It’s something that very few people know about me, and most people that do know have only found out in the past year or so. Can you believe that, something that people don’t know about me? I mean, I am sorta known for not having a filter. And, no, it’s not my cervical rib. The big reveal is this, since I was 11 years old, I have been struggling with obsessive compulsive disorder. Yep, OCD.
One reason I’ve never told many people, is that it’s very difficult to explain this the effects of this disorder. In a lot of ways, the seriousness of OCD has been diminished throughout the years. In fact, it’s almost become a joke. Anytime somebody repeats a process or a question, they quickly throwout, ‘that’s just my OCD’. Well, maybe, but not likely. Even if someone is really suffering from OCD, those on the outside can’t see the complex and grueling mechanism that is happening internally. It just comes off as more of a nervous tick or the result of too much caffeine.
As I’ve grown older with the disorder, I’ve experienced a wide variety of the damage OCD can do. In the past, I’ve found comfort learning about other people’s experiences, so I figured it may be time for me to open up a bit.
That said, here goes…
When I was 11, I started feeling the need to say ‘excuse me’, or ‘I’m sorry’ for every little thing I did, even if it wasn’t warranted. Not only did I feel this insanely strong urge to say it, I also felt the urge to repeat it over and over until I felt comfortable that somebody heard me. Or, that I said it in the right way. It eventually just developed into one phrase - ‘excuse me, I’m sorry’, or the variation ‘I’m sorry, excuse me’. I was already an annoying brat, and this didn’t help my mom’s sanity.
As I progressed into my teens, I started getting more of what’s now considered the classic symptom of washing my hands repeatedly. I just could not get them ‘clean’. I would wash them at least twice, usually more. I would be convinced that I didn’t get this one spot, an invisible spot, which constantly changed with each hand washing. So, I’d keep washing over and over till it ‘felt’ clean. I’d even just apply the soap to that particular spot.
It wasn’t just a my exterior that felt unclean, it was also my interior. Growing up in a church environment is easy prey for OCD. Let’s face it, it’s already a similar cycle. Sin, feel guilty, repent, feel better. Again though, this manifested into something more. Instead of putting my sins in a sack and repenting all at once, I felt the strong desire to do this every time I sinned. Of course, even that is subjective, but I made sure I was accountable for everything. Every curse word, every dirty thought, just thinking a curse word was bad. You can’t imagine the anxiety and guilt I felt over the normal teenage act of masturbation.
I came up with new phrases to say aloud, although these were more mumbled. At any moment I felt I had sinned or done something inappropriate, I would quickly ask for forgiveness. ‘Please forgive me, Lord, I’m sorry’ and it’s variation, ‘I’m sorry, Lord, please forgive me.’ This went on for years my friends.
When I was 16, I had my first anxiety, or panic attack as they’re called. You never forget your first, right? If this was an earthquake, it would be the equivalent of California breaking off into the Pacific ocean. I won’t recount the whole story, but the anxiety manifested itself physically in a way I had no idea was even possible.
It would be at least a year or two before I began to feel normal again. The year following was filled with aftershocks, smaller panic attacks, most likely brought on by fear of a panic attack itself. I think I missed the maximum number of days you can miss in a school year and not fail. I would often start to have an attack while driving to school, only to turn around and go back home. Eventually I would learn how to handle and cope with these attacks, but it was one of the more challenging things I’ve ever gone through.
It was in this time that I was first diagnosed with general anxiety disorder, and the first time I’d ever heard the term, OCD. Just understanding or knowing what these things were brought a little comfort, but no treatment ensued.
Over next several years, the OCD remained present in my life. Sometimes worse than others, but always there. I broke deadbolt locks, because I couldn’t stop locking them. Even after I would turn the lock, I would continue pushing and pushing until I felt okay enough to walk away. Same with light switches. I would flip them off, then continue to press down until the urge subsided. I would break the clicker on my car, because I couldn’t stop clicking the locks. I had trouble with the refrigerator door too. I just couldn’t settle myself that it was fully shut. Oh yes, I did continue to wash the shit out of my hands.
Among other things, I refused to touch door handles, flushed the toilet with my foot, held my breath in crowds of people, and all of this just became normal. Somewhat manageable, in fact. For years I was afraid of food, and I would have you, or somebody look at my chicken or beef multiple times to make sure it was okay. That sucked.
On a scale of one to ten, the urges would fluctuate throughout the years. Sometimes they would rage, but sometimes I would hardly notice. I had routines, and those routines were mostly something I could keep hidden.
As I mentioned, the disorder grows with you. It’s arguable to say that I’ve matured, but what little I have, OCD has matured with me. To have lived with OCD for so long, I was still unaware of the damage it could do. Then, a few years ago, it brought the pain - much like Clubber Lang in Rocky III. I’ll reserve the details to the select few that helped me through this time, but it would indeed be the most difficult time of my life.
Until that point, II didn’t fully realize the complexity of the the disorder. Not only can it make you think you have germs on your hand, but it can also make you fully believe that you’ve done things you’ve never done. More so, that you’d be capable of doing these things. It was the most exhausting, grueling, and menacing things I’ve ever had to deal with. I can’t ever imagine taking my own life, but I truly did want to die. It took years to heal - years, and I’ll never be quite the same.
Since dying really wasn’t an option, all I could really do was fight, and fighting meant finding help. It took awhile, but I eventually discovered that there was an OCD clinic at Vanderbilt. It’s not something they really advertise, but it’s sorta like The A-Team - if you need them, and if you can find them, then they will fuck your OCD all up. By the way, that’s two Mr. T references for those that are counting.
My experience at the OCD clinic has indeed been life altering. I also learned that I was really good at being OCD. So good, actually, that I was asked to be a case study for residents at Vanderbilt. It was a horribly embarrassing experience that lasted several months, but there was no way I could pass up the opportunity to directly or indirectly help anybody that suffers with OCD.
That’s the real reason behind this post. At some point, this blog may help someone who is dealing with OCD. If nothing else, maybe it will just bring some awareness among those of you that frequent the ‘roach.’ Hell, it may just make you afraid of me, but that’s a chance I’ll have to take.
With help, I’ve learned to co-exist with the disorder. I continue to be treated, and while it’s not something that completely dissipates, I learned to cope and to manage. I still have some of the urges, but I don’t engage them. Life is a better place these days.
If you do suffer with OCD, or just want to discuss further, feel free to email me. Better yet, buy me some whiskey. I do love the whiskey.
Click here to learn more about OCD.
2 comments:
i just want to give a huge thumbs up next to this. not for you having OCD but for sharing.
two thumbs up from me. we really are two peas in a pod, damn it.
Post a Comment