I came by my recent diagnosis of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder honestly. My mother suffered from it for years, but has been medication free for the past 10. From my own analysis, anxiety (or what I now know is OCD) is my coping mechanism of choice. Whenever there are significant changes in my life, I start going into a tailspin of irrational thoughts and panic attacks. It's extremely bizarre, to me, because I know at the time that the thoughts are irrational. And yet, I am powerless to slow them down. The only difference between me on medication and me not on medication is the ability to break the thought cycle. It's counter-productive because while the OCD does distract me from my real-life worries, it renders me incapable of dealing with them appropriately.

So, a perfect storm of anxiety began brewing two months ago.  First, I passed the NCLEX and began working as an RN. I got an amazing job at a top-notch hospital, and I was very, very grateful. Additionally, I finally began working on coursework in my chosen master's concentration. Again, excellent turn of events. This is where I want to be. This is what I want to be doing. I'm making money; I'm supporting my family; I'm on my way. But with new opportunities for success come new opportunities for failure, and as someone who probably holds herself to unrealistic expectations, I began to lose control of the thought cycle.

This all would have probably resolved on it's own if I had not become pregnant. One morning, I went to the bathroom and saw blood. "Fuck." I didn't call my primary care provider, because there was no point. I was in my first trimester and these things happen. The miscarriage lasted a little less than 2 weeks. The first week I tried to forget it was happening. Treat it like a period. I'm fine, you're fine, my uterus is fine, the previously rapidly dividing cluster of cells that is now evacuating my body is fine, we're all fucking fine. Fine, fine, fine. Fine. I'm fine. The second week I was not fine. I began to lose functionality. I was depressed. I was spending hours a day going through the cycle of irrational thoughts of anxiety in my head. I needed medication and I needed it now.

I made an appointment with the PA who I knew would give me a script without asking too many questions. I've seen this PA before when I went in for my physical before starting graduate school. I went in for a Tetanus booster, and walked out with three scripts for three different medications, two of which I knew were completely superfluous. Sure enough, after a five minute discussion and assuring him I was not suicidal (define suicidal?) I got my script faxed and left. Relief was at least 21 days away, as it takes about that many days to reach a therapeutic level in my body. But it was on it's way at least, which was more than what I could have said two hours prior.

Fast forward several weeks and I'm feeling somewhat sedated. I like feeling somewhat sedated considering the alternative. The OCD is background noise and I can function. I'm doing well in school and in work, I can effectively parent and my sense of humor has returned. I'm me again, mostly. My ability to orgasm is in the shitter. As I am a woman and engaging in sex merely requires my participation, my husband is unphased. However, I am devestated (or as devestated as I can feel while being somewhat sedated). I never performed like a porn star, but I could at least climax within a reasonable amount of time if given the opportunity. Why must I choose between orgasms and sanity?

I'm aware there are things I can do to try and fix this. I can wait to see if it goes away, which it probably won't. I can switch to a drug with less sexual side effects, but we know that this medication works for me and that all anti-depressants have a risk of sexual side effects. I can take the drug at night, hoping that during the day my ability to achieve orgasm will be heightened. When it's all said and done, though, this remains: I'm a vibrant young woman experiencing sexual dysfunction. I do not want to take viagra (although my PA would probably give me a script). 

Trading orgasms for sanity. I choose sanity- for my career, for my children, for my husband. But I still mourn the loss.