Yesterday I wrote and deleted two posts. They weren’t anything special, although in the second post I made a point about saying how the first was a work of genius – but let’s be more honest on this day, the day of Mon… god of truthfulness and dogs.
I’m behind on writing about things I’d like to store in this memory word box. My dad came out a couple of weeks ago to visit and help with house moving and in-between work we managed to get out and take him to a few places on the island. I wish I had written about this during those times but instead I’ll be playing back to the future when I make up for my vanishing tricks and post about those days hopefully in a few weeks.
Today we went out to buy some garden supplies (rocks…) and paint brushes (because we forgot to clean the previous ones…) and also for some food. It was a pretty neat trip out because its prologue managed not to be a case study into a break down like the past few weeks have been. Almost every time I was to go out it wouldn’t go well. I needed a lot of time alone to try and get myself together. Even though my dad knows I’m sick (having seen it for years) it is still embarrassing and leaves me with a lot of shame whenever it happens. It’s not exactly surprising though given that I am currently not in treatment (being 7,500 miles from my doctor) and not medicated.
Well, until yesterday.
I’ve spoken in the past about my fiancé’s issues, and for one of them his psychologist suggested CBD oil. We finally got round to buying some a couple of days ago and after a most momentous (I felt like saying bodacious for a moment because Bill and Ted took over my brain) break down, the following morning he asked me if I’d like to try it.
Now, this will sound ignorant, because in reality I know very little about CBD oil, but given my mental state I’m very wary of what I put in my body. I don’t drink or do any kind of drug out of fear it will make me worse. Afterall, many of my episodes often leave me feeling like I have an awful hangover and hardly remember what I did the night before anyway.
Not quite drunken nights like:
Did I call someone a fuck-nugget? Did I sleep with the vicar? Shi, did I sleep with the vicar’s wife? Where did this pirate hat come from?
More along the lines of…
shame shame shame shame shame guilt shame, pain, shame, and none of the fun of a good night out. Also, no pirate hats.
But, after reading a little about CBD oil and OCD and how it seems to be having some good press I decided to give it a go. Afterall, the night before I had said that all I needed was the courage and I was done. So, shrugging off anything was probably slim bets.
I’ve now tried CBD oil three times and I gotta say, even though it tastes disgusting, I like it. It’s not a miracle worker, obviously, and hasn’t suddenly made any of the nasties go away, but it’s taken the edge off and that is something I’m happy to keep trialling. Another weird but welcome part of it is that it’s increased my libido, which was dead in the ground because evil brain doesn’t exactly help in the bedroom. Just imagine a weird man in the corner stroking a cat and criticizing you with an English accent – all posh grammar school like, of course, I doubt scouse would quite have the same impact (going off American films with British villains, that is). In short, my experience with CBD so far has been positive with no negative side-effects (early days, I know, but given I’ve vomited – and worse – within those early days on doc prescribed drugs I’m thinking not baaaad, boss).
I’m going to update about this here and there and hopefully it’ll continue to be something that helps me keep that edge filed down enough to get some proper successful treatment.
So that’s that. I’m running with the bad kids, mom! The ones you warned me all about! The ones you told me I could do without! We’re in an awful mess and… wait, that’s Madonna not me.
Anyway, I hope all is well with whoever is reading this.
80s music also helps.