Went out for my b-day with the family. They, particularly my mother, noticed how off I was. I’d deliberately left the phone in the car so I wouldn’t indulge my compulsions when I stepped away to go the restroom (and I know, TMI, but whatever the hell is going on with my medication and my appetite, I’ve been spending more time there). It worked, and I made the drive home, but they came on so fucking strong that I did it again. This feels like a Catch 22 in hell: either expend anxiety and depression to fight the compulsions, or indulge the compulsions. And fighting them makes them worse! It’s like damned if you, damned if you don’t! If it weren’t both frightening and sad, it might be darkly funny. But it’s not funny. It’s scary.

Thanks to everyone for the well-wishes. This is not how I wanted to end my vacation of celebrate my birthday, but I guess it is what it is. God, help me. At this point, I feel like even if I were to manage to reclaim my mind, with all of this stuff rattling around in there, the damage has been done so badly that I can never be back to where I was.

Sorry for all of the drama. It’s just frustrating that I fought-and hard-only to face an enemy twice as big. It just makes fighting feel pointless.