This sentence marks the beginning of one of the most profound and deep emotional transformations I have ever made in my life. A life-changing process, no less. It took me 20 years to pronounce these words. 20 years of suffering, doubting, compulsing, self-punishment and avoidance.
I knew very well what it would mean to start treatment: I will have to go through hell! All the alarms in my head were switched on, because I knew, that at some point, I would have to face my demons. AND I WAS SCARED TO DEATH!
I knew very well what it would mean to start treatment: I will have to go through hell! All the alarms in my head were switched on, because I knew, that at some point, I would have to face my demons. AND I WAS SCARED TO DEATH!
I was 34 years old then. for years, I have been carrying this burden on my shoulders as if it was a necessary punishment I must endure, like Sisyphus, carrying the globe on his shoulders, endlessly suffering. Living without OCD was something unthinkable, an unrealistic notion I could not even imagine un my wildest dreams.
But let me start 8 months earlier, when I was not ready for CBT yet. At the beginning, when coming to therapy, a few months before, my initial purpose was only to diminish my symptoms, in order for me to function better and hide my compulsions more effectively from the rest of the world. I thought medications might help diminish my stress levels and help me function better alongside the OCD. And this is precisely the point: at that stage in treatment, I tried to adjust myself to the demands of the OCD, not fight it!
Apparently, the nice psychiatrist at my clinic I had just met happened to specialize in cognitive behavioral psychotherapy (CBT). I was very straightforward and told him my story, the one I had been hiding from the rest of the world (my friends, my parents, and worst of all, my husband) for years. he listened very carefully as I let go of this secret that had been such a burden for me to carry, and then, suggested CBT. But then he made the fatal mistake of telling me what this treatment is all about: facing, really facing my fears. no safety nests, no compulsions, no avoidance.
PURE ANXIETY, INTRAVENOUS!
WHAT? DOING EXPOSURES DELIBERATELY AND AVOIDING COMPULIONS? For me, it felt worse than dying! I was petrified from the very idea he was suggesting. No way, I thought to myself, this man has got to be kidding. I smiled politely and said "I would definitely consider it, but right now I do not feel emotionally ready for this". I closed the door on his office and shut the door to the idea of this treatment ever happening.
Or so I thought.
Without knowing, the seed to my recovery has been planted.
A few months had past, and the medicine I was prescribed was giving me the emotional masking I wanted. My anxiety seemed a bit better. I was not feeling the world in all of its harshness. It was like living in a softer, milder version of the world, in which I did not feel as much as I did before.
Unfortunately, it did not stop the compulsions, nor solve their origin. I continued to perform rituals, but lived in the false illusion that it was under control. During all that time, my therapist's suggestion continued to resonate in my head.
And then came the turning point; a stressful event occurred within my broad family. My compulsions went high over the roof. So high, that I couldn't control or hide them any more. Every moment in my day was spent on avoidance from exposure and washing hands. My children noticed. My husband started asking questions.
I couldn't control it any more. I finally understood, that there is no such thing as controlling my compulsions, because, by its nature, the OCD is a demanding disorder that sucks all of your energy and willpower. So what if I set rules to myself not to overdo the compulsions? No, says the OCD, you will do it anyway, otherwise your anxiety level will not decrease. So I succumbed, washed my hands according to the exact orders I myself invented and hated myself for it.
I was the slave, and the OCD was my master.
And there was that one crucial compulsion. It was during the big family crisis and I was standing in the bathroom, washing my hands again, again, again and again, exhausted. Suddently, it was like I watched myself from the side, realizing that this pattern will forever be my life and never change, if I do not do something drastic and courageous enough.
How do I get out of the bathroom? The compulsion still wasn't just right, because, as much as I tried to concentrate and make it perfect, my anxiety levels were so high, that I couldn't concentrate hard enough. I couldn't persuade myself that the ritual was just right. Unable to decide whether to continue washing or stop, I felt so anxious, that I was paralyzed. And then, all those months of hearing my therapist's suggestion in my head made me come to the decision.
FINALLY, I MADE MY DECISION.
A little voice within me said: "I will not collapse. I will relax, concentrate, finish the compulsion, walk out of the bathroom, but after this, I WILL START TREATMENT! AND SOME DAY, PROBABLY NOT TOMMOROW OR NEXT MONTH, BUT MAYBE IN A YEAR, I WILL FIND THE COURAGE AND STRENGTH WITHIN MYSELF NOT TO DO THE COMPULSION! ONE DAY, I WILL NOT FEEL THE NEED TO COMPULSE.
