OCD. You've probably heard about it. You may or may not know what it is.. you may think you know what it is..
A lot of people think that OCD is just about germs, we get that from the movies and tv. They show that it's all about germs, and if you have ocd you use cloths on everything, you disinfect everything, you wash your clothes and yourself a million times a day, and all hell will break loose if you contaminate something of theirs.
Some of this is true to a point.. it is true that there are people with OCD that have the germ thing and are down the extreme end with plastic covered furniture and air purifying systems, but saying that that alone is OCD is super over simplifying, and basically just wrong.
O.C.D.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Think about obsessions you may have had over the years. Did you have an obsession with food? With weight? With a celebrity? With a movie? With a book? With an animal? With stickers?
We can have many different obsessions.
Mine are order/counting, perfection, over estimated threat, and over-inflated responsibility. ..I think I got all of them lol
I have undergone two rounds of group therapy -it's late, and I'm sick, so my mind is a bit foggy but I can say one of the things we did is CBT. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. It's a kind of mind training, if you will.
I went through one lot for GAD - General Anxiety Disorder, and the latest was for OCD. GAD is another story for another time.
I'll break down those four obsessions for those who don't know about them.
It's personal for everybody, and what I may focus on for one thing, someone else with the same obsession may focus on something else.
For me...
Order/Counting - I don't really like things in odd numbers (bar 1). I like things to be in even numbers. It's always been that way. And I like things to be even.
For example.. candy. If you like candy, you've probably bought a bag of mixed candy from the shop right? Say.. jelly beans. Maybe you pick through to get all of the red ones first because they're your favourite.. Maybe you pick through to get all the black ones out so you don't accidentally pop one in your mouth when you're munching on your jellybeans (bleugh!).
Me? I tip the whole bag out. Sort each colour into it's own category, and then count how many there are of each colour. I then take out however many I need to make the number of each group an even number, and then I decide on a number that all the groups will equal. So in the end I might have say 10 jelly beans in each colour group. I then put them back in the bag group by group, and then keep tally as I eat them -usually eating my least favourite first so that I have my favourite for last.
(I assume this last habit is from when I was a child and had to eat all of my dinner and was instructed to eat the things I didn't like first ie cooked carrot, so that I could then enjoy what I liked the most ie mashed potatoes.)
Does it sound like a lot of work? It is. But I never thought anything of it. Sometimes I got annoyed that it took so long, but it was just something I had to do.
If it didn't do it, I'd be left with too many of one, or I'd be left with lots of the one I didn't like, and to me, that was (and still is a little) unacceptable.
Perfection - Now.. those who know me well probably know that I'm not really a tidy person.
And there are a few reasons for that. One is that I freak out when there is too much clear floor space. I'm not sure why this is yet, I can only guess that it is linked to some childhood trauma (as most things are). The main two though is that I'm a bit lazy (haha) and the significant other to me being lazy is that once I get started tidying, everything needs to be in a specific place.
You may think that if it's everywhere, then doesn't that annoy me too?
Suprisingly no. I haven't got a good answer for why either, and my psychologist cannot explain it.
Basically it's like I've got blinders on. You know how horses wear blinders? Supposedly it's so they only see in front of them and don't get distressed by the other things around them. So think of it like that.
I got in a ton of trouble when I was a teenager and my mum would expect me to put away the dishes cause.. well they were out on the bench! But I never noticed they were there. She'd say to me things like "thanks for putting the dishes away!" and I'd ask her what dishes she was talking about.. because I hadn't noticed them at all. Had I seen them? Of course I must have! But for some reason it just didn't get processed.
There's a twist to this though, because when I'm really really unwell, all of a sudden I notice. I notice the dishes on the bench, the clothes on the floor, the toothpaste in the sink. I notice it all. And then I have to clean it. I HAVE to. Right then. I can't leave it till later.
The dishes have to be stacked nicely (I don't do dishes, that's an explanation for another time), the clothes have to be off the floor, the sink has to be completely shiny and clean. And whatever else catches my eye has to be sorted out.
