My Mucous Mental Disorder

I recently weaned myself off bupropion, which is commonly prescribed as a smoking cessation aid. It’s not that I was trying to quit cigarettes; I’ve been smoke-free for many years. I’d requested my family doctor write me a temporary script for bupropion, to hopefully mitigate anxiety attacks that were hampering my ability to function at work.

Turns out the anxiety attacks had everything to do with my trying to function at work.

I declined to renegotiate my contract at the overly stressful job, and my anxiety has all but disappeared since making the decision. The medication was only meant to be temporary. I have a full-time commitment to venlafaxine in large doses, as I live with a little monster called Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD. I am okay with staying on that drug for maybe another year, max (my stomach is turning at the thought of further brain tweaking). I am slowly but surely building an arsenal of tools for physical and mental wellness that don’t support Big Pharma.

I have struggled with depression on and off, but the anxiety disorder that is OCD has really never gone away since it began in childhood, although at times it is far worse than others. My earliest memories of it are from elementary school age, where I would stand in the doorway of my bedroom and be stuck as I attempted to leave the room. I simply could not leave until I had “accounted for” every object or group of objects that I was leaving behind (even if I was just going to another room in the house). I do this kind of visual checklist whenever I leave a room, an office, or a car, and I do it many, many times a day. Many times an hour, actually. It significantly slows me down, and I have, for the most part, accepted that.

Last night I had a dream that I was dealing with some kind of rainbow colored phlegm. I was its producer and I was prolific. I had a sink, a garbage, and some loved ones who were not getting any quality time with me (nor I with them). I was increasingly disgusted and discouraged. On awakening, it did not take many lines of writing in my journal to realize that this mucous infliction was a stand-in for my OCD.

It is profuse and intrusive, and it steals hours from my everyday activities. In truth, it does not typically have a place in my quality time with other beings. I am quite skillful at being present in one-on-one situations or in small groups. But getting there…! And leaving…!

My awareness and beliefs around this thing are shifting. I am on a huge spiritual learning curve, and I’m opening up to the idea that OCD — MY OCD, anyway — is more malleable and manageable than I’d previously been led to believe. I’d love to add a couple extra hours to each day…who wouldn’t?

I am grateful for this inspiration to write. Thanks for reading. Hopefully I’ll be back sooner than later. While writing this piece, I have experienced not one scintilla of my mucous mental disorder. The realization is glorious.

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