Relapse

I was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and Depression during the Summer of 2013 when I was going into the Eighth Grade.

I had the symptoms of both mental illnesses my entire life, hoarding at age five, nail biting and skin picking at age seven, panic attacks and paranoia starting at eight, and my first thoughts of suicide and suicide attempt at the age of nine.

My life had been ruled by my mental illnesses since I was old enough to count.

By 2013, both me and my parents knew that without intervention, I would never see my sixteenth birthday.

So I got help.

I went to therapy. I got diagnosed. I did exposure treatment. I got medicated.

I stayed alive.

I found myself.

Turns out I am a huge nerd. A comedy queen who loves to make others laugh, and a pretty damn awesome person.

And life was great. I got an essay published by two nonprofits, I became a leader in the book club at my school, an intern for authors, and made the honor roll at my school for an entire semester.

And for a while, it felt like I’d been cured. Like one of those corny pastors on daytime television had placed their hand on my forehead and cried, “be healed my child!”

Then it hit me.

Like a tidal wave in tsunami.

And I was swept off my feet and plunged beneath the surface and the salt water filled my lungs and stung my eyes and I could hardly breathe.And I tried to swim out by myself, but it was hopeless. So I tried reaching for a rope, but it broke against the waves. And the water was cold, and the sea was empty. And I was drowning, and nobody could hear my desperate gasps for air nor my cries.

And I drowned in it.

On September 16th, 2016, I called the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

My depression and OCD had returned.

And I had to start over.

I was back at square one. Therapy once a week, no pills in my bedroom, no sharp objects, keeping the door to my room open. The whole shabang.

And it was like those past three years of happiness and peace meant nothing.

The girl I had become, the intern, the author, the student teacher’s boasted about, had escaped me. I was that shy, insecure, pitiful girl from 2013.

I had become her again.

Back to square one.

I didn’t want to start over.

Better to let the waves drag me down and bury me.

But if I give up, I die, and that girl I became, that vivacious, intelligent, funny girl that lives inside me, dies too.

And she cannot die.

She has far too much to do.

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NAMI - You are Not Alone — Relapse

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

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