Had a Good Cry (not really an OCD post)

Tonight I had a good cry. I actually found it hard at first to start crying. I could feel the tears stinging my corneas. I could feel them pool at the edge of my eyes. And then I cried. I cried pretty good too. Probably not long enough to let it all out, but I cried. I have so many wonderful things in my life, so many things to be thankful for, so many things that can be so easily taken for granted. But, lately, I have been overwhelmed by some of the bad or sad or painful things in my life.

For as long as I can remember, I have not had a day without pain, physical pain, somewhere in my body. It has usually been in my back and I have not thought too much of it, as I hurt my back in college. But the pain grew, it is worse, and I have just managed over the years to bear it. Slowly, my knees and ankles joined the painful fray. Like a team hell bent on making me stop in my tracks, they would flare here and there. Still, I didn't think overly much about the pain. I would go to physical therapy, I would take medications. But, the pain has persisted. And lately, the pain has increased. It flares in various parts of my body, flitting between joints like an Ouch Fairy. It wasn't until my wrists started hurting for no apparent reason that I became concerned. Out of nowhere it seemed, my wrists began to hurt like I had sprained them. I couldn't put away dishes, because the weight of a bowl was too much for me to deal with at the time. I called the doctor, I made the appointment.

I felt stupid in the appointment. How odd does it sound to say that you are having painful joints and the pain moves around your body and, no, there is no apparent cause. They are just painful and sore and tender and sometimes swollen. The doctor told me it was a symptom called migrating myalgia, not really that common. However, it can be a symptom of some autoimmune disorders. But he really didn't think that was it. He wasn't sure what it was, but he just didn't think that was it.

When I returned to see him a week or so later, the pain remained and he sent me for blood tests. Once again I didn't think much of it. I mean, really, it must just all be in my head. I went back to life as normal and just bore the brunt of the pain. Just put my chin up in the air and kept going. I was in pain, I was exhausted, but I kept moving through the days. And then this past Monday, about the time I was thinking I should call to check on my blood tests, the doctor's nurse called me. Something had been found, my inflammation marker was elevated and they wanted to refer me to a rheumatologist right away. What!?! Excuse me, can you just wait a second...What did it mean? I asked the nurse if it could mean I have RA (rheumatoid arthritis), she told me yes. I asked her if it meant I could have other things, she told me yes. But she wanted to get off the phone with me it seemed, "the specialist will explain everything when he looks at it"...I hung up, I cried, and then I went back to the world.

My pain continues. Right now as I type this, my knee is swollen and very tender and covered with an ice packet. The pain in my fingers seems to have subsided a bit, thankfully. As well as the pain in my back and neck...my feet are still sore. I don't know what I have in store for me. I am still waiting to hear back from the rheumatologist. I just know I needed a good cry and now I will jump back into things. Sore or not.

Tick Tock...Tic Tic Tic

So, several months ago I started developing tics. Maybe I had them before, but if they were present they weren't at a recognizable level. It started small. A few twitches in my face when I had a bad thought attack. I didn't think much of it, because I thought I was just grimacing at the thought. But then it increased in number and severity. It hit a high point while I was taking a high dose of a medication. I thought, well it must be the medication. I had been on the medication for years, but never at that high a dose and never with that effect. I had my doctor switch me to a new medication. The tics slowed in number, but have never gone away. 

There are tic disorders out there. The one most people think of is Tourette's syndrome. I don't have this as this develops in childhood. However, something is happening in my body and unfortunately, this is a common disorder associated with OCD. I swear, I am like a walking definition for OCD and it's related disorders. It SUCKS!

Nowadays I can cope with the tics. They don't happen frequent enough for most folks to notice. My husband notices. But he is with me every single day. My mother notices, but she is my mother. I don't expect my nearly 2 year old son to notice for a long time. It's just Mama and she just does those things. But I hate noticing them. I hate when I know they are going to happen. I hate its ugliness. 

Yes, I said it...I find it ugly. I mean, who wouldn't? Your face contorts, or you make a funny sound, or you do a weird body movement. I can feel the tic, or whatever it may be called, about to happen. I feel the sensation of tension throughout. And for a millisecond I almost feel like I can control it. Like, maybe somehow my will can overcome it. But then it hits and TIC and it is over. It is an amazing process if you think about it and it takes an amazing amount of energy. But, sometimes when I am having a bad day, it wears my entire body out completely. Sometimes it makes me want to cry, because I just wish it would stop. I don't expect it ever will. 

