Fears

I started one post, a long one about a situation this week, and realized it didn't make a whole lot of sense without some context.  So, an anecdote and lesson, perhaps?

DISCLAIMER: I'm not an expert on OCD, having it doesn't make you an expert. All of the stories I tell and facts I share are about ME as an OCD patient.

OCD toys with the mind's deep fears.  Let's break it down: Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

Obsessive: These are the fears.  The things you obsess over.  No, not the fact that your room is clean.  Fear.  As in, something that consumes you. A very, very common OCD fear is AIDS or other diseases.  I've heard of OCD patients having fears of death, rust, pregnancy, even pencil lead.  These aren't normal fears- it's not like being afraid of the dark.  My deep, all-consuming fear?  Being homeless and alone.  I'll come back to that.

Compulsive: Compulsions are how you deal with the obsessions.  Imagine a very simple scenario: you're afraid of the color red (your obsession).  Red is scary.  So you do everything in your power to avoid red (your compulsion).  You don't go to the grocery store because there are red foods there.  You don't buy red clothes.  Blood is something you fear and avoid.  You're 'soothing' yourself with your compulsions. The obsessions are the wound, the compulsions are the bandaid.

I have a few fears, which I'll touch on eventually.  The fear that is at the core of me is ending up homeless and alone.  Abandonment is my biggest fear.  How do I compulse to combat that? I seek reassurance, all day and every day.  I ask people about my job performance almost constantly (I have to make sure I am doing a good job so I don't get fired so I don't fail, ending up homeless and/or alone), I seek reassurance that people aren't mad at me (they could leave me), I make everyone happy (I can't risk them becoming angry and leaving).  I compulse constantly, day in and day out.

That's enough for now- I'll be back with more- I had to get this one out first.

Therapy; A History

I started therapy when I was...9? Maybe? I don't remember.  I saw her because I'd been starting to show obsessive worrying tendencies.  I don't remember a whole lot about what we talked about, but I do remember her making me write things down.  I had a journal, and I had to write my worries, one by one, and include what it is that I thought I could do to stop.  This was not at all helpful.

I went several times, I think finally deciding that it just surely wasn't working.  I was 9, I didn't know you had to WORK at therapy.  I thought they just cured you.

The next therapist was in college.  I honestly don't remember this one.  At all.  I was in a bad place then, trying new medicine and I don't know if maybe I blocked a lot of it out?

Let's fast forward to after college, first therapist seen with my own insurance through my own job.  I blindly picked the first office that didn't send me to an automation telling me about suicide.   Bad idea.    I'll call this therapist (actually that one was a social worker) "Mary".  Mary met me in a church, and asked me lots of religious questions.

Let me stop for a second and say something- I think that therapy coupled with religion can be very helpful for some.  I wasn't in the right place for it emotionally.  I felt nothing but resentment and it in turn made me angry at Mary.  I couldn't make it about me, which is what therapy is supposed to be about.

I then went in search of someone else, and I came upon "Sarah". Sarah started out SO good.  We focused a lot on my relationships and some CBT (which I do very much believe in).  Until one fateful day.  When I started crying in the chair and she mocked me.  Put up her hands as if to imitate a small child crying and asked me if I felt like I was 5.  I left.

It took me a couple years to get the courage up to see another one.  And the one i'm with now is AMAZING.  I wish it was kosher to hug a therapist because I want to hug him every time I see him.

Obviously I'll tell you more about Magical Healer Therapist later.

The Beginning

And so begins my attempt at documenting, both for myself and for others, my journey to becoming normal.

Let's address the elephant in the room (I abhor that phrase): there is no normal.  Normal is NOT normal.  Trust me, I'd rather be what I am.  Except I wouldn't.  I say normal as a way to quantify or put a label on what and how I would like to be.  Normal to me means living very differently than I have for the past 26 years.  Normal means not having to guess, second guess and then guess again every decision of every hour of every day.

So, let's start with the obvious; why am I writing this? I'm in therapy, have been, will continue to be until the end of time, and I can't stand writing in a journal.  I've always been better at stream-of-consciousness-type writing and that serves me better on a computer than it does on paper.  I'm not a good writer.  This will serve as a way to gather my thoughts and let me 'let loose.' I only choose to make it somewhat public as a way to maybe reach out to other people.  I'd be satisfied if no one read it but my Mom.

Who the hell am I?

 ~~I've decided that since this is going to be my 'brain' I'm not going to mince words.  I have another blog that's been around for a while, and I censored it.  And I never felt like it was truly 'me'.  So I'm going to write as I think; you might not like it. ~~ 

Let's do this like a 3rd-grade essay! My name is Tricia.  I'm 26 years old.  I live in Richmond, Virginia. I have a husband, a dog, and a job.  I have OCD, severe anxiety, and depression.  I'm on Prozac.  I'm in therapy.  I like to run, read, and watch movies.  The end.