Mindfulness

     I've noticed some things about myself now that I've actually been paying attention these past few months. One thing I've noticed is that I hate feeling negative emotions. The second thing I've learned is that I don't have a very healthy way of dealing with those negative emotions. I pretend that I don't feel them and do my best to push them away. Or, I get lost in in my negative emotions, and then I can only think about how awful it feels or how long the feeling will last.
     I needed to find a better way to deal with what my therapist called distress intolerance. My therapist gave me a packet on distress intolerance, and apparently, the key to dealing with negative emotions and improving my distress tolerance is to just accept my negative emotions. This is a grand thing called Mindfulness. It sounds simple, but it's requiring a lot of work on my part. I think it's slowly starting to become easier to practice, though, but it's taking time.
     In case any of you out there have the same unhealthy ways of dealing with negative emotions, I thought I might share the Mindfulness technique.
     Mindfulness is defined as "a state of being where you are in the present moment, watching whatever you happen to be experiencing at that time, with an attitude of curiosity, and without judging or trying to change your experience," (Nathan and Saulsman, 2012). The process has a few steps:
1. Recognize and allow the emotion to be there. (Like I recognize my anxiety and just let it hang out in my mind.)
2. Observe the emotion-just observe the emotion hanging out in your mind like a third person narrator.
3.Describe the emotion (Like, when I'm anxious I recognize it by the tightness in my chest, my sweaty hands, and racing heart.)
4. Keep a curious and non-judgmental attitude about the emotion- don't label it good or bad. It's just an emotion, and we have all emotions for a reason.
5. Use imagery-This sounds strange, but it has been very helpful when I need to remain detached and observe my emotions. The key is to pick some image that lets you realize that your emotions come and go, and that you can't control very much of that process. The packet gave some examples, like a leaf floating down a stream, or an empty room in which people enter and exit.
   *None of these really worked for me, so I imagine my emotions as birds trapped inside a room, flying around, looking for the open door so they can fly back out to freedom.
     You may also have to deal with an emotional comeback. That's okay because emotions tend to come in waves. Just repeat the previous steps. (It gets easier over time.)
     I had read about Mindfulness before, online in some OCD and Anxiety Disorder forums, but I had no idea what it was or how to practice it, until I received the packet on distress intolerance from my therapist.  In the forums it was mentioned that some people treat OCD at home with Mindfulness, which is also something that I've been working on. When intrusive thoughts pop up, I try to just let them be there and I tell myself something like, "These are just thoughts, just random thoughts generated in my brain that mean nothing." I try to realize that the thoughts will come and go whether I want them or not because I can't control them. Then I try not to do any compulsive things, like reassurance seeking. Eventually the thoughts roll out of my mind, and the anxiety goes with them (most of the time).
     I'll end with this: Negative emotions aren't good or bad, it's the way we perceive and then react to them that makes them good or bad. It's okay to feel whatever emotion that you feel. Accepting your emotions instead of ignoring them, suppressing them, or engaging in self harm is key to being happy, healthy, and well adjusted.  Mindfulness might seem difficult in the beginning, but it gets easier over time.

Sources:
Nathan, P. & Saulsman, L. (2012). Facing Your Feelings: Learning to TolerateDistress. Perth,            Western Australia: Centre for Clinical Interventions.

To Tell or Not to Tell

     It's the day before Christmas Eve, and I have something on my mind. By tomorrow, I'll be hanging out with some of my family that I only see once or twice a year and maybe even some of their friends that made the trip home with them. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone. Seeing everyone is the reason I love Christmas. I'm also a little wary of the conversation topics that could be brought up, specifically my mental health. My family is one that doesn't shy away from things like this while we're at the table or hanging out in the living room swapping life updates. Me, on the other hand...I'm a little more private, especially around people that I don't know very well.
     This sort of thing happened on Thanksgiving. I was hanging out with some family, one of the cousins I only see once or twice a year, and I was just snacking on deep-fried turkey while the conversation bounced around from tattoos to food to hunting to travel. Then, suddenly my mental health was the topic of conversation, and I was sort of shoved into the spotlight. I got asked about my diagnosis. I got asked about medication and therapy. I even got asked about the kinds of thoughts that cause me anxiety. Then they started to offer suggestions. Yes, they only did it because they love me and they care about my well being, but that didn't make me feel less awkward about it.
     I don't mind talking about mental health at all, and I'm glad they cared enough to ask. I just felt awkward in this instance with all the questions that I wasn't prepared to answer. It was also a holiday, and topics like that feel too heavy to me, to just discuss on a holiday, while we were all just hanging out. I went in expecting to just get hugs, talk about my book and their lives, and maybe to eat more food, and I just wasn't prepared for that topic about me to come up out of the blue.
     So, I'm thinking about tomorrow. This blog and my mental health in general could be brought up in conversation. How am I going to handle that? Am I going to tell these family members that I don't see very often about my OCD and treatment if someone brings it up? Do I want to discuss that in front of the people that I might not even know?
     If I'm being honest, I'd rather not have a discussion like that on a holiday, in front of everyone. I don't want to shy away from the topic of mental health, but I also don't want to think about my OCD constantly, especially not when I could be hanging out with some family members that I've missed since last Christmas. (Because sometimes I can get by with not thinking about it for a blessedly peaceful few hours.) I'd be happy to set aside some time, or suggest we talk about it all later, after the fun and the laughs and hopefully, after the food. I will also definitely direct them to my blog so they can read it and stay in the loop with me. (I'm also a little afraid that being asked about my intrusive thoughts might be a trigger to shoot my anxiety to a high level and make the thoughts worse, since I'm being honest.)
     I know things don't go the way that I plan them in my head, and I know I can't control the things that people are going to say. I'm going prepared this year, with planned out answers to the usual questions. I'm also going prepared to simply refer them to my blog instead of turning Christmas into a lecture filled with all kinds of psychobabble.
     I'll end with this: Holidays are stressful. Dealing with mental illness can add to the stress of the holiday. If you feel comfortable discussing mental health in this sort of setting, that is perfectly fine. If you don't feel comfortable with that, that is also perfectly fine. Just remember that generally, the people asking are just curious because they care. If you have a loved one that has a mental health condition, please, be mindful of the way you bring it up and the questions that you ask because some things can be accidentally triggering.