And there it was, The moment I made a decision to change my life, despite all of the difficulties that I knew I would surely face: the horror I might feel, the faked screams of danger my brain would send me, the feeling that I was about to jump into a bubbling, burning hot, lava. But I did not care.
At the date of my scheduled appointment, I went inside my psychiatrist's room with my heart pounding like a drum orchestra, and began the conversation with this first sentence:
I want to begin CBT.
This was the beginning of a very long journey to find peace and strength within myself.
The best decision I have ever made.
But let me start 8 months earlier, when I was not ready for CBT yet. At the beginning, when coming to therapy, a few months before, my initial purpose was only to diminish my symptoms, in order for me to function better and hide my compulsions more effectively from the rest of the world. I thought medications might help diminish my stress levels and help me function better alongside the OCD. And this is precisely the point: at that stage in treatment, I tried to adjust myself to the demands of the OCD, not fight it!
Apparently, the nice psychiatrist at my clinic I had just met happened to specialize in cognitive behavioral psychotherapy (CBT). I was very straightforward and told him my story, the one I had been hiding from the rest of the world (my friends, my parents, and worst of all, my husband) for years. he listened very carefully as I let go of this secret that had been such a burden for me to carry, and then, suggested CBT. But then he made the fatal mistake of telling me what this treatment is all about: facing, really facing my fears. no safety nests, no compulsions, no avoidance.
PURE ANXIETY, INTRAVENOUS!
WHAT? DOING EXPOSURES DELIBERATELY AND AVOIDING COMPULIONS? For me, it felt worse than dying! I was petrified from the very idea he was suggesting. No way, I thought to myself, this man has got to be kidding. I smiled politely and said "I would definitely consider it, but right now I do not feel emotionally ready for this". I closed the door on his office and shut the door to the idea of this treatment ever happening.
Or so I thought.
Without knowing, the seed to my recovery has been planted.
A few months had past, and the medicine I was prescribed was giving me the emotional masking I wanted. My anxiety seemed a bit better. I was not feeling the world in all of its harshness. It was like living in a softer, milder version of the world, in which I did not feel as much as I did before.
Unfortunately, it did not stop the compulsions, nor solve their origin. I continued to perform rituals, but lived in the false illusion that it was under control. During all that time, my therapist's suggestion continued to resonate in my head.
And then came the turning point; a stressful event occurred within my broad family. My compulsions went high over the roof. So high, that I couldn't control or hide them any more. Every moment in my day was spent on avoidance from exposure and washing hands. My children noticed. My husband started asking questions.
I couldn't control it any more. I finally understood, that there is no such thing as controlling my compulsions, because, by its nature, the OCD is a demanding disorder that sucks all of your energy and willpower. So what if I set rules to myself not to overdo the compulsions? No, says the OCD, you will do it anyway, otherwise your anxiety level will not decrease. So I succumbed, washed my hands according to the exact orders I myself invented and hated myself for it.
I was the slave, and the OCD was my master.
And there was that one crucial compulsion. It was during the big family crisis and I was standing in the bathroom, washing my hands again, again, again and again, exhausted. Suddently, it was like I watched myself from the side, realizing that this pattern will forever be my life and never change, if I do not do something drastic and courageous enough.
How do I get out of the bathroom? The compulsion still wasn't just right, because, as much as I tried to concentrate and make it perfect, my anxiety levels were so high, that I couldn't concentrate hard enough. I couldn't persuade myself that the ritual was just right. Unable to decide whether to continue washing or stop, I felt so anxious, that I was paralyzed. And then, all those months of hearing my therapist's suggestion in my head made me come to the decision.
FINALLY, I MADE MY DECISION.
A little voice within me said: "I will not collapse. I will relax, concentrate, finish the compulsion, walk out of the bathroom, but after this, I WILL START TREATMENT! AND SOME DAY, PROBABLY NOT TOMMOROW OR NEXT MONTH, BUT MAYBE IN A YEAR, I WILL FIND THE COURAGE AND STRENGTH WITHIN MYSELF NOT TO DO THE COMPULSION! ONE DAY, I WILL NOT FEEL THE NEED TO COMPULSE.
And there it was, The moment I made a decision to change my life, despite all of the difficulties that I knew I would surely face: the horror I might feel, the faked screams of danger my brain would send me, the feeling that I was about to jump into a bubbling, burning hot, lava. But I did not care.
At the date of my scheduled appointment, I went inside my psychiatrist's room with my heart pounding like a drum orchestra, and began the conversation with this first sentence:
I want to begin CBT.
This was the beginning of a very long journey to find peace and strength within myself.
The best decision I have ever made.
