My OCD’s at a point where it hardly ever affects me: I haven’t had a flare-up since last October, if not last July, and while that doesn’t mean I’m “cured” or anything (since there is no cure) it’s still a wonderful development.
I wrote that on Thursday, May 18, shortly after learning that Chris Cornell had killed himself. A few hours later I was in the initial throes of what’d turn into the worst OCD lapse I’ve had in years – if not ever.
Cornell’s death was the the triggering incident – the McGuffin, if you will – but the real culprits were me messing around with my medication and, more broadly, becoming complacent with my recovery. I hadn’t had obsessive thoughts in so long I was starting to let myself think that maybe, just maybe, I’d kicked OCD once and for all. Which is difficult, if not quite impossible: OCD’s a chronic illness, and even if it’s been dormant for a long time it’s liable to rear its head at a moment’s notice (like, for instance, when your favourite singer dies by suicide). Moreover, I’d been doing great on 15 mg of Trintellix, which is the antidepressant I’ve been taking since January. It seemed logical therefore that I’d do even better on 10 mg. My doctor agreed. Of course, neither of us could’ve anticipated the McGuffin.
So that’s how the lapse began. But something else happened, too: I got pissed. How dare OCD force its way back into my life? How fucking dare it? And so I got pissed, and then I started fighting back.
This is part one of what’ll be a series of entries about my latest recovery from OCD. It might not be the last recovery – but two months in I’m feeling (and I don’t think I’m exaggerating) better than I’ve felt before.
Like, ever. I feel better than I’ve ever felt before. There have literally been times this week where I’ve sat back and marveled at just how good I’m feeling. (I am now knocking furiously on wood.)
I’m also working harder at my recovery than I’ve worked at almost anything. It’s been all-encompassing and my commitment’s been total. And each day the work starts as soon as I wake up and doesn’t end till right before I fall asleep with things called gratitude meditations. (This is the earth-y part of the process.) They’re a great way of starting and ending each day; plus, gratitude’s been shown to stimulate serotonin, which is also what antidepressants do.
Gratitude meditations are short and simple. In the morning I give thanks for…
- My bed
- My senses
- The rest of my body, including my brain
- My family
- My friends; this’ll often expand to incorporate my broader community, including neighbours and co-workers
At night, meanwhile, I give thanks for three things. Sometimes they’re big (my fiancée!). Sometimes they’re not (dark roast coffee!…scratch that, dark roast coffee’s the best; once, though, I gave thanks for an aircraft that’d passed overhead earlier that evening, and while I do love to fly that one particular plane wasn’t especially meaningful to me). By enumerating things I’m grateful for at night I’ve begun finding all sorts of things to be thankful for during the day. Cumulatively, gratitude meditations have turned into a simple technique for appreciating my everyday life and being more aware of all the awesome in the world. Because when you’re looking for it, you’ll find it almost everywhere – sometimes, even, in mental health recovery.
This morning I’m grateful for light roast coffee, the British Open on TV, deliberately adding a second “l” to words, and the chance to share my recovery strategies with you. Have a gratefull day, everyone.