Slipping Through the Cracks

     I never really understood the idea that someone could just "slip through the cracks" of the mental healthcare system. Sure, I saw stuff on TV and had class discussions about people slipping through the cracks of the mental healthcare system, but I never really understood how that was possible. I always wondered how it was possible for an entire person, one that may be exhibiting severe symptoms, or one that is actively seeking help from a mental health profession, could just float under the radar or just sort of get lost somewhere along the way in the system.
     I was naïve or an idealist about the whole thing, I guess. I saw the number of community mental health agencies, the number of private therapists out there, and the things like that, and I thought that meant it was easy to get treated. Then when I sought out mental health services, I saw the number of people that needed the same services that I needed. That number was larger than I thought it would be.
     So many people ask for help. They seek out the community mental health agencies in their area, or soldiers and veterans get sent to the VA inpatient or outpatient mental health services. A few people can even make it to the private therapists. Yet, people still "slip through the cracks" in the system. They go untreated or they just get psychotropic medications from their primary care physician instead of a psychiatrist, and sometimes that doesn't help them.
     I finally saw first-hand how easy it was to slip through the cracks in the mental healthcare system. I chose to go to a community mental health agency because they took my insurance, and even if my insurance stopped paying for treatment, I could afford to pay since they had a sliding scale for payment. I also heard from people in treatment there explain that if you didn't work, they wouldn't charge for services. People flocked to these community agencies because they had no other options because of the cost of care. That meant these places were full. Therapists were doing everything they possibly could, and they were still short on time.
     I was able to be seen by my therapist once a month or every 3 weeks for 45 minute sessions. (With OCD I should have been seeing a therapist once a week.) I was doing well until I woke up some days and I wasn't doing well that day. Those days were quite frequent. I was on a cancellation list, but just because I was on a list didn't mean anyone was actually cancelling their appointments. I could also call my therapist and leave a message, but I could end up waiting up to 48 hours for a callback, while I was having some kind of crisis. It wasn't the fault of the agency because they just didn't have adequate resources to provide better treatment. They're literally doing the best they can with what they have.
     It was a scary thing when I realized that I could have easily just slipped through the cracks like so many other people struggling with a mental health condition. I didn't, but I know that I'm lucky. I know plenty of people do everyday, and I know a great many of those people just can't find or can't afford better treatment.
     I'll end with this: It is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to actually work through clinical mental health conditions like Anxiety Disorders, Depression, Bipolar Disorder, or PTSD on your own. I know financial issues are huge for mental health, but that's the very reason that community organizations are willing to work with people on payment. If your sessions with a therapist are spaced out like mine were, hang in there. Don't stop going just because it feels like it takes forever. It's also okay to call a crisis center, or to call your therapist, or any member of a support system that you have when you need help.

A Vital Resource

     I've always considered myself to be more of a loner than a social butterfly. (If I wanted to use another animal image here I would say that I was more cat-like in my relationships with other humans.) I liked keeping people at a distance. I was always the girl that would hide her face in a book to avoid people, and maybe I had one (2 if you count the stray cat that always seems to find me) close friends. I wanted to appear tough, like I didn't need people, because I REALLY hated the idea that I needed someone for any reason.
     Then Summer 2015 happened. Once I started therapy, before my therapist and I embarked on the rough and sometimes terrifying journey of treatment that includes Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy, Mindfulness, and Exposure and Response Prevention Therapy, she brought up the topic of my support system. She said something like, "Now, I want to make sure you have a support system in place before we start ERP. I don't want you to feel even more alone with this than you already do."
     I've got to tell you, the whole support system thing scared me a little bit more than the Exposure ad Response Prevention Therapy. To have a support system meant that I needed to open up and talk about the things that were sensitive topics for me. That meant I also had to expect the people I wanted to include in my support system to actually listen and try to understand, or maybe even be present when I was having trouble handling the elevated levels of anxiety that come with Exposure and Response Prevention Therapy. Maybe I would even have to tell them the topic of the intrusive thoughts that cause me enough distress to send me into a spiral of panic.
     Being the introvert and the loner that I am, my support system is small, and the main member of my support system is my mom. The entire support system that I utilize consists of 3 people, not including my therapist or my cat. Before this, I thought a support system wouldn't be able to help me through anything because other people just wouldn't get it. I was wrong. I just wasn't willing to give anyone the chance to understand because I was too afraid they'd judge me or drop me like some ruined thing they no longer wanted to deal with.
     Sometimes, just having someone to tell me, "You can do this. You aren't alone," is all it takes. Then sometimes my mom has to point out that I've found a way to work through the other stuff, so I can work through the new stuff, too, because she thinks I'm stronger than I give myself credit for. Sometimes, another person in my support system will just remind me, on a bad day, that a laugh is in order. The reality is that we all need someone, and we can't pretend that we don't. (Humans need other humans to interact with. Again, I'm human. Gasp!)
     I'll end with this: Whether you are able to give therapy a shot or not, a support system is a vital resource when you're dealing with mental illness. They don't even have to completely understand what's happening, really. They just have to be there. That's the whole point of a support system, to let you know you aren't completely alone, even when you feel like you are. I know it can be scary to let people in for all sorts of reasons, but if you can let just one person in, that can make a world of difference. (I wish I would have figured that out a lot sooner.)
    

