I Have OCD. No, for Real!

I'm pretty open about my struggles with mental illness. I don't broadcast that I'm living with mental illness, but I do share it when it's appropriate. Most of the time when I share that I have bipolar disorder, people say "Oh". Some share that they have bipolar too or that they have someone in their family or circle of friends that has it. But it's a whole different experience when I share that I have obsessive compulsive disorder, or OCD. When I share that, I get this response, almost 100% of the time: "(Laughter) Me too!" People then go on to describe how they have to have pictures hanging perfectly straight on the wall or tell me how everything on their dresser has it's own spot and it drives them crazy if something is moved. When I hear these kinds of things, my insides start churning and I feel the anxiety building. While I don't doubt that those things are true for my friends, I also can't help but wonder if they truly have OCD. I believe that most everyone has some things that they have to have "just so" or it drives them crazy. But not everyone has true, clinical OCD.

Obsessive compulsive disorder can be extremely debilitating. That is the case for me. I had "rules" about how things should be as early as five years old. In kindergarten, I refused to share my crayons. The teacher wanted all of us to dump our crayons in a big bowl for everyone to share. I couldn't do that. I needed mine to stay in the box, in a specific order, with the labels facing front. No one could touch my crayons. I had a very detailed way to sort my M&Ms before I could eat them. As a result, I couldn't eat my baggie of M&Ms in the car on the way to my grandparents house because there was nowhere to lay them all out to sort them. These might not seem like they should be a big deal, but my rules kept increasing in number and complexity and I began to develop rituals that were very demanding and unforgiving. I started counting - EVERYTHING. I started checking - EVERYTHING. Over and over and over again. My rituals began to take up more of my time. I can't not do them because if I don't do them, something bad might happen. I don't know what that might be, but the anxiety is there.

Fast forward to today. It takes me approximately five hours to dust one bookshelf. I have to dust each book and then place it back in it's spot (my books are alphabetized by author). I will put the book back on the shelf and then keep touching it and scanning the shelf to be sure that everything is still in alphabetical order. Then I have to dust the pictures, candles, etc. I actually measure where to put them back so that everything is centered and symmetrical on the shelf. It is a very exhausting process. So, I no longer dust. It is less anxiety inducing to have dusty shelves than to spend five hours dusting one bookshelf. And I still can't totally break free of making sure the books haven't moved. I check my books when I get up in the morning and I check them before I leave my house and when I get home. I know in my head that they probably haven't moved, but I can't break the compulsion to check them. Then there's the counting. My mind is almost always counting. I count my steps when I walk. I count when I'm anxious. My mind won't stop counting at night when I'm trying to go to sleep. I literally have dozens of notebooks that are nothing more than numbers that I've written.

Then there are the obsessive thoughts. I have 3 cats that I love dearly. I would never do anything to harm them and yet I have an intrusive thought that pops into my mind from time to time - I wonder what it would be like to tie a rope around their necks and hang them from the ceiling fan and watch them spin around and around? How sick is that? This is highly distressing for me and leaves me feeling full of guilt and shame for even having such a thought. 

So, maybe you're thinking "Gosh, that would be tough." And you'd be right. But I want to share one more example of just how debilitating OCD can be. Shortly after I was raped, I developed a bathing ritual. At the time, I felt like I'd never feel "clean" again. Once I started that ritual I found that I couldn't stop it. I have been struggling with it for 30 years now. It takes me about 90 minutes to shower. I bathe and then I repeat the whole process four times. I always run out of hot water. By the end of my shower, the water is ice cold. My teeth are chattering. My fingers and toes and lips are blue. Yet I can't not stay in there. This past year, the pain in my knees has gotten so severe that I just cannot physically stand in the shower for 90 minutes anymore. I'm doing good to be able to stand for 10 minutes. I've taken a couple of 10 minutes showers. I end up sobbing as I get out of the tub because I haven't completed my ritual. I cry to the point of making myself physically sick. My mind starts racing and obsessing on the fact that I'm not "clean" enough. The anxiety is crushing. So, and I know most of you will find this hard to grasp, I have not taken a shower since January 23. Yes, it's been 5 months since I've showered. You see, I'd rather go without a shower than to take a shower without being able to complete my ritual. To me, it is the lesser of the two evils. I've been trying to find a shower chair to fit in my tub, hoping that that would allow me to perform my ritual with some minor adjustments but I have a narrow tub in my apartment and we haven't been able to find anything that works yet. So, I don't shower. I know that that is disgusting. And I've had several incidences of skin breakdown. I just treat that the best I can and deal with the itching and burning that comes along with it. I walk into my bathroom EVERY SINGLE DAY and stand in front of the bathtub trying to talk myself into getting in there to shower. Every time I end up crying. I feel this sort of tightening in my chest and it becomes harder and harder to breathe. I start to shake. My head is spinning. So, I turn around and go back into my bedroom and layer on the deodorant and body spray and lotion . THIS IS WHAT OCD CAN LOOK LIKE!

There are medications which can be used to treat OCD. However, since I also have bipolar disorder, my doctor is not willing to prescribe the recommended medications because of the risk of triggering a manic episode. Unfortunately, my OCD and PTSD must take a "back seat" to my bipolar disorder. I'm scared that my OCD is going to completely take over my life. I have so, so many more obsessions and compulsions that are a part of my daily life. Way too many to share. I wanted to share this as an example of what OCD can look like. I'm not saying that others don't have OCD. It can be present to varying degrees in a person's life. But the phrase "I'm so OCD" gets tossed around very casually and we joke about our "quirky" behaviors and laugh it off. But for some of us, OCD is no laughing matter. Never in my whole life did I ever think that I'd be unable to do something as basic as taking a shower. For me, OCD is real. It's effect on my life has been profound. At times, the need to perform my rituals is so strong that I can't resist it. There are times I have to cancel plans, or not even make them in the first place, because I can't get away from the compulsive behaviors to actually leave my house. I pray that, with the help of my therapist and case manager, I can learn to adapt. I pray my symptoms won't continue to get worse. I pray that when you say "I'm so OCD" you're not struggling the way I struggle. It's no way to live.