My main problem with perfection doesn't lie there though. I mentioned that once I get started, everything has to be in a specific place. I'm not remotely kidding. If, for some reason, something can not be where I decided it needs to go, I get very very angry. Instantly. Sometimes I even have "tantrums" if you like, where I get very upset and yell, and swear, and generally just flip tables (metaphorically speaking!)..
Books. Books have to be in either size order, or alphabetical order. It pains me that they can't be both. And I mean that. It physically and mentally pains me that I can't have them in "perfect" order.
Stickers. All grouped, all in nice even lines in the sticker book. I had to give up collecting stickers because it became too much of a problem.
And I guess everything else I do just.. has to be perfect. My cakes, I get very upset if something goes wrong. I prepare well, so I should be able to do it perfectly. My makeup. Dinner. My outfit. My hair. My spelling. My drawings. They all have to be perfect. I am a "gifted" person aren't I? I am extremely intelligent aren't I? I have the ability to perform to a higher standard than most people don't I?
These are the sort of expectations.. no.. orders I was given as a child. I was "gifted". I was highly intelligent. And therefore, I had to be perfect. In all aspects of my life. I didn't have a choice in it. That is just the way it was. Perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect goals etc etc. Not only did I not give an iota of a shit about any of that (I was a frequent daydreamer -mostly about fairies), I have been very unwell pretty much ever since I was born. I hated school, and I hated having to be perfect. Never allowed to waver. Never allowed to show weakness. Failure and weakness was unacceptable. And yet here I am, free from my family and their expectations finally, and still pushing this perfect persona to the forefront of my responsibilities. Makes sense huh? (not).
Over estimated threat - this is where the contamination thing comes in. It is also part of why I hate unexpected situations and change.
Contamination. There are loads of examples of this straight out of hollywood, and there are varying types and severities of it.
For me, I don't like.. no I hate touching things that other people have touched. This includes things like doors handles, bus poles, bus buttons, trolleys, dispensing machines, even money. In the supermarket I will delicately move aside items from the front to get to the less touched items in the middle. I also do this with things like yoghurt, milk, and frozen foods, because of the contamination factor of not being cooled properly.
And you can count out shaking my hand.
Now, you make think this is a bit ridiculous, it's a bit over the top. And even after all my therapy, I will still tell you I have pretty good reasons for not wanting to touch those things. That's not to say the therapy doesn't work, it has helped a lot, but this reasoning is extremely deeply imbedded in who I am.
People's hands, to me, are walking bacteria breeding grounds. Doctors and psychologists have said to me "but people do wash their hands". I say BULL.SHIT. ...SOME people wash their hands, at best, people wash their hands SOMETIMES. I KNOW that too many people on this planet touch their crotch or pick their nose or cough into their hand and then touch those things. I KNOW that too many people on this planet don't wash their hands after going to the loo.
FUCKING WASH YOUR HANDS WHAT IS ACTUALLY WRONG WITH YOU?!
Who the fuck forgot to teach you that you should be washing your hands after that? Are you just really lazy? Cause that's one of the worst kinds of lazy.
If I'm going out, the last thing I want is for someone's willy, pee, or bum germs to be on something I'm going to need to touch. What if someone picks their nose before they get on the bus (something I actually saw a couple of months ago), and then I touch the same bus pole as they did, and I need to get something out of my eye? Why the fuck should I get conjunctivitis just because some fucknut couldn't wait till they were in the privacy of their own home to go digging for green gold? Why should I get the flu just cause some knob went shopping and sneezed on their hand, then put their hand back on the trolley?
I'm already sick enough. I don't need more of that.
And then people try and tell me that I'm being unreasonable. You can tell I'm very passionate about this stuff lol.
Also if there is a change of plans, or something unexpected happens, I get upset because if things aren't planned properly, then of course things are going to go wrong! While I know this is not true, the thought wriggles it's way to the front of my mind and nags at me, drawing me further and further into panic mode.