Pandora's Box

     I'm not really sure what I expected out of therapy. To be honest, I think my expectations were a little unrealistic. I thought that I could take care of the big issue that was causing me so much distress (my religious-themed obsessions and the resulting anxiety), and that would somehow make everything else in my mind fall in line and become "fixed". Maybe I expected to be able to find a solution to all of my issues in a too-short time frame. That isn't how this works.
     Before I talked to my therapist about it, I thought I wasn't getting better at all because I was still having quite a few bad days. New sources of anxiety seem to be popping into my mind almost weekly. I thought I was doing therapy wrong. I didn't care that I have only been in therapy since August, or that I've actually only been undergoing treatment for Pure O since October. I expected more than the small victories, my baby steps toward wellness. I still thought I needed to be better at getting better, even though I know mental illness doesn't work that way.
     My mind is my very own Pandora's Box. Inside my Pandora's Box I locked away a great many things over the years, like suppressed feelings, all the anxiety-inducing fears I tried to ignore, and all the past events that I pretended (at the time) had no effect on me at all. All the things I never dealt with are hidden in there. I'd bottled up too many things and pretended I was fine for too long.
     Therapy has opened Pandora's Box, and that means all those things can make their way to the surface of my mind. All the things I never dealt with can wreak havoc, and sometimes that's what happens. That's why I have a new source of anxiety almost every week. I'm going to have to deal with everything that comes out of the Pandora's Box that is my mind, and that isn't the easiest thing in the world to do, especially when you've gotten used to not dealing with everything.
     I expected to be better faster once I started treatment, and I realize that was an unrealistic idea. I don't have a lot of patience, especially not when it comes to myself so I expected too much. I didn't realize that I'd spent years locking thing away. Of course, treatment and getting well is going to take time. I'm trying to change years and years worth of faulty thinking. I can't just shut Pandora's Box back and pretend I'm perfectly fine anymore.
     Therapy is a slow process. Sometimes, to me, this process of working through all the stuff that comes out of the anxious depths of my mind feels agonizingly slow. I didn't expect things to be as difficult to work through as they have been. I also didn't expect to open the Pandora's Box of all my issues that I didn't know I'd buried while I just tried to deal with Primarily Obsessional Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.
     I'll end with this: Be gentle with the things you tell yourself about the treatment process. Confronting the darkest parts of your mind isn't easy, and it's a slow process. Even the smallest step in the direction of wellness is a victory, even if it doesn't seem like it.

Coping

      My anxiety has been pretty high for the past few weeks. It's the day before Thanksgiving, so there is a lot going on. I started to wonder if all the frenzied holiday activity, the stress of thinking about the possible houseful of people (even though I'm excited to see them), my recent setback, and the worry that I'm going to be super anxious and somehow ruin the holiday have something to do with my heightened level of anxiety. Whatever the cause of my anxiety, I've been using a variety of coping skills that I've slowly started to compile.
     Before this summer when my symptoms recurred with such severity that I was forced to seek counseling, I had no idea how to cope with my OCD in a healthy way. I was just doing mental compulsions to ease my anxiety for a short period of time, and that just made everything worse in the long run. Someone asked me about some of my coping techniques that I had been learning in therapy a while ago, and I thought I might share them, particularly right now, before Thanksgiving in case somebody else is struggling with the holidays, too.

Some of the coping techniques I've learned from mental health professionals: These might not work for everyone, but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try if you feel like it.

1. If you feel like you might have a panic attack, GROUNDING might help you. GROUNDING is a technique that gets you to do the opposite of what your anxiety tells you to do. Step 1: get on your feet because anxiety makes you want to curl up or lie down, so stand up. Step 2: Put your hands on something, for balance and to feel it, like a countertop, a bedpost, a table. Step 3: Find one thing in the room to focus on (instead of focusing on your racing thoughts or intrusive thoughts), and keep focused on that one thing. Step 4: Diaphragm breathing- slow deep breaths in through your nose, until you feel your rib cage expand as your lungs fill up, out through your mouth, lips formed like you're going to whistle (this tricks your brain into thinking that you're calm instead of in anxious overdrive). Counting while you breathe is a good idea. (My therapist suggested In- 1...2...Out...1...2). This is weird to do until you practice a little bit.

2. MOVING! If you're anxious, even if you've already had a panic attack and don't feel back to your normal yet, moving helps. I exercise 3 times a week (most of the time), and that physical activity has helped me manage my anxiety. When I've had a panic attack, I just want to sit and cry. That just makes it worse. So, I go for a walk. I particularly enjoy walking outside now that it's cold out. I just walk up and down my driveway for about 25-30 minutes, and it really does help. As long as you're moving it doesn't matter what you're doing, though...dancing, jumping around, anything.

3. FILL UP THE SPACE USUALLY OCCUPIED BY THE ANXIETY IN YOUR BRAIN. This one sounds weird, but it does work if you can find the right thing to do. A therapist at the crisis center taught me that, if you can fill your mind up with other stuff, you won't have the space for the anxiety to just hang out. Distract from it until it gets pushed far enough into the background. To do this I have to turn my TV on for noise, then I do something like read or color or do research on something that I want to learn. (Coloring is actually relaxing. I like those big, velvet coloring projects.)

4. UTILIZE YOUR SUPPORT SYSTEM. Friends, family, clergy, your therapist, or a crisis center near you. Talking to someone about whatever is going on is a great idea. When something is stuck, rolling around in your mind, and making you anxious, if you talk about it, it takes away a little bit of the power the anxiety has. Keeping things bottled up gives them too much power, and it can feel like it's going to swallow you. So, call someone for a chat or ask them to come over. If it's too much for you to handle, it's always okay to call a professional so they can help you figure out how to work through it or how to handle the anxiety symptoms.

I also figured out some stuff that works for me, without the help of a professional. Again, these might not work for everyone.

1. LAVENDER OIL: My mom got an oil lamp for me, and when my anxiety starts to spike, I heat up some lavender oil. I read somewhere online that lavender oil is calming.

2.  SINGING: When I get anxious, I like noise instead of quiet. I get my iPod, I play something upbeat, and I sing. It takes my mind off the fact that I feel like I can't breathe. Plus, I'm distracted with trying to remember the words to the song.

