I've started a new habit, if two days counts as a habit. Writing two posts in one day. But hey, then I don't have to cram all my thoughts on all my subjects into one post.
This one is about dejavou, which may be spelled wrong, but the spell check isn't telling me how to spell it right. I'm remembering two years ago, when the ERP had my stomach hurting and my appetite hiding and it might have messed with my sleep, too. Two years ago ish, when I decided to add medication to the therapy in my grand scheme to end my OCD and depression. Actually, we aren't quite at two years since my first appointment to see a doctor about it, but I probably decided around this time. In a few weeks, it will be two years since I started medication. I remember this because I had the unfortunate time coincidence of starting my medication a day or two before my birthday, rendering me very tired for my birthday dinner with my family. I am not likely to forget my birthday, so I'm not likely to forget about when I started medication, until I forget the year. That could be nice. See, there is hope of forgetting something.
Anyway, back then, my counselor told me about another lady for whom it took two years to get back to normal life. Back then, I thought, that is so long. One year is long, but okay, but two years is too long. I hope it doesn't take me that long.
Now? I think, two years sounds so good. I'll take two years; that would mean I recover any day now. Two years would be great. And I doubt it will happen (see my pessimism shining through?). (Am I making a self-fulfilling prophecy?) (Should I just go back to my last post and read my illogical statements with their identification? Might be easier than repeating the whole am-I-depressed-because-I'm-not-handling-it-right thing again.)
And now that I've decided not to go there again (I'll at least put it off), how about a change of subject? I know, so much for a one-topic post. This one is on anxiety. I was at an informal support group meeting, and the subject of camping came up. And the we-should-go-on-a-camping-trip topic came and drifted away. And I marveled at how these people spoke so casually and easily about camping as if it was actually a relaxing or at least a fun endeavor. Finally, I asked someone, swimming and camping don't give you anxiety? Which maybe wasn't fair (to myself) since we are all there for different reasons. Just because I have anxiety in one area doesn't mean everybody does. But it was one of those moments when I realized a bit more of what my anxiety stole from me. I have some positive emotions regarding camping, but the anxiety I know would go with it (or at least that did last time I went, when I determined not to go again until my medication was working better) makes it not nearly as desirable. Actually, it makes it almost undesirable.