I’m Fed Up With OCD, but Can’t Give Myself a Break

These days, I feel like there are these many Lauras. Each instance of fighting mental illness and coming out of the boxing ring with nothing to show for it but another new prescription, another admonition to just hang on, another hidden cache of tearstained tissues — one by one, each Laura is created, each Laura has her own story to tell.

And they are frightened, and they are exhausted, and they are so self-loathing, they won’t even relax for a day or two while we wean onto an antidepressant.

These Lauras are all sick, but they all want to ignore it. Maybe among the lot of us, there will be one or two who do not struggle with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).

The new thing, the latest affliction, the current (and future, it seems) wound to my psyche and stealer of my time is OCD. I do what I do, and that’s read nonstop about my psychiatric illnesses. It doesn’t necessarily make me feel any better, but I have an awful lot of Lauras who are keen to know about the OCD, so I provide that service to all of them.

None of these Lauras give themselves a break. We’re on an antidepressant now, still in the early stages, and yes, there are side effects. The dosage I’m on has meant bruising headaches, stomach troubles, and an increase, it seems, to my OCD symptoms. I, and the other Lauras, long to spend a couple of days in bed, nursing the headaches, eating yogurt with fresh blueberries, and reading something other than books about OCD. Nope, we can’t cut ourselves a break. All of us got up and showered and got dressed. All the while feeling like murder.

“OCD is an illness,” every one of my new books opined. “OCD is a serious illness involving a chemical imbalance in the brain. OCD must be taken very seriously.”

“OCD is just another way we have failed,” all of us Lauras say. There are many of us, and every last one of us refuses to believe otherwise. So no, we will not read a book that isn’t about OCD. We won’t nurse our headaches or give ourself one little break or tempt our tummies with food we can actually keep down. Not one.

The self-hatred runs strong. The anger, too. So many years wasted with various mental foibles and this is just the latest of the bunch and screw the other Lauras, this Laura is beyond fed up. I’m 50 and I am in yet another fight for myself, for my soul. How on Earth can I take a couple of sick days when I have to get ready to go back in the ring? I can’t give myself an inch of luxury. I won’t. I’m mad as hell and I have a vicious foe.

OCD must be taken very seriously.

You can follow Laura’s journey on No Sugar, Light Ice.