3. COOKING: I've recently figured out how to use a stove, and I did it for this very purpose. I felt helpless, like I couldn't do anything. That helplessness added to my anxiety, so I got up and tried to fix myself something to eat, on the stove, like the adult that I am. I made scrambled eggs. It wasn't much, but just the idea that I wasn't so helpless helped me. Also, trying to concentrate on not ruining my dinner or burning the house down took my mind off everything else.

4. HUMOR: Laughter helps me a lot when I'm anxious. I have a book of cheesy kids jokes that I read out of. I also look on YouTube and Pinterest for animals doing silly things. (Pinterest Search: Funny Cats or Funny Dogs, and I laugh like an excited little kid).

5. WRITING: I write poetry when I need to chill out. I also try to work on my book. I also keep what I refer to as an Anxiety Journal. (It's just a binder that has all my OCD and therapy stuff in it, really.) Every time my anxiety gets so high that I feel like I can't deal with it, I write down whatever is making me anxious, what I'm thinking, my symptoms, and what I'm doing about it. I guess this helps me because I'm taking a step back from my own mind and observing what's going on instead of getting so lost in it that I can't function. I've even taken the Anxiety Journal to therapy to discuss it with my therapist.

6. MEDITATION (sort of): I'm not very good at traditional meditation where you sit in silence and clear your mind. Instead, I pray the Rosary. I read over the excerpts about the Mysteries that I have printed out, I count the beads, and I recite the prayers. (I pray the Catholic Rosary, but there is an Anglican Rosary if anyone is interested.) The recitation of the prayers out loud; the feel of the beads in my hand and the clinking sounds the beads make; and concentrating on the Mysteries lulls my mind into a calmer place. It makes me feel peaceful.

7. CLOTHES AND MAKEUP: If I've been anxious for a prolonged period of time, I'll pick out a nice outfit, something I feel pretty in, and then I'll do my makeup. I guess this is an effort to fake it til I make it. Even if I'm just at home, I still do this. Then I smile at myself in the mirror. I feel more put together. I feel more confident, and maybe its easier to tackle a problem when you feel more confident.

There is one thing I never do:

SELF MEDICATE: I do drink sometimes, maybe a beer or a glass of wine whenever I'm in the mood for it. However, I absolutely never drink when I feel anxious. I don't want alcohol or any sort of self-medicating to become the way I cope. Plus, if you have an anxiety disorder or depression, your body is a little bit out of whack in regard to chemicals in your brain. If you add something like alcohol, it just makes everything more off-kilter. Impaired judgment that can lead to regret and/or guilt later, sleep problems, memory problems, bad effects on blood sugar, dehydration, and even mood swings (some people get depressed or angry when they're drunk) are all related to self-medicating with alcohol.
     I did reach a point this summer when I wondered about self-medicating. I even looked at my mom and said, "I think I'd rather feel high on pot than to keep feeling like this." (I was having multiple panic attacks every day at that point. Plus, I was sure I was going to burn in Hell or cause the world to end or cause some horrific doom to befall my mom because of my intrusive thoughts.) I was only half-joking when I said it, too. (I've never tried any sort of illegal substance. I've never been high, but man, did it look appealing for a short few minutes.) I called a crisis center instead, and they helped me to bring my anxiety back down by using the Grounding Technique I mentioned above.
     For a brief moment, I understood a little bit, the draw of self-medicating. I understood how nice it must feel to be numb or feel like I didn't care for a little while. How easy it seemed to just have the quick but fleeting relief from whatever monster lives in your head. I just couldn't do it because it doesn't really fix anything. It just makes you forget your problem until you sober up, and then the cycle starts over again. So, I chose therapy instead. It's slower and sure, my OCD is still in the back of my mind all the time, but I'm dealing with it. I'm working on it, and trying to get better.
     I'll end with this: Finding healthy ways to cope that work for you is difficult, especially if you've been doing unhealthy things for a long time. It might seem like you'll never find something that works, but there is something out there. Just don't give up. Please, don't self-medicate because you think it eases your mental health struggle. Talk to a mental health professional for healthy ways to really deal with things. It's free to call a crisis center near you.

Being Normal

     Normal: conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected. (I Googled this definition.)