I am not sure why some people have tics and some don't. I am not sure why some are born with OCD and others have almost no anxiety. If I knew these answers I would feel so blessed. But, I know what I have and I understand it more everyday. For that, I am blessed beyond compare. For that, I can move forward and still enjoy life, still feel the love of my husband and son and family and friends. For that, I can wake in the morning and accept what life throws at me. 

Could It Be?...Did I sign a new lease on my life???

As many folks know, I have been fighting the good fight with a serious mental disorder called Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It is a disorder that is very often made into comic relief, but nonetheless is very serious. The medications many folks with the disorder need alone should signify this!

Well, I am in constant search and constantly filling myself with hope that there may be helpful answers out there somewhere. Not answers that will cure the OCD, I am well aware this will never happen - it is incurable. But answers to help me better tackle the Tiger that is my disorder, answers to help me choose the best path.

Recently I was able to visit an OCD specialist in Portland, OR and I feel with all of my heart and soul he handed me at least one of those answers, if not 5 million of them. Taking what he told me I have been able to return to my home and discuss things with my primary physician and finally get on some more appropriate medication. With his help I have finally got a better picture of what is going on inside my brain, why I think the way I do and why I have such a hard time with certain things. It has been miraculous!!!

And for those of you wondering what he said...well...He finally confirmed a diagnosis of ADHD. It is a diagnosis that has been discussed in both my physician's and counselor's offices. And little did I know how important that diagnosis was!!! Apparently, for those of us with both ADHD and OCD, without conquering one's ADHD symptoms, one will find it highly difficult, if not impossible, to battle their OCD symptoms. ADHD and OCD are commonly related and highly inheritable (which means I likely inherited both from someone in my family and the likelihood of me passing them on to my son is rather high). ADHD acts as a kind of megaphone to the OCD symptoms. So, until the ADHD is dealt with, the OCD symptoms will be broadcast at mega-volume throughout my brain and life no matter how hard I fight them.

So, what does this mean regarding medication? I will stay on my current SSRI to help me continue battling my OCD symptoms. But I am also adding an ADHD medication, Ritalin. Already I have seen the improvement. Already it has made a difference in my OCD. Already I know I am moving forward on the right path!!!

I feel like I made such a fantastic decision to visit the doctor in Portland and I feel like things are finally looking up for the first time in a very, very, very long time!!! (And, yes, I did just right "very" 3 times...the OCD isn't cured, folks...LOL)

My Hands Are Scarred

Lately, I haven't been doing the greatest in my fight against OCD. Actually, nope, I take that back, I am fighting the fight, strongly, but unfortunately my OCD has new strength. I am weary, I am stressed, I am exhausted, and I am weak...my OCD knows all these things and is attacking with the ferocity of a caged tiger...because that is what it is, a caged tiger that sometimes gets loose and mauls my thoughts, emotions, reality.

I told a friend today that I feel like I live in two worlds. I live in the world that all of you reside in everyday. The world that holds reality and goodness and love. But inside of my brain amongst all the factoids I learned in college and the childhood memories is another world. The everyday person will find it hard to even find, let alone notice this world existing within their minds. Even folks with mild OCD only skirt the edge of this world. But those like me, those with severe OCD fall full force into this world every day and every day we battle to get out of it.

Some days are good, some days we can sit on the edge of the world and only see glimpses of the OCD...these days are joyous triumphs. But other days are bad. We fall deep into the depths of the world and scarcely see the reality outside our brain. Lately, I have had a hard time reaching the edge of this world, and some days I hardly exit it. This is why my hands are scarring. This is why they are red, dry, cracked, and pained. I am applying petroleum jelly to them at night now, just to get relief from the pain. And it only somewhat relieves the pain. It is hard for me to carry out the act of moisturizing my hands with things like petroleum jelly (another OCD trait), so they often are at the mercy of my will.

I see my hands during the day, I stare at them sometimes, not believing I can do this to myself. And then, guess what, I wash my hands. You would think the pain I now feel when I wash my hands would cause me to withdraw them and not wash as often. But somehow the pain reinforces my need to wash them. The drier my hands are the more I feel they are dirty...and so it becomes a vicious circle.

I am stronger now than I was so many months ago. I am better equipped to handle the onslaught of my disorder. But it still hurts. Truly hurts. And when I look at my hands and feel the pain, I can't help but feel a little bit pissed off...at the OCD and myself...

Walking On Eggshells With ME

Something I am always trying to think of is a way to best describe OCD to the person who doesn't have it and has never experienced it. I usually have zero idea of any way to best describe it. But in talking with my mother one evening, a way dawned on me. One can think of OCD as having to walk on eggshells with your self. Not eggshells with that easily angered boyfriend or eggshells with your in-laws or even eggshells with your ultra-conservative grandmother. Nope, I am talking eggshells with yourself. That is what every person with OCD is doing, walking on the eggshells, trying their damnedest not to crack one or make a sound to alert the OCD monster within their minds.


