Reflecting

So I'm stuck in Moncton for an extra day (stupid Canadian weather), so I figured I'd take this time to post about my current life situation.
I've been struggling with an anxiety disorder since March of 2006. My doctors tried me on a variety of meds, but it was only in March of 2009 that we found something that somewhat worked. Zoloft helped reduce my anxiety, but it never really went away. I was constantly worrying about everything. I suppose it didn't help that I was in an emotionally abusive relationship from November 2005 until June 2009. 
For the sake of the party involved, I won't be discussing this relationship. It's not fair to him, and I refuse to be petty. This is all that will ever be said about him.
Anywho, getting back to my mental decline: in November 2009, I slipped into a really dark depression. It was slow at first, and I hardly noticed how much it was affecting my life. I stopped going to class. I told myself that I was able to make do with my schoolwork on my own. I didn't need to go to class to learn. I would make plans with friends and constantly cancel. Or ignore them. A lot. Which was kind of normal for me for awhile 'cause I was a pretty big flake, but it got gradually worse. Some friends went weeks without hearing from me. It was like I dropped off the face of the Earth for awhile. 
January 2010 was worse. I was constantly alone, which, looking back, was a really bad idea since I was always alone with my thoughts and rituals. That's another thing: rituals. I'm pretty OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder comes in many forms. If you think that I wash my hands thirty times a day and do laundry every day, you're thinking of the wrong kind. I count a lot. For example, when I go up the stairs to my apartment, I go up in sets of eight, and I alternate my feet so that my muscles get the exact same amount of exercise. I also have organizational OCD. Everything is my apartment is organized a very specific way... I have six bookshelves full of books, arranged by genre, author and height. I can tell you exactly where everything is my apartment, from my brown coffee mug (second shelf in kitchen cupboard, in front of the Olympic glasses) to my red checkered hoodie (hanging in closet, between my brown v-neck sweater and red Love hoodie). It gets exhausting at times because I can't quite control these urges to do things or organize and clean. I always feel like I HAVE to do these things, otherwise I can't rest, or do anything really. 
Anywho, January was bad. I started hurting myself. I was always anxious. I stopped going to class again. And I decided I needed help because it wasn't healthy for me to want to KEEP hurting myself. It wasn't right for me to want to die. So on February 3rd, when I met with my psychiatrist, I told him everything. Showed him my scars. Told him my fears. And he admitted me into the hospital.
And I'll stop here for now 'cause this post is getting hella long. Until next time folks :) xox