I'm OK, You're OK

I was picking up my Paxil at Rite Aid, and I have no problem saying what I'm there for. A woman barely audibly spoke to the pharmacist about her antidepressant, and I felt so bad that someone made her feel that way about herself. I have SEVERE anxiety and OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder), and I've had it my entire life. Since I was little I've had different obsessions and different rituals to go along with them. For example, if my mother didn't kiss me exactly 10 times before I went to bed I was convinced something bad would happen and would not sleep. If I didn't behave a certain way as a teenager God would punish me by killing my mother. If someone or something bumped my left arm, I would be COMPLETELY off if I didn't do the exact same thing to my right one. Step on a crack with my right foot, I must do it with my left or I can't stand it. Everything must be balanced in my head. Now, my world is CONSUMED by my daughter Athena. If it wasn't for these (shhh! don't tell!) drugs, I wouldn't even be able to sleep for fear that she would die while I wasn't looking. Every day is a struggle with that particular obsession with her because I don't take a large does since I breast feed, but it's almost tolerable. (Now don't judge me here either because I've been researching how much I can take and have it NOT get into my breast milk long before I was even pregnant). I've been to therapy and I often recommend him to people, because trust me they need him, curse what they may think of me!

So I guess what I'm saying is NO ONE should feel ashamed of the hand they've been dealt. Everyone is some sort of crazy. Just some are a 1 on the scale and quietly obsess over something and get over it quickly, while others are a 10 and hang out on bikes with flat tires screaming obscenities at me while I sit outside of a coffee shop with my friend.

To that woman I say love thy crazy self, and those that judge be damned!