     The idea of normal and what I should be to be "normal" has haunted me for practically my entire life since I reached adolescence, and especially since the onset of my OCD and panic symptoms. After the onset of symptoms, I felt like I was no longer normal. (Normal people don't have intrusive thoughts.) Then again, when my symptoms resurfaced, and they were so severe that I had to seek treatment, I was hit hard with the realization that I wasn't normal. (Normal people don't have OCD. Even my OCD isn't the normal OCD that I learned about.) Even recently, since I've been in therapy, I've found myself relapsed to a panicked state of existence because I wondered if I (or aspects of my behavior, personality, or anything about myself) was normal. I felt even worse about myself because I didn't fit the definition of normal.
     When you can't be something, it seems like you want to be the forbidden something more than you want anything else. I felt like I would never be normal after I was diagnosed. I wanted to be normal more than I wanted to be anything else in the world. I caught myself monitoring my behavior, my thought patterns, everything in an effort to appear as normal as possible. (Never mind the fact that I'm a writer with a sleeve of tattoos and purple hair, which would make it seem that the "normal" ship sailed without me a long time ago.)
     There is one problem with being normal, though. Normal is a subjective idea. No one idea of normal will ever be able to fit every single person in the world. Normal, in the eyes of society, is conforming to the set of ideas that the majority of people have and behaving in an the way that everyone else behaves. (To fit the rural, East TN definition of "normal" that I grew up with, I would have to be an Evangelical Christian, Baptist most likely. I would have a more conventional career in the works like that of a teacher, nurse, lawyer, or a social worker. I'd be a University of Tennessee and a Titans fan. I definitely wouldn't have purple hair. I tried being normal. I gave up.) Normal changes based on where you're from, where you choose to live, the beliefs that you have. Normal changes from culture to culture, state to state, and even family to family.
     I called a crisis center while I was panicking, and I had a chat with a therapist that worked there. He pointed out that holding myself to the idea of normal wasn't a good goal to have because normal is so subjective. (As a psychology major I knew that, but I wasn't able to be very logical at that moment because anxiety isn't exactly logical or rational.) I realized that I want to eventually get back to MY normal not what everybody else thought normal was supposed to be.
     MY normal is different from everyone else's normal. Everyone's normal is different from everyone else's normal. When I talk about getting back to MY normal I mean getting back to the days when I didn't have panic attacks and wasn't so riddled with anxiety that I couldn't eat; the days when I worked on my book for hours and got so lost in the story that I forgot everything else; the days when I talked to myself and acted out dialogue between the characters I'm writing about; the days when I daydreamed about the day my book gets turned into a movie and maybe, just maybe, I get to go on the Ellen Show. (I've accepted that OCD is just a new part of my normal, and that's alright, just like having Cerebral Palsy is part of my normal, too.) That's MY normal, and I know that sounds crazy or weird or maybe even silly to other people. That's okay, though, because I know their normal is different from my normal. Somebody else's normal might be a 12-hour shift in a hospital, with a significant other, 2.5 kids, and a dog waiting for them in a home with a white picket fence. That's perfectly fine, but that doesn't describe MY normal.
      My normal is one type of normal. My OCD might be a nontraditional type, but it's part of MY normal. Life with mental illness doesn't always fit with what society or even our friends and family tell us that normal is supposed to be. That is okay.
     I'll end with this: "Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly."- Morticia Adams. Normal is different for everyone. Instead of focusing on one idea that someone else thinks is normal, focus on YOUR normal. Don't let someone make you feel that, just because you might be struggling with mental illness as part of your normal, your normal is not good enough or "normal" enough.

Things I Took for Granted

     I never actually thought much about how my current life living with mental illness is different from the life I had before the onset of my Pure OCD. Then, this past week, I hit a rough patch, perhaps the worst one since I began treatment. I realized that I took some things for granted before the onset of Pure O. Easy things had become not so easy, even though I pretended that my life hadn't changed so much.
     One of the big things I realized I had taken for granted before was good days. Before onset, most of my days were good days. I didn't have to work for them. My good days just happened. Then, mental illness set in, and the anxiety and OCD sort of took that from me. A lot of my days from that point on were days that I just tried to survive, hour by hour, and tried not to get so lost in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind that I'd never be able to find my way out again. I had lots of days like that, and like this rough patch, bad days can turn into bad weeks.
    With mental illness, I do have good days just like everyone else in life has good and bad days. The difference between now and before, is that my good days take effort. For lack of a better way to put it, I fight like Hell against my own mind. On the good days, I literally say to myself, "I win at life," because that's how it feels. I appreciate my good days more now, I guess, because I feel like I'm winning a battle when I have them.
    I also feel like mental illness took my sense of peace and trust in myself. I've always been a pretty logical person, but I also took my intuition into account when I made decisions. I made life decisions, like where to go to college, my career choice, and even the future I tried to plan in my head based on what my heart told me. (You know the old saying, "Follow your heart because it will never lead you down the wrong path." At least that's what my mother always told me). Don't get me wrong, I also evaluated what my heart wanted with the logical steps to get there. I had peace knowing that my life was guided in such a way, and I trusted myself. I knew, deep down, in my very soul that my decisions were the right ones for me. Then mental illness set in, and I started to second guess every single thing about myself.
     I made decisions about my life, and back then, they seemed like the easiest decisions in the world to make. They all felt right. I took a trip through Carson-Newman campus when I was in elementary school, and I knew I would go there because I felt peace while I was there. All through high school, I wanted to write as a career. Sure, I thought about going to graduate school while I was in college, but I always came back to writing because that was where my heart was. I knew a writing career was a risk, but it was a risk I was willing to take. That was the path for me. I forgot about graduate school, and I felt like a huge weight was gone off my shoulders. I felt at peace. Then my OCD picked everything apart, and I accidentally let it. I had taken for granted the ability to trust myself and my intuition.
   I struggle more with decisions since the onset of my OCD, and when I make decisions, I agonize over whether or not it was the right decision. I started listening to my head more, and I lost my sense of peace because an anxious brain likes to think of everything that can go wrong. Then those possibilities turn into real dangers inside my mind. Wrong decisions, in my head, lead to catastrophe.
     I'll end with this: Mental illness changes things. Mental illness has certainly changed things about my life that I hadn't even thought about. Life with mental illness can feel like an uphill battle some days, and you have to make an effort everyday to fight. Everybody always says it gets better, and the good days feel like that. On my bad days, I try as hard as I can to hang on to the thought that a good day will come around again.
    

More Than You See on TV

     While I was getting my hair done this weekend, I overheard something that made me stop for a second. I was sitting in my chair, while the lady dried my hair, and another lady that was waiting for her appointment got up and straightened things on a table to my left. Some rowdy kids had been in the salon, and they had left a mess there on the table. As she was straightening things up, another stylist glanced up from her work and remarked, "Your OCD kicked in, huh." The other lady laughed.
     I wasn't offended, but the fact that she just so flippantly threw that out there, just because someone decided to straighten up a cluttered mess, made me stop and think. Why would someone use an actual mental disorder as an adjective in this situation? Why would the stylist's mind automatically turn to OCD when someone was just tidying things? Why? Because stereotypes of mental illness have pervaded our culture. That isn't okay, just like it isn't okay to stereotype someone based on the color of their skin.
     I became very aware of how OCD and mental illness in general were stereotyped after my diagnosis. People with OCD are neat freaks. People with OCD check things repeatedly. Quirks equal OCD. The "neat freaks" and the checkers are only two types of OCD. Many different types of OCD exist. Pure O, like I have, is just an example of OCD that people don't hear much about. Also, just because you like your room neat or you like things in multiples of 3 and 5 doesn't mean you have OCD. The difference between a quirk or a preference and OCD is that OCD causes the person distress when they can't say, have something in multiples of 3 and 5, while preferences and quirks don't cause someone distress.
     Mental illness in general has quite a few stereotypes. Mentally ill people are dangerous and unpredictable. Mentally ill people are incompetent. Mentally ill people are doomed to be mentally ill forever, and they can never get better or improve.
     I did some research on stereotypes about other disorders that I don't have personal experience with as well:
Anxiety: People with anxiety just want attention. People with anxiety are just overdramatic. Anxiety equals panic attacks. For women with anxiety: Oh, she's just menstrual or over-emotional.
*Anyone can have anxiety, and they can't help it. You can't turn it off and on or fake it for attention. Not everyone with anxiety has panic attacks.