So basically that is over estimated threat. I am (supposedly) over estimating the probable threat of something, and then freaking out about it.
Over-inflated responsibility - Now, this one might confuse people a little bit.. and I wouldn't blame you. As you probably know by now, I don't really like people. I don't really want to explain it because people have a hard time grasping it, and they usually feel personally attacked. It's a bit complicated. So we'll just keep it simple..
While I don't really like people, I feel like I'm responsible in most situations.
It's my responsibility to make sure that things go right.
It's my responsibility to make sure that someone isn't upset anymore.
It's my responsibility to clear up a misunderstanding.
It's my responsibility to make sure that someone is ok if they're say sick or drunk.
It's my responsibility to make sure that the bills get paid.
It's my responsibility to make sure the household is run well ie we have everything we need for food, cleaning etc.
It's my responsibility to organise things.
I could keep going, but hopefully you have the picture by now.
This isn't.... it's not like I'm like "hey don't worry guys, I'll do it! I WANT to do it!"... I actually don't like doing a lot of what I feel like I need to do.. It feels like a huge burden to me. It all weighs heavily on my mind. And when something goes wrong, I feel I am responsible. That's why I often get involved when most others wouldn't. I feel like if there's something I can do to help, I should do it. If I didn't, and something didn't go well, it would be my fault.
Almost six years ago, my little brother died. He was about 10 years old. He had battled leukaemia twice and won. Both times. Even though after the first time, they said he wouldn't get it again.
We fought again. This time was harder in some ways. I was already damaged from the first time. And while that may sound selfish, I'm sure if you knew the full story, you would realise that it's not.
After the second time, he began to get better again. He was allowed outside again, and even home for a couple of days. He went in for some tests. They were administered by an amateur nurse, and that's where everything started to go horribly, horribly wrong. Eventually he ended up in the country's leading children's hospital.
How the hell they got title, I'm still wondering. Because they fucked up big time.
I was a teenager. My birthday was coming up soon.. and yet.. I was in a surreal world. I was in the family home by myself for months. I went and enrolled at a new highschool by myself. "Where are your parents?" they asked... I told them they were up at the hospital. "Will they be able to come in and sign some forms?" they asked, "they really need to" they said. "No. They are not even in the city. I don't know when they are coming back."
I got a call. The call. I got told I needed to go up to the hospital. I needed to go there now. Pack a bag, you're going on the plane tonight.
One plane trip and a long taxi ride later, I was at our accommodation. I was told that my brother was in isolation because of everything. I was ok with that. After all isolation is the safest place for a sick child with no immune system.
The next day I was taken to see him. And I was very confused. "When did he get taken out of isolation?" I asked the doctor.... he replied that he was still in isolation. I kept my mouth shut. I kept my mouth shut even though I knew this wasn't isolation. I knew what isolation was. Isolation was a room completely separated from the ward. With isolation you went from the ward into an airlocked room. In that room you washed your hands and your arms up to your elbows. You put on rubber gloves, a gown, booties, a cap, and a face mask. The room you were in was then purified, and then the door to the room the patient was in would unlock and you could enter.
My brother was in a generic ward. With one sink and some soap near the entrace with a tiny sign saying to wash your hands. And then he was just in a normal private room. I remember standing at the end of my brother's bed, running my hand through his hair as I stared at his doctor in disbelief.
His doctor was standing in the doorway, with the door open, talking to another member of staff.
This was not isolation.
But I kept my mouth shut.
Unsuprisingly, but extremely unfortunately, my brother caught a number of illnesses while in that hospital, and the outlook was bleak, so he was taken off life support. I knew that if he didn't improve, they would turn it off. But they had told me they'd give him a week. Four days later. Half past midnight. While I was holding a glass of wine, sitting next to my (then) boyfriend, wondering, even though it was past midnight, would I get a text from any of my family saying happy birthday? The text I got at half past midnight was not the one I was expecting.
