The post I HAD to write

But you don't HAVE to read...

I have had some nice results from taking the ADD/Anti depressant/Anti anxiety drugs Wellbutrin and Strattera. I don't wake up and start to plan when I can sleep again. Then run around at 5:30 PM trying to make the house look like a "real mom" lives here. One that does the dishes and cares for the kids instead of staring at the ceiling and letting the kids drink juice boxes all day so she doesn't have to get up to fill cups. Now I have energy and purpose and I actually can focus on the task at hand instead of feeling like I'll never be as good as (insert anyone) so why bother.

An unexpected side effect has been regaining some memory of my past. There are big chunks of my childhood that I just didn't remember. My theory is that my brain needed that space and figured I wouldn't mind if I couldn't recall my third grade oboe recital. But now it's making more sense of everything. That oboe recital? I faked it, faked them all. I would pretend to blow into my oboe and not actually do it. I knew it, the teacher knew it and we both silently decided it was better that way. But what I'm recalling is why I faked it. I used to put that oboe in my mouth and feel an overwhelming need to bite down and crack the reed. It was so smooth and made such a satisfying crack when I bit. I HAD to do it. And I remembered one choir concert where I had to stick my lower jaw out in this odd grimace smile every couple of minutes. I had no idea why, but I know that doing it made me feel better. I'm pretty sure it made my parents suspect I might be functionally retarded. But I HAD to do it.


My sister and I always laughed at my bedtime routine growing up. It went like this.

1.) Check floor, ceiling, wall and bedsheets for spiders.
2.) Turn light off, turnitonrealquick and see if any spiders emerged.
3.) Repeat
4.) Repeat
5.) Repeat and then make a running leap into bed. Huddle under the covers and smell the dial soap on my hands to calm myself down. If I had to get up to pee the routine started over.


When I married my husband I had white knuckled it down to one on/off of the light switch. But I still HAD to do it even it meant waking his ass up with a blaring overhead light. The funny thing about all those compulsive soothers it that they are exhausting. And they stop working after awhile so you move on to the next one (shopping) and the next (eating) and before you know it you are just so fucking wiped out you can't get up off the couch. Then you have created a beautiful combo of crabby tired and compulsive which makes you want to RUN AWAY and then you make brilliant parenting moves like this.

I went to a therapist for the first time the year I was married. It felt like a huge relief. Somewhere to go and let all those fears, anxieties and anger burst forth without worrying about anyone else. I wasn't hurting feelings, or trying to figure out how what I was saying/doing was gonna bite me in the ass later. I could just let it out. Doing that cut my HAD to do its by more than half. When I started taking medication it also helped me out of that exhaustive depressive state I had come to. (Effexor). But the anxiety that dominated my days was always there.

About six months ago I found a new doctor. One that nailed what was going on with me right away. He asked if I had trouble concentrating on tasks growing up (yes), did I test well but have a hard time focusing in school growing up (yes) and what if felt like when I HAD to do something (like I was standing on the edge of a cliff debating whether or not to jump off and someone pushes me from behind). His take was that I was struggling with ADD and anxiety. Which is sort of like the chicken and egg question. Which comes first? Does my lack of concentration cause anxiety or does my anxiety cause a lack of concentration. But I'm opting to open my mouth and swallow instead of over thinking this one. The impulsive compulsions are not so much OCD (well kinda) as they are an anxiety release valve. And as my anxiety goes down so do they.

I still HAVE to say my prayers every night or I'm convinced that something will terrible will happen to my family. God will say "Well, if you don't care enough to pray....guess I can't stop that speeding train for ya!". But I'm learning that just might be part of normal motherhood anxiety. And waking up with energy and purpose is so nice. So freaking sweet. I still love to shop (who the hell doesn't) but I'm "normal" about it now. (Husband will disagree, but the man still thinks a family of four should be able to buy groceries for $75) The last frontier for me seems to be food. And I'm slowly but slowly letting that one go. It's a tough one, but I'm working on it.