All of us with OCD have a line we feel we must tow. Actions that rule our everyday to keep a specific order so that we do not awaken the OCD monster. We fear that monster awakening. It is an abusive part of ourselves. It abuses us from within everyday. But everyday, we carry out certain rituals, compulsions, in order to try and keep that OCD monster happy or quiet or asleep. If we just wash our hands exactly twice each time, it will remain happy. If we make sure to tap the light switch three times or six times or twelve, then the OCD monster will not wake and lash out at us. That OCD can at times keep us scared for our lives, literally. It is like an abusive parent, spouse, or friend. Well, it's never a friend.


And somedays, for whatever reason, we are unable to tow the line perfectly. And because of this, our OCD monster awakens, grows grumbly, gets louder. It screams out in our head like a blow horn is attached to our thoughts. Like the images within our brain are being played out on a big screen in front of us. And in these instances, we hop to it, jump back in line, and work harder to carry out our compulsions. We exhaust ourselves in every way just to quiet the monster. We burn the circuits of our brain, wash the skin practically off our hands, fold and refold the clean clothes, open and close the refrigerator door, take shower after shower, check and recheck. It feels endless.


So, with that I simply say that having OCD feels like I am walking on eggshells with myself.

OCD...That Degenerate!!!

Lately I have been having a rather tough time with my OCD. Because of this I feel like coming on here and talking, or blogging, to get things out. I don't know that I really feel like talking about my current troubles too much. I am not really sure what I feel like talking about. One thing I was thinking was maybe helping you all to understand why, even though I have had OCD since early childhood, it is so much worse now. I have had treatment, right? I have found some proper meds, right? So, why would it be worse now. Well, to put it simply, OCD is a degenerative disorder. Left untreated, it grows worse and worse with time and then becomes harder to treat and change the behavior. (This site can tell you a little more: NAMI)

Thus, even though I am currently treated for my disorder, I was not treated for OCD until the late age of 25. This is unfortunately due to the facts of my not being aware of there even being a condition like OCD and from previous misdiagnoses from mental health professionals. I am thankful everyday I now have the help I need, but I sometimes find myself a tiny bit pissed, okay maybe a big bit, that it took so long to be helped.

Unfortunately, that is the case for most people. OCD is an extremely shameful disease. Not that folks should feel shame, it is simply that many of us who have OCD feel very, extremely ashamed everyday. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't at some point think I am some horrible, awful person. And many other folks with OCD are just like me. We shy away from getting help. We are scared to talk to those who can help us, for fear they will see this monster that we see. In the end, when we are finally able to get help, most of us can finally see that the monster isn't real. It is just a mask our OCD has created for us. But, that shame, even after being treated for many years, remains. It isn't as strong now. I know it isn't a reasonable shame. But it still remains.

We folks with OCD also tend to not get help until later in life, because we are so unaware of what is happening inside our brains. We know something is amiss, but not the what. We carry out weird, odd compulsions and people give us looks. We learn to cover up the compulsions. Everyday, many of us OCDers carry out compulsions that no one ever sees and that no one ever will see. To this day, my husband who I would tell anything and everything to, still hasn't seen all of my compulsions and probably never will. It isn't because I don't trust him enough to let him see. It is partly because I don't want to stress him with them, and partly because I don't even realize I am hiding them.

Finally, a reason that many of us, despite having good health care professionals on our side and wonderful medications to help us, have a hard time battling our OCD is because it is a constantly evolving disorder. It doesn't stay the same for many of us. What does that mean? Well, for instance, there was a time in my life where I was completely focused on prayers and having to say them exactly right, and an exact number of times, and with the exact words. Then there was another time where things had to be cleaned properly, where things had a proper placement. There have been many evolutions in my disorder, and along the way I have had compulsions come and go and sometimes come back again. And at this time in my life, I have too many obsessions to even list on this post and my compulsions have changed over the last 6 months and my OCD includes fears of praying properly and fears of cleaning properly and fears of how to speak things properly. It evolves all the time, and so many of us have to constantly evolve our treatment.

OCD is a continuous fight. It is a chronic disorder, it does not go away. But it can get better. And it does. If you can just get past the fear and shame, and sometimes the evolutions. 

The First Time My OCD Was Truly Severe...

In this picture I look really happy. I look like I am really enjoying the moment and taking it all in. If I look at this picture now I wish to be back in that very moment as happy as I appear. However, I know the TRUTH. I was happy on some level, but underneath, I was stuck in one big horrible OCD "episode". It was one, like many I have had, that I felt I couldn't climb out of...it was suffocating and lonely and scary. And, even though you can't see it here in this photo, my mind and spirit were in a horrific state. See, you really can't judge a book by its cover!

