The Clusterf*ck of My Brain

Mental Health Awareness (BDSM friendly)

Hi. My name is Sid and I have depression and anxiety with a lot of OCD tendencies. (throws out a wave)

I have no shame that I have anxiety and depression and I talk about my story to anyone who will listen, even if I am holding them hostage with the conversation. Yes, I can be that person.

Even after all this time, I can still remember when the changes started to happen to my body. These OCD cleaning tendencies started and they started BAD! These thoughts in my brain and how my body reacted.

It’s that,

“am I going crazy moment?”.

(if you are nodding right now then please love this story)

You begin to question your family tree. Is there any insanity? I know my mom is a little “off” but that’s totally different. We all have that crazy cat lady aunt! Right??

I can remember being in my beloved doctor’s office on Christmas Eve begging him for help. I was 24 years old and the mother of two very young children.

Twenty-two years ago all of this was “newish”. All these miracle drugs that were there to help. They promised to make us feel better. They gave us hope. It was decided to put me on the popular pill Prozac and some Xanax. Since they weren’t sure effects in breast milk I was advised to stop breastfeeding my beloved child.

That broke my heart. I am that breastfeed them until they wanna stop kind of mom. I had to mourn that I had to stop nursing my baby and that hurt me on top of everything else too. I just felt like I couldn’t do anything right and now my poor baby was confused why mommy wasn’t feeding them. It broke my heart.

So I started on this journey into anxiety and depression at an early age. I feel I should add my childhood was less than perfect with an alcoholic stepdad so perhaps I was always on anxiety alert. I feel that with time I have learned some valuable lessons, broken some hearts — including my own, I have hit rock bottom and then stumbled down a bit more.

I wondered what life would be without me.

I was at a time in life where I welcomed death, about twenty months ago, when I hit below rock bottom. At times I even begged God to take me home. I’m going to open myself all the way open right now and share something that my partner doesn’t even know Himself.

For the very first time in my life, I thought about suicide. Like actually thought that it would stop the pain course of action to take. I was hurting that badly. I was home alone one day after getting out of the hospital, a week-long psychiatric stay, and I was having a discussion with God.

Like how I know I’m not perfect and I’ve done so many wrong things and that I am so sorry for my actions. Then I go into these debates of explaining my actions. Like we got pregnant the first time we had sex at 19 and got married at 20 because we were pressured to do the right thing. Would that marriage have lasted? No? He would have been my summer fling and I would have moved on to the next cutest guy or two.

Then I was thinking of the past 10 years. The incredible heartbreak. Being so beat and broken I doubted my every action that I made with my second husband. Sometimes even breathing. I never felt like I was enough. If I just did this, or that, or something like this. I felt like there was absolutely nothing that he liked about me. Why was he even with me?

Then I thought about how I wasn’t physically or emotionally able to see my Dominant. I couldn’t even text Him. He didn’t even know if I was dead or alive. Well, I guess He did know I was alive because I was on His cell plan so He could tell I was using the cell. Just not to communicate with Him. I just couldn’t. I thought that I deserved this pain I was receiving and He deserved more than what I could offer at the time.

So, I was home alone, running a hot bath. I was in so much pain. I just couldn’t do it anymore. My Dominant had given me two beautiful titanium cuffs to match my collar for Christmas one year. He screwed the left one on my wrist the night He gave them to me and it’s never been removed until this moment. I slowly unscrewed the beautiful cuff from my left wrist and placed it on top of my towel next to the tub. I had given up on me.

Remembering, I was so calm. I was still having this discussion with God, okay, I beg you please “take me”. Stop this pain. Please make my mind shut the f*ck up! I can’t continue to feel like I am dying. If you see fit then I offer myself to you to take. I sat down in my bathtub. It was so calming, the hot scented water bringing all of the senses alive. I’ve always loved the water and when I was younger I had this near-death drowning experience and I can still remember it very strongly. Wow. Another thing revealed. I don’t usually share that story either.

I’ve tricked my tub to fill fuller by turning that round thingy upside down. STOP LAUGHING! You know you know what I mean. That’s all I know to call it.

I’ve always been curious about some serious water play, like drowning, so I laid back in my bathtub holding my nose and closing my eyes and closing my mouth. The world went quiet. There were no voices. There were no sounds. I was calm. It was calm.

I stayed that way for a very long time, lifting ever so slightly up to take a breath now and then.

I opened my eyes to look around my bathroom. I opened my mouth a tiny bit and released the fingers on my nose. I didn’t panic as the water entered my body. I was more annoyed that water was going up my nose than anything because that burned. I use scented epson salts in my baths. My ears are underwater, and the tip of my nose giving me air to breathe. I can remember smiling. Not today God. I get it.

I remember placing my cuff back on my wrist right where it belonged and I had hope. Even now if I hear myself telling someone that the left cuff has never been removed since He gave it to me I grimace knowing I am not telling the truth a little bit, remembering when I about lost it all.

I was able to dig deep down and find some sort of strength and claw and crawl my way back up. A lot of days, most of the days actually, it was breath by breath. Yes. Breath by breath sounds about right.

(So, fast forward a lot because this isn’t a book.)

Here it is 22 years later since I was diagnosed with my mental hiccups. I had my first hospital psychiatric stay 20 months ago and still have been trying to find steady ground and get medicines adjusted or changed. I’m currently on my second medicine change in thirteen days. Something has changed though in three days. I feel hopeful. A calmness has surrounded me.

The first medicine change thirteen days ago did a number on me. I thought I was going crazy. I was convinced that this was the big one. Wednesday night as I was lying on the bathroom floor thinking death would be peaceful. I knew it was time to call my psychiatrist to say the new medicine isn’t working.

Medicine change number 2. That first medicine change didn’t like me. I’m already feeling better after just stopping that medicine three days ago! It really did a number on me but I did what all moms do. I was mom. I got up and packed their lunches, I took them then to school, I picked them up from school, I took them to get haircuts, we even celebrated a birthday. I cooked dinner. I cleaned the house. We hosted friends! I was a loving and devoted girlfriend and submissive. My partner took care of me and my Dominant helped calm my mind.

I lived. I breathed. I survived.

I wrote this post.

PS. I am feeling much better these days and have had excellent care and continue to do so.

Please get help if you are ever in need.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Call 1–800–273–8255
Available 24 hours everyday.