Bipolar Disorder: He or she is just moody. People with Bipolar Disorder are dangerous. People with Bipolar Disorder aren't able to be high functioning, productive members of society.
*Bipolar Disorder isn't just moodiness. Many people with Bipolar Disorder are high functioning and productive. Just look at Demi Lovato. Most people with any kind of mental illness are not violent or dangerous at all.

Depression: Happy people can't be depressed. Depression is just sadness. Depression is a result of life circumstances.
*Just because someone seems happy doesn't mean they can't be depressed. You can have good days and bad days. Depression isn't just sadness. It is a whole range of emotions from self-loathing, despair, shame, guilt, and then sometimes it's hard to feel anything at all. Life circumstances don't cause depression.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: Only soldiers can have PTSD.
*People that have never served in the military can have PTSD, like abuse or rape victims and survivors of natural disasters. Also, not everyone that goes into a combat zone comes home with PTSD.

Eating Disorders: Eating disorders only happen to skinny, white girls. Eating Disorders aren't real disorders.
*Eating disorders can happen to anyone regardless of gender, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, or popularity. They are real problems that need psychological treatment, and they take time to treat. The sufferer can't just stop it.

     These stereotypes have a huge effect on the people they are applied to. Stereotypes affect the way a person sees themselves, and the way the world views the stereotyped person. Mental health stereotypes can determine whether or not a person seeks help. Maybe they have OCD, but they don't fit the neatness or checking stereotype that we see so often portrayed in the media that the think they don't have the disorder. So, because they don't fit the stereotype they may continue to suffer in silence because they think no one else will believe them.
     Back to the flippant use of a mental disorder that I heard in the salon over the weekend. I'm sure the stylist and the lady didn't think anything of using the term OCD. Before my diagnosis, I might not have even noticed it. Since I did notice it, I think it points out a different problem in our society. The problem is that people aren't educated about mental health. Sure, they know about disorders and things, but most only know what they see portrayed in the media, which isn't a complete and accurate picture. If more people were educated about what mental disorders actually were, if they knew about the suffering that came with a diagnosis like OCD or Depression, and the feelings of shame and guilt at not being "normal", they might be as quick to flippantly use terms like that about themselves and others.
     I'll end with this: Mental illness is so much more than the stereotypes that pervade our society. Mental illnesses are real illnesses, just like asthma and diabetes. Mental illnesses are not jokes or funny or less serious than other forms of illness. Mental illness doesn't mean unpredictability, violence, or an inability to have a great, healthy, and productive life.

Sticks and Stones

     We've all heard the saying, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me" said by well-meaning family, friends, teachers, and all other sorts of people. The people that told us that old adage meant well, but let's face it, words do hurt. People say mean things out of ignorance, anger, fear, or just to be mean. So, to continue the topic of the mental health stigma, I'm going to mention some of the stuff that people say to others that are dealing with mental illness. I've experienced a few of these things myself, but I've seen a lot of hurtful things written on other blogs about mental health that I've been reading lately.

1. "You should be locked up." (In an institution)
     My grandmother would say this to my mother (who suffers from anxiety and sometimes panic attacks) on her worst days. I'm not sure why she would always threaten this right after my mother had a panic attack or got depressed, but that was always the threat. I try to think that maybe it was some kind of tough love tactic that she used to try to force my mother to pull herself together and carry on, but it didn't help.
     If someone is having a hard time dealing with something, threatening something like this is never going to help. Odds are, the person will be scared, and it could make the symptoms worse. I was so afraid that I really would be sent away to a mental health facility when I started struggling, and that's a big part of why I didn't tell anyone.

2. "It's all in your head."
     Yes, we are aware that our mental health problems are all in our heads. People say this to (possibly) try to give us a change in perspective, maybe to make us realize that our fears and worries aren't actually going to happen, but it comes across as dismissive, like it isn't a real (and terrifying) problem.

3. "Just let it go." /"Snap out of it."
     Telling someone struggling with mental illness to just let it go or to snap out of it, is the equivalent of telling someone with diabetes to just let it go or to snap out of it. Before I was clinically diagnosed, my mother would tell me to just let things go because she didn't understand that with an anxious brain, thoughts, worries, fears, get stuck, and then they roll around in my head like a pinball in one of those Pinball machines. (She has since apologized, and she doesn't say anything like this anymore.)
      When someone says one of these things, it just makes us feel worse. This sort of comes across as you're frustrated with us or tired of dealing with us. We're just as frustrated and tired of dealing with it, too, some days, and we wish we could just be better. Statements like this almost feel like they have an accusatory meaning, like, "Just be better, already."

4. "Maybe you want to feel this way." 
     A friend that I love dearly said this to me when I first confided that, sometimes, my mind goes to a really dark place, and I can't seem to pull myself out of it. I was getting ready to tell her about the intrusive thoughts and to ask her if she had ever experienced anything like that. Then she said that. My friend seemed to think, that because I couldn't pull myself out of the spiral I had gotten into, I wanted to be in that dark place...the dark place where I was sure God didn't love me anymore, where I was sure I was going to Hell, where I was sure I was evil/possessed/crazy. NO! Nope! Just...no.
     This statement is possibly the worst thing you could say to someone suffering from mental illness in my opinion. This sounds like you're blaming them for feeling the way they feel. I'm sure my friend didn't mean it that way. I'm not sure what she meant by that. I just know that, when my friend said that, I no longer wanted to talk about what I was going through, and I didn't.

