I guess I should explain a bit. I have OCD. It's not the type of OCD you see in movies or TV, where the person ticks or counts or have rituals they have to complete in order to feel safe. My OCD revolved around me constantly visualizing worst case scenarios for every moment of my life. For example: I'd get into the car in the morning to go to work, I'd wonder if today was the day the semi was going to side swipe my car and I'd die. Going to see a fireworks display on the 4th and I'd worry the fireworks would malfunction and plow into where we were sitting. A lot of my fears aren't rational, but to my mind they were. In order for me to ward away these bad thoughts, I would worry about them. If I worried about something enough, well then that meant it wouldn't happen.
While I was in therapy, I realized a lot of this was just naturally ingrained in who I was. I could name many instances as a child where I would imagine something and completely freak out (in my mind) over what I was afraid of. Mostly it was imagined slights, or something I had seen on TV that scared me. Then lets add in a horribly traumatic car accident I was involved in eleven years ago that I was still harboring wild guilt about and you have the mixings of a slight post traumatic stress disorder and depression. I also had a very nasty habit of allowing everything that was stressing me out to overlap. I would not let one stress go before I was adding another, then another and then another. It finally reached the breaking point one evening in the mother of all panic attacks. This panic attack of course happened in the middle of the night when every one else was asleep and I had to deal with it the best I could on my own.
That was my wake up call that it was time for help and not only therapist help this time. It was time to get my life in check and if that meant I had to start taking medication to get it under control, well that's what I would do. So I did and slowly, I got better. About two weeks before Alex's accident, my therapist thought I was well enough to not need her anymore and she was going to recommend my file be closed. Happy days are here again I thought. I was normal!
And then crash. My baby falls 10 feet from a bleacher and breaks his femur. How could this not trigger an episode? Of course it did. I felt horribly guilty because I hadn't thought about the possiblity that it could happen. I didn't ward it away. My son could have died if he landed the wrong way.
Then of course the what if's began. The what if's had been my friend for so many years, I almost didn't realize they started coming around again. What if he had broken his neck? What if he were dead right now? What if his leg doesn't heal? What if the break in his leg becomes something much more ominous?
Cue the panic music.
So I knew I wasn't cured. Not by a long shot.
She also helped me realize that many of my fears I have are normal and what any parent would be feeling if they had been involved in a traumatic event with their child. But for me, because of my predisposition of guilt and fear, it was probably 50x worse. She recommended I call my shrink tomorrow and explain what happened to see if I should have my meds (Zoloft 100 mgs) upped at least for the time being. That's probably a good idea.
There is definitely some things I'm going to have to work through. My guilt at not wanting him on my all the time because jesus, he could have died! I should feel grateful he can still lay on my chest! My guilt at trying to be a perfect mother, wife, housekeeper and employee and failing at each and every one. How to deal with this in a rational matter.
So for the foreseeable future, I'll be heading to therapy at least once a week.