Anoned as this is not just about me, but as I’ve already answered earlier, it’s not difficult to guess who…
I had a relapse in 2001 that affected my impulse/compulsion control. I went to the loo in a cafe and thought ‘hmm, I could take my clothes off right now’ and didn’t (thank goodness).
I went to see my doctor asap and was on steroids pretty quickly and it turned out to be a truly terrible relapse. My face was paralysed, with my eyes stuck wide-open.
The anxiety came later after my husband was ill, he’d become delusional and would tell me I’d done one thing after another wrong. It was pure chance that showed me that it was him and not me!
Last year, the anxiety got a bit worse and I realised that after 10 years, I’d reached the end of my endurance. I’d learned to be so careful in what I said and did and lost a lot of my spirit and spontaneity. I’d hit a wall.
When this happened, I started to twitch all over and ended up in the ER and was given a nice big dose of something tranquillising and sent home. I was now having self-harming thoughts - which felt just like the relapse in 01. I could easily picture myself throwing myself out of a car or slitting my wrists and so I went to talk to my GP.
I started the Citalopram and felt better within a day. I metabolise drugs quickly and don’t suffer side-effects to much as a rule. The huge plus was I got my backbone back. I could yell back at my OH and stopped being such a desperate doormat. Now, that felt good.
The next time that he had an ‘episode’ of anxiety/irrationality, I realised that this was it. I couldn’t stop crying, telling him how much I loved him and I think he realised that this was the most important moment for us since he was almost killed in a riot in 1998. I could not accept this behaviour any longer. It was making me ill. It had made me ill.
Stay together or break up? Stay, as we’d promised to look after each other forever and if things were the other way around, then I know he’d bust a gut to get help. We made a solemn promise and in a way, I failed him by not dealing well with his illness. I suspect that deep down, he resents me for being ill, but he’d never admit to it.
I should have got help 10 years ago and yet fell into a hole. I’m not in a hole anymore. Citalopram does paper over the cracks a bit, but it’s given me back my courage.
Sorry. Everyone is different. My life reads a bit like a soap when put like this.