I Am Not My "Labels" - I Am Me!

I'm sitting here reflecting on all of the "labels" that have been used over the past 53 years to describe me as a person. I remember being labeled "gifted and talented" as an early elementary student. Kids with this label were separated out from the "others", those not considered gifted and talented, and given extra attention, extra opportunities to participate in academic enrichment programs and extracurricular activities. (The "others" weren't given these same opportunities in the 1970s. Where's the common sense in that?) I was a part of a Saturday educational program which exposed me to algebra, trigonometry, geometry, Latin word roots, vocabulary words that were longer than my arms, and challenging essays to read, comprehend, and discuss intelligently. I was 10 years old. At the completion of this program, I was registered to take the SATs right along side the high school students. My feet didn't even touch the floor sitting in those desks. Interestingly enough, I achieved my highest score on the SAT that very first time I took it, even though I took it 4 more times before graduating high school. So...I was SMART. And that meant I would be going to medical school because that's what smart people do.

I moved through college and graduate school with an acceptable GPA, despite the new label I was given. I became known as "the girl who drank way too much", too many nights in a row, and had to, on more than one occasion, be literally dragged back to my dorm room by friends who watched out for my safety. By my mid twenties, that label was officially upgraded to "alcoholic". This should come as no surprise to those who attended school with me or those who would later come to be coworkers and friends of mine. That label is not nearly as desirable as being an academic overachiever although I do believe that I did a much better job of being an alcoholic than I ever did of being a student! Medical school was out. Graduate school was almost out. I struggled to be a dependable employee and citizen. I equated being an alcoholic with being a dismal failure. I relabeled myself as a LOSER, because that's what alcoholics are.

Then in 1998, it became clear that there was something else going on besides active addiction. I found myself becoming increasingly more out of control, even during periods when I had been able to stop drinking for a while. Some days, I was so depressed that I couldn't even get out of bed. I wouldn't shower. I wouldn't eat. I wouldn't answer the phone. I wouldn't open my blinds. I simply layed in my bed for days on end. Sometimes I'd cry for hours, other times I couldn't cry at all. Then after several weeks of deep depression, my brain would get a surge of activity from what seemed like the middle of nowhere and I was on top of the world. I went shopping and bought lots of things, most of the time not even remembering what I bought. I maxed out all of my credit cards. I had ten of them at one point. I would go for drives with the windows down, music blaring, chasing down other cars and semis and blowing right by them. There were times when, out on the highway, my speed exceeded 100 mph. If you've ever driven a compact car at that speed, you know that as you whiz by a semi, the car vibrates and there is this tremendous draft or pull towards the truck. I was never scared. It never occurred to me that that was dangerous. I did not have a death wish, I was having fun. I finger painted my coffee tables. I went for days on end without sleep, not even feeling tired physically or emotionally. My creativity flowed easily and I came up with so many brilliant ideas! I drove to Utah and back, stopping only to go to the bathroom and buy another cup of coffee, with a dead rabbit that I had accidentally run over, gently wrapped in a light blue baby blanket on the front passenger's seat of my Mazda Protege, in a snowstorm one January about 18 years ago. When I finally saw a psychiatrist, he told me I had a mental illness. I was Bipolar. I took that to mean that I was CRAZY because I thought that is how mentally ill is defined.

It was around that same time when I was finally ready to be open about my sexuality, something I thought I'd never do. I was preparing myself to live a life alone, no intimate relationships, believing I was a sinner damned to hell for all of eternity. Once again, another label. This time LESBIAN. I have had a number of unfortunate consequences as a result of people finding out that I wasn't that "nice girl" boys could bring home to meet their mothers and I quit several jobs because I was being harassed and didn't have the inner strength and courage to stand up for myself and fight for my rights. I felt "less than" and so, believing that I somehow brought all of this upon myself, moved to another state and started over. But I soon discovered that no matter where I moved, there I was.

I am also a "PK" - the oldest daughter of a United Methodist minister. Many people assume that I know alot about the Bible. Surprise - I know very little about it. I never saw the point in learning anything about God because I knew that I was going to be going to hell. Isn't that where all "over achieving, alcoholic, crazy, lesbians" go?

Thank God I do not always see myself as the sum of my labels today. There are still some days where I wonder how or why I became such a misfit. Why couldn't I have been a "normal" middle class, mid western girl interested in starting a traditional nuclear family and joining the PTA or becoming a Girl Scout leader? If I had, my life would not be nearly as interesting as it is now. I would not have met some of the fabulous people I call my friends today. I would not be open to meeting new people. I don't even use the label "strangers" because I believe that all people are "strange" in their own ways. Today, I do not identify myself as an "overachieving, alcoholic, crazy, bipolar, lesbian" because those labels place a limit on how I am perceived and on who and what I have the potential to become. I'm still smart and I still love to learn. I am sober, for 8 years now. I have bipolar disorder but I am not my illness. That may seem like simple semantics but it is important for me to realize that my mental illness does not define me. Nor does my IQ, my alcoholism, or my sexuality. I refuse to continue to apologize for who I am. I am coming to know God in my own ways. I may not attend church regularly, but I have developed a very spiritual connection with God and pray and meditate daily. I keep a list of things I am grateful for. I volunteer my time to help others in need. I extend the hand of friendship to those who cross my path, no matter what labels they are carrying with them. And most importantly, I am MYSELF! And I kinda like ME today, labels and all.