OCD as a purple monster


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My merry-go-round

I've been keeping a mood log since sometime last May, or maybe June. I've done it on the OpenOffice software similar to Excel. This means I can do cool stuff like make charts and graphs to see how my mood has swooped around over the last year. This last week, I found that you can also put in a trend line over your chart. This was neat, but disturbing. I used it over charts made from week averages for the last 10 or 11 months. I learned that: My depression at its best (each day, then averaged per week) is getting better. My depression at its worst (each day, then averaged per week) is getting worse. My anxiety is getting worse. My sleep time is increasing. My exercise time is decreasing. Or, in short, my worst is getting worse. So then I wonder if I'm using the same standards to judge my mood as I was using in May last year. After all, the mood ratings are subjective, done each day, or occasionally every few days. But what if anxiety that I called a 5 in May would be
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An unseen illness

Well, to continue a train of thought started at 71 and Sunny 's blog, lots of my OCD has been, well, invisible. Every now and then, I'd spout off an imitation of my brain's on-going monologue, and either be regarded as worrying about stupid things or be regarded with a bit more respect. My brain jumped topics pretty well, too. I'm not sure if that is typical with OCD, but it usually was with mine. Like while driving. "I wonder if I offended so-and-so last night in our conversation. Oops, I went over a bump. Was it a bump, or a person? Check mirror. Looks like nothing, but maybe there was a person lying in the depression in the road. Well, probably not too realistic. But wait; I wasn't paying attention for the last moment. Better check the mirror again. Rats, checking the mirror meant I didn't pay perfect attention in front of me. Quick, check it again. No, don't look that long, now you have to look again. This is not going to work. Look further ahead,
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Time to add a therapist?

It was great to see my counselor today. I thought I was having a pretty good day, but still ended up crying during my appointment. "And this is me on a good day," I told her. But she said, "No, I've seen you on a good day, and this is not it." I guess she was right. Especially since I often don't cry during appointments. Anyway, I also talked with my psychiatrist on the phone on Tuesday, and we have it settled so that I'll take a higher dose for part of the month and then go back to my regular SSRI dose for the rest of the month and see if that helps even out my rollercoaster. I did show my blogged "letter" to my doctor to my therapist, and she told me to mail it to my doctor. Except that she said I should clarify the ending. Apparently when I wrote that I was running out of time (meaning my allotted time on the library computer was just about up and the computer would soon shut me off), it sounded too much like I was running out of time he
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