I think that I'm coming down from my near two weeks worth of nervous energy. I'm tired, and have been most of the time, but now it isn't offset by nervous energy. It is offset by reading blogs, though.
So I guess that makes me a bit happy. I tried doing my writing ERP exercise yesterday on the scrupulosity issue, but was unsuccessful at making my anxiety rise. I really just wanted to move on to something else. I think that is a good problem. Hopefully I've pretty much won this round with the OCD monster. And with the quoteless quote fiasco in the past, and the last two days at work not having so many kids, well, life is almost peaceful. As long as depression doesn't swoop in.
I'm also cleaning out files. I'm not sure why that activity attracts me more than my dollhouse activity, except that I feel more successful at it. My dollhouse couch pieces are sitting on the fake buckskin, waiting for me to risk messing the whole project up by cutting into the fabric. Too risky, you know. My hobby is too risky; I might waste a piece of fabric that I spent 25 cents for! And I don't risk my money lightly, you know (except when I'm trying to get out of an OCD or anxiety-provoking jam, at which point money sometimes looses value). So instead, I throw away papers. And read through others.
Which leads to remembering stuff from a few years ago. Wow, three years ago. A time when my dreams were dashed. OCD played a prominant roll. Depression wasn't uninvolved, either. And then add in some communication issues. Throw on some theological issues. Don't forget that emotional issues were already involved. And then Plan A fell apart, the dream that had kept me going for almost three years, the one that convinced me that I wasn't depressed since I actually had hopes and plans for the future.
Followed by Plan B. This plan involved living a "normal" life. I hadn't experienced that much, because I was homeschooled, grew up in a large family, went to Puerto Rico for two school years following highschool... well, that pretty much does in any hope of being a normal, stateside, American young adult. Of course, having never really been culturally normal, I just kept going. But plan B was to work at a regular job (no raising support for mission work, and no confusing taxes in another language! Two HUGE plusses, though I would have been willing to deal with it had Plan A worked out). Yes, a regular job, a car I owned, and an apartment! With a room-mate, of course, for monetary reasons as well as for my mom's peace of mind.
Plan B had another side to it, though. And that was to take care of the OCD monster who I largely blamed for loosing me the job I so dearly wanted. So I found the only therapist in the area who was still practicing who was listed on the IOCDFoundation website. And together, we attacked the OCD monster.
I made a little progress, but the stress was too much, and the depression was acting up, so we got a doctor on my team of professionals. The medication possibly worked at the first dose. Then, as it increased, I got migrains from it. So the doctor added an antidepressant (tricyclic) that can help migraines. Meanwhile, in addition to the migraines, the depression acted up more. And the depression and OCD had a party, and I landed in the hospital, on the behavioral health unit that I still wish was called the Mental Health unit, so that it would sound like I had a brain problem as opposed to being a naughty child, now adult, who still couldn't behave right.
If that didn't end my chances of being normal, the following months with moderate to severe depression did.
Then again, what is normal? Maybe now I am normal. Homeschooled, mentally ill, part-time college student, day care worker, living in a cheap appartment with my guinea pig. Yup, sounds like a sort of normal.
Anyhow, remembering the demise of Plan A was a little sad. I think I'll take in some of the papers I found to my counselor and see if she can come up with some brilliant insight that will help me out.
In the mean time, I'll hope to adjust to the time change (jetlag anyone?), and possibly work up the courage to cut into that beautiful piece of fake buckskin so that I can cover the kitchen sponge pieces and manufacture a beautiful, expensive-looking set of couches. Or just sort through more papers. Or just watch a movie.