5. "Why can't you just deal with it on your own?"
     The decision to seek treatment for mental illness is a hard one to make. Questions like this, even if they aren't meant to, sound judgmental. When someone is thinking about getting counseling and/or taking medication for their mental health, some tend it see that as weakness. If you're close to someone who is struggling with a decision like this, asking something like that could sway them. People are less likely to make a decision when they feel like they'll be judged or not accepted for it. This is why so many people never get help.

     For me, personally, the things I just mentioned aren't even the most alarming. As a person of faith, I've seen that other people of faith that aren't struggling with mental illness can say things that are psychologically damaging, even when they mean well. I've seen things like this all over the Internet while I've been reading other blogs, and every time I see them, I cringe. After some of the things I've read about, I can't really blame people for being afraid of Christianity or leaving Christianity completely.

1. "God won't give you more than you can handle."
     This statement is something that is meant with the best of intentions, I know. I understand this is said as a way to try and get another person to see their own strength during a rough time. I get all that, but when this is said in reference to mental illness, it can take on a whole different interpretation. When you say something like that to a person struggling with mental illness, it isn't comforting. It almost sounds like, "God gave you this mental illness because God knew you could handle it."
     Some days, living with mental illness is like living in your own personal Hell on Earth, and some days it feels like a punishment. Implying that God had something to do with why someone is suffering like that, just because they're a strong person, or maybe even that God is testing their strength is a terrible idea. Think about this, what does that say about the person suffering when they feel like they can't handle it anymore? They're going to feel like they're letting God down because they can't handle something they now think God gave them. Also, think about how that might negatively affect their view of God after you say that to them.


2. "Pray about it and God will heal you."
     I actually saw this in a comment section for somebody's blog about their struggle with depression. Saying this to someone who has been diagnosed with a mental illness, or who confides in you that they think they have a mental health issue is implying that they shouldn't seek medical treatment. You're basically saying that they can pray mental illness away. It also implies that, maybe, because they prayed about it and didn't get better, that their faith isn't strong enough, or that God doesn't want to heal them.
     As someone who is a person of faith and has prayed that God would "fix" me, I can tell you just how damaging this statement can be. I thought God wasn't helping me because God didn't love me, that maybe I deserved to feel this way because God had to have a reason for not making me better. At my lowest (freshman year of college) I thought, it would be okay if I just didn't wake up the next morning because that would have been more merciful than having to feel like God was purposefully not helping me. (It got better, and I no longer feel this way. It took a while.)

3. "You're problem is that you don't have Jesus."/ "You just need Jesus and you won't have X."
     I saw this comment on a Buzzfeed article comment section about mental illness. The problem is a chemical imbalance in a person's brain or a traumatic event (for PTSD). The problem is not a person's perceived lack of faith. Statements like this imply that only non-Christians have mental health issues, and that isn't true. Plenty of Christians struggle with mental illness. This also implies that the Christians suffering with mental illness, somehow aren't Christian enough, and that's why they're suffering.

I'll end with this: Be mindful of the things you say to people. You never know how much and for how long somebody might have been suffering or how much effort they expend on a daily basis just to fit society's definition of normal. If you've heard anything like what I've mentioned in this blog, please know that comments like these say more about the speaker than they say about you. Having a mental health problem is not your fault, and it is not an indicator of your faith (or your lack of faith) in a higher power.

Labeled

     I remember exactly how I felt when I got my diagnosis from a mental health professional. I felt a mix of emotions. I felt relieved because I finally had an explanation for what was going on and a treatment plan. I also felt a little freaked out because something was actually wrong with me. I also felt labeled, like I had a Post-It slapped on my forehead that told everyone what, exactly, was wrong with me.
     I had a weird experience with this whole diagnosis thing because I was misdiagnosed in the beginning. I mentioned in previous posts that I was diagnosed with Panic Disorder in the beginning. I felt fine about that, for some reason. Panic attacks are something that other people have to deal with, too. Panic attacks can be a "normal" response to stress or dangerous situations, in some instances. I didn't mind people knowing that I had Panic Disorder. I didn't mind talking about it and telling everyone. I still felt labeled, but it was a label that I felt wasn't a big deal for me.
     Then my diagnosis was changed to Primarily Obsessive OCD (also mentioned as Purely Obsessional OCD and Pure O). I wasn't fine with that. For some reason, in my mind, Pure O made me sound "crazier", like something was really wrong with me. I found it harder to talk about Pure O than I had about Panic Disorder. I didn't really want people to know about it. I started to worry about stereotypes of people with OCD and how other people think of people like me. I was afraid people would suddenly act differently toward me, or think that I was crazy and avoid me. I was actually a little bit ashamed of my brain chemistry because it wasn't "normal".
     I hadn't had any experience with the stigma associated with mental health until this point. Then I got diagnosed with something that is considered a pretty serious condition (all mental health conditions are serious, but some are viewed as potentially more debilitating), and I really felt that diagnosis. I really felt like I had a Post-It slapped on my forehead. I felt like I had a secret that I desperately wanted to hide from everybody else. It took me a few days to even work up the nerve to tell the people in my support system about my change in diagnosis because I was afraid they might change their opinion of me. My response to combat that feeling was to post about my blog on my Facebook. (I had a small freak out afterwards.)
     I also posted my blog as a way to combat the mental health stigma in our society. In our society, people with mental health issues, whether it's Panic Disorder, OCD, PTSD, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Schizophrenia, or any other kind of mental health problem, often suffer in silence, and some commit suicide because they can't or won't get help. Society makes people think of mental health as a dirty little secret that they should handle on their own, instead of a condition like diabetes or allergies. Caring for mental health should be viewed in the same way as taking care of physical health.
     Then if a person actually gets help, the stigma can be felt even more, especially if medication is involved in treatment. Society tells them they are weak, when, in fact, it takes so much strength to admit that something is wrong and to ask for help. Plus, if someone gets a diagnosis, society makes them feel like something broken or something to be ignored or avoided. Society may even use your disorder as an adjective or as a joke on TV. That isn't okay at all.
     I found something that helped change the way I felt about my diagnosis. I found somebody that I already thought was pretty cool who also had OCD. She didn't have Pure O like me, but she wasn't shy about talking about her form of OCD. Allison Raskin, from Buzzfeed and the YouTube show, Just Between Us, talks about the fact that she's been dealing with OCD since childhood, and she isn't ashamed of it. Her creative business partner and friend, Gaby Dunn, also talks about her struggle with Depression. They're doing a great job of rocking at the whole life thing.
     I'm not saying that you should idolize influential or famous people or anything like that, and I'm not saying this should replace your support system in terms of helping you cope. I'm just throwing something out there that might make some people feel less weird after a diagnosis. I know, sometimes, dealing with mental illness can make you feel alone, like you're the only one dealing with your particular problem. I promise that isn't the case. So, maybe, you could look at somebody that also has been diagnosed with the same disorder in the spotlight, just so you know you're not the only one. (Hint: Demi Lovato is a pretty cool mental health advocate these days.)
     I'll end with this: You don't have to suffer in silence. Mental health is not a dirty little secret that everyone should be afraid to talk about. Mental health disorders are serious conditions just like diabetes, and they shouldn't be ignored, made light of, or joked about. Being diagnosed with a mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of, and neither is seeking treatment.