Before I go on, I want to explain that even though I can break up my life into various OCD episodes, this does not mean the OCD is not a part of my life between these episodes. Nay, it is a CONSTANT part of my life. I simply term these moments in my life as OCD "episodes", because they are times when I have felt I was completely out of control in my brain, that I couldn't get it to stop, that there was no help. The episodes are simply pockets of the worst.

Back in the Fall of 2003 I had one of the worst OCD "episodes" I have ever had. I had just finished my Master's degree the previous spring and moved in with my boyfriend (soon to be husband) in his grandfather's house. I was looking for work, not finding much, taking care of my new dog (a cute little pug named Oswald), and trying to fit into my new life.

I got a job, finally, working at a local college teaching a simple class on studying. To me it was a bit of a pointless class, but the college required their students to take it, and pass it with "Satisfactory" as the grade, in order to move past the first term of classes. It was a simple 3 day class that I would teach three weekends in a row. I had 3 different classes to teach spread over Friday and Saturday. I was so excited!!! I had always wanted to teach at a college and even though it wasn't the biggest job ever, I was doing it!!!

I did well. The students loved me and would write me all the time. But then the obsessive worry started. Almost out of nowhere it seemed. Another instructor pointed something out to me that I was supposed to be doing that I hadn't done. That was all. That was it. But it was enough to set wheels in motion. I then took it upon myself to make sure each and every student got the exact instruction I was "supposed" to give. There could be no leeway in any direction, I had to teach this exact way that I had failed to do in the first day of class.

The students had minor homework, something most instructors would hardly even worry about. But I had to get the students to do the homework precisely. I began calling each and every student on the telephone to ensure they had correctly heard me when I explained the assignment. I would pace back and forth in the back yard as I called them all. Smoking a cigarette, worrying that I was going to inadvertently cause these students to fail. And I will point out again that this was a simple STUDY class. Simply designed to teach students how to study. Something I should never have worried at all about.

However, in order to actually pass this class, the students had to do one simple assignment. Get onto a website called Blackboard and email me. That was it. And I told them that in the second class. The third class would be our last, and I reminded by both writing it on the board and emphatically stating it, that they MUST email me. Some did not. That sent me reeling into obsessive thought even more.

I called each and every student again making sure they knew that they had to do this. Some of them I could tell by their voice on the phone with me, were a bit freaked out by my constant calling them. I would have been too. I was slowly losing it. But I was certain in my mind that I was causing these students to fail by not helping them enough. Certain of it! Even though it was the farthest thing from the truth.

In the end, 3 I believe, just 3 students, did not pass the class. They did not do the work and they shouldn't have passed. But for the next few months I was certain it was all my fault they had not passed and would now be forced to pay $60 to retake the 3 class course. I began thinking for hours and hours on end about what I could have done to have helped these students more. How could I have messed up so horribly. I stopped eating almost altogether and lost 30 pounds in about a month. I smoked endlessly in the backyard as I paced and thought. I would go in the bathroom, stare at myself in the mirror, and think about how I could have done this to these 3 students. How I could have let them down so very much. Once again, I will state that this was a simple, $60 course on studying. Nothing more. Stupid to worry one second about it. But it was literally killing me.

When the starvation and smoking wasn't cutting the pain enough, I started cutting at myself with thumbtacks. Little scrapes across the skin. Maybe physical pain would take away the mental pain. My boyfriend would find me lying in the hallway of the house softly repeating words or just crying. He would make me meals and I would just sit and stare at them. I would lie on our bed and just cry staring at the wall. I was certain I had caused those students to fail and that it was my fault and that somehow this would ruin their lives. Finally, one day I was stuck in the corner of the living room, behind the couch, crying. Unable to get me out of the corner and fearful I was going to do something to harm myself, he called my parents. Within a couple days I was seeing a counselor. And very quickly we determined what was going on with me.

For most of my life I have exhibited signs of OCD. But for most of my life up until that point, OCD had not caused me major trauma. That episode brought out the worst of my OCD, and the worst has remained with me to this day. That was a painful time in my life and it actually took quite a long time to get past it, but that was far from the worst. It is easy to pass OCD off as just being anal or orderly or clean-freakish...but it is so much more than that. It is an inner turmoil that cuts down to a person's heart and soul and if not caught and treated, can lead to major physical harm or even death. OCD is serious and the only reason I am glad this episode occurred is because it helped me gain the tools I need to fight through each day and survive.