To this day, I feel that it is MY fault. I was only a teenager, but I knew that that wasn't isolation. I knew that he didn't have an immune system. I had learnt all this when I was still in primary school.
But I didn't say anything. I didn't intervene. What if I had said something? Made a fuss? Would they have even listened to a teenage girl? With any luck to simply calm me down they may have moved him to a proper isolation room. And then maybe, just maybe, I would've seen him go to highschool. I would've seen him go on a date. I would've kicked his ass because he tried cigarettes. I would've seen his wedding. I would be an aunty to his children. We'd fight about who was taking mum and dad when they were old, and we would've agreed that our younger brothers would have to deal with it.
But I can't do any of those things. Because he can't do any of those things. Because he's dead. Because I didn't say anything when I should've.
People can say "it's not your fault" all they want. While it's nice to hear, I don't know if I'll ever believe it. It's not my fault that he got more sick, it's theirs really, but in a way it's still my fault because I didn't say anything.
So. After all that depressing shit, that's why I have over inflated responsibility. It has such strong meaning that I can't just turn it off. I can't just not care.
The situation with my brother is also a big part of my contamination issue. If I don't avoid contamination, I'll die and put everyone through the pain of my death. If I don't avoid contamination, it'll be my fault that someone that I care about gets sick -and possibly dies.
OCD is usually taught or it has deep, strong, emotional ties. And that's what makes it such a hard habit to kick. We feel if we follow them, if we give in to our compulsions, that it'll make us safe. We feel that going about our days like "normal" people do makes us unsafe. What do you do when you feel unsafe? You do something to make yourself feel safe. Think of it like living in a dangerous neighbourhood. You go and buy locks for the windows and doors. You feel safer. Our compulsions are like those locks. We avoid mostly, but they can be organising, carrying around disinfectant, carrying around a ridiculous amount of items you think you might need...
I hope that this has helped some people to understand OCD. Put yourself in their shoes every now and then. Think of the terror you might feel if someone was chasing you, or breaking into your house or something. That's the terror they feel when they're confronted with the subjects of their obsessions. You may think it's funny to say things like "oh well what about if there was this or this?" You may find it amusing, but what you're actually doing is stressing that person out. Think about it, if someone was to ask you what would happen if a nightmare that terrified you actually started happening in real life, how would you feel?
Try to understand people with OCD. We're not sideshows. It is a real issue. While I have never felt that I am "missing out" on things in life because of my OCD, many people DO feel like they are. Like they're closed in or ostracised because of it.
Now, that doesn't mean you should enable them. Encourage them to seek help. When they need help, try to give it to them. Someday they may need you to help them challenge their obsessions. It won't be pretty. We call them "experiments". I just about became a sobbing mess in the supermarket one day when I decided right then and there I would do an "experiment" to challenge my beliefs. The only reason I didn't is because I didn't want to draw attention to myself -how ridiculous would it be for me to start crying in a supermarket? What if someone came over and asked what was wrong? How would they react when I told them that it was because I touched a cabinet handle with my pinky?
A lot of the time I still don't like to touch things. I like things to be in a certain order. Sometimes things are just not clean enough for my liking. But I am slowly getting better. I have eaten three blueberries off my own lounge floor, I have touched a bus pole, I opened that cabinet with my pinky, at a new years eve party I gave a few people high fives, and I didn't go into a cleaning frenzy after my mother came to stay and joked that her and my little brothers didn't wash their hands after going to the loo at night.
That last one I did freak out a lot about, but I resisted my compulsion. It still bothers me.
People with disorders and mental illness need support. We may not seem like we want it sometimes, and from my experience, we can be a bit hard to deal with. But we do appreciate the support because it is hard to come by.
If you know someone living with an anxiety disorder or a mental illness, don't be afraid to ask them how they're doing, or what's going on with them, or ask them about their disorder or illness. Don't be afraid to ask if there's anything they need. Once they come out of their shell a little, you never know, they could be completely different to how you thought they were.
~^_^~
No comments:
Post a Comment