had classic symptoms of OCD---constant handwashing, germaphobia to the nth degree, rechecking door locks, thinking I'd possibly hit someone with my car and then turning the car around to check---but none of them caused me any problems. The handwashing exacerbated my eczema, but no big.
My biggest challenge was controlling everything in my life. If you looked up the definition of Type A, you saw my face. But I managed, and quite well. Was gainfully employed. Completed my Master's Degree. Was a successful teacher.
Ahhh, but then my life spiraled out of control in the way nature intends: I had a baby. And along with birthing my daughter I gave birth to all the weird, irrational and completely unattainable ideals I had of motherhood. The beginning of the end.
For nearly 6 months, I coped. Not well, but I coped. I worried alot, and I second-guessed myself, and I spent all of my time trying to live up to a standard of motherhood in my head that was darn near impossible. But I was in utter and absolute love with my kid. Shortly after my daughter's 6 month birthday, things went drastically downhill. I started N on solid food (and I now know my body doesn't handle changes in breastfeeding hormones well at all), and developed a ductal yeast infection and mastitis in the same breast.
And then, I stopped being able to sleep. Soon after, I stopped being able to eat. My weight dropped to 112 lbs. I remember thinking I just wanted to take N with me to an emergency room and say, "I don't know what is wrong but something is WRONG! Please help me" But I was scared that I would be considered an unfit mother.
Eventually, I made D call my primary care doctor and tell her, "If you don't see my wife TODAY, she will end up in the hospital." Because I could see the brickwall, and if I didn't get some help ASAP, I was gonna hit it.
Within 3 weeks time, I was on medication and in therapy (not the proper dose of medication, but enough to keep me semi-functional). I was able to sleep, able to eat, but not myself, not calm, not happy.
I weaned N when she was a year old. Three months later, I started having "intrusive thoughts." As I was carrying N down the steps, I would picture myself tripping and her tumbling out of my arms down the stairs. When I saw plastic grocery bags in the garage, I would picture N with one over her face and her suffocating. When I handled a knife to cut an apple, I would picture myself stabbing N with it.
And I was having these thoughts nonstop....all day long. Another call made and a psychiatrist appointment scheduled. Fortunately, by this time, I had read enough about postpartum mood disorders to know that I wasn't off my head nuts, but that my medication wasn't cutting it.
It was at this point that I was diagnosed with OCD and GAD. The intrusive thoughts I had been having were typical for folks with OCD. The incessant worry---classic GAD. Yes, having N had spiraled them out of control, but they were there prior to her birth. It was like a deep sigh when I realized so many of my "issues" of the past had a name, had a cause.
It took a long time to adjust to my newly diagnosed, medicated self. It felt like a failing. I require medication for my brain to function properly. Maybe I shouldn't have ever become a mom? Maybe I shouldn't become a mom to anyone else ever again?
But time, and therapy, and self-reflection have made me strong again. I did become a mom again, and I know I am a good enough mom. Not perfect, some days not great. Some days I am just barely mediocre, but most days I am a good mom. And I talked about my situation A LOT. For a long time, I felt like I needed to confess my failing (like AA, "I'm Carrie, and I have OCD and GAD.") And then it became my way of helping other people....because I found it made me feel loads better when I knew other people had experienced similar things and come out the other side stronger, better, more 6 Million Dollar Womanish than before.
So from my ashes, I was made whole again. And wholeness feels really good.
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