It Made Sense at the Time

This is going to serve as my blog until I get my pen-mouse back running.

So I just got prescribed Luvox and I’m ecstatic. Why?

“Fluvoxamine is used to treat obsessive-compulsive disorder (bothersome thoughts that won’t go away and the need to perform certain actions over and over) and social anxiety disorder (extreme fear of interacting with others or performing in front of others that interferes with normal life). Fluvoxamine is in a class of medications called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs).”

I finally, finally was prescribed something SPECIFICALLY FOR WHAT I HAVE. Normally psychiatrists throw generalized SSRI’s at me, but this time, I’m actually getting one made for the OCD I do have and not the depression I don’t have.

So horray!

In other news, have you heard of Spotify and Google+? Because they’re sexy as hell and you totally need them.

I sometimes wonder if my compulsion to ‘confess’ is such a bad thing.

It is belaboring; don’t mistake me. It’s draining, feeling as though you simply will not be clean until you tell someone whatever little nuance is running through your head. Giving into it feeds into the mania and accelerates the need for over-sharing, and ignoring it feels like an impossible mental gymnastic course. There’s no real way to win.

Still… It keeps me honest. It keeps me humble. I will forever be accountable for my actions, and you will forever know about them. I won’t be able to stop myself from telling you. However big or small the ‘slight’ I perceive to be, you’ll know about it. Every time I take issue with you, you’ll know what angle I’m coming from. Every time I make an assumption, you will have opportunity to call me out and be redeemed, and I will feel sorry, because I feel sorry for everything.

Sorry, sorry, sorry… I live under a microscope of guilt and honesty. Endless, unrelenting, if I cease to move forward, they will move forward without me and I’ll have to make up for lost time. I’ve lost many people to my honesty. I’ve shed far more due to an inability to put on a face.

And yet, in my calmer moments, it can feel like a gift. You will never be left without opportunity to make your own decision about me. You will never be left without a chance to humble me. When I was a girl, I was arrogant, cocky, self-righteous. As a woman, I am easily startled, fearful, and more emphatic. Sometimes my self-esteem will be a mess, but I think the world is a better place with who I am now as opposed to who I used to be.

If it took OCD to make me realize that to love and be loved is a gift, not a privilege, then so be it.