Pure O

     When most people, myself included, think of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, they tend to think about the type of OCD that involves cleanliness, fear of contamination and repeated hand washing, or the checking type of OCD, which involves someone checking and re-checking things, like locked doors or light switches. I learned about OCD that way in college, and so did my counselor. We didn't know what Purely Obsessional OCD, or Pure O, was so, in case anyone else out there might be trying to figure all this out like me, I'll explain it. (Or, I should say, I'll explain what I've figured out so far based on personal experience and research.)
     Pure O is a subtype of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder that seems to be a fairly new area of research from what I've been reading. Almost all the obsessive and compulsive parts take place inside a person's head, so that they might show very few (if any) behavioral compulsions that other people can see. Hence, the not-so-accurate name "Pure O", because other people, including a mental health professional, can't see the person performing the compulsions. That's why Pure O is often misdiagnosed as another anxiety disorder like Generalized Anxiety Disorder or, in my case, Panic Disorder (Wochner, 2012).
     The compulsions are still present in Pure O, but they are actually mental rituals instead of observable behaviors. Some of the compulsive things I've noticed in myself include trying to figure out why I have the intrusive thoughts that I have, trying to forcefully control the thought, questioning my morality, repeating certain words and phrases in my head (like, "Please, God," over and over), excessively praying for forgiveness (because I'm sure I've sinned and can't remember it), overanalyzing my body language and behavior so I appear as normal as possible to everyone around (so no one can guess what's going on inside my mind), avoiding people/places/situations that make the obsessions and intrusive thoughts worse (I avoid movies about demonic possession and apocalyptic themed movies/books/shows), and I also seek reassurance from other people that I'm not evil, possessed, or going to Hell (Seay, 2011).
     I've seen some other compulsive behaviors mentioned that I don't experience, like balancing the bad thoughts out with a "good" thought to neutralize it, repeating tasks because you had a "bad" thought while you were doing whatever the task was, so you have to do it over with a "good" thought, and reviewing your life to gain certainty of a memory in which you did "bad" things. I'm sure there is more, but this is the extent of my research at this point (Seay, 2011).
     My obsessions are all related to religion, but that isn't the only Pure O obsession out there. Some other obsessions that I've read about include self harm or harming others, inappropriate or violent sexual thoughts, doubt about one's sexual orientation, and relationship doubt. These are the most common types of obsessions, but I'm sure there are more that I could add to the list (Wochner, 2012).
     OCD is an anxiety disorder that results from a chemical problem in my brain. It doesn't sound so scary when I say it like that. Pure O is treatable, just like the form of OCD that everyone is familiar with. Pure O doesn't seem so scary now that I figured out that I can recover from it and actually be my "normal" again. Since I've figured this out, I don't have to carry all that shame around and hide it from people, because I know it's only the Pure O and not actually me (me = the rational Megan that exists when I'm not anxious or panicking).
     I'll end with this: If something I've written about sounds familiar, maybe you should think about talking to a professional. Pure O, like all the other types of anxiety disorders, is treatable. You don't have to suffer in silence. If you're having intrusive thoughts, remember this: those thoughts don't mean anything, except that you have an anxiety issue caused by chemicals in your brain.  If you're like me, and you're carrying all that guilt and shame because of all the "bad" thoughts rolling around in your head, you have nothing to feel ashamed of or guilty about because you can't control your brain chemistry.

Sources for the information in this post:
  Seay, S. (2011, August 1). Pure-O OCD (Pure Obsessional OCD): Hidden Rituals. Retrieved September 30, 2015, from http://www.steveseay.com/pure-o-ocd-pure-obsessional-ocd/

  Wochner, S. (2012). Pure Obsessional OCD-Symptoms and Treatment. Social Work Today, 12(4), 22-22. Retrieved September 30, 2015, from https://www.socialworktoday.com/archive/070212p22.shtml

The Road to Diagnosis

     The road to getting a correct diagnosis and getting the right kind of help for your mental health issue isn't always smooth, and it can feel overwhelming and scary if you don't know what to expect. It takes courage to make the decision to seek professional help when it comes to mental health. After I decided I needed to seek help, it took me a nearly a week to even call the counseling service because I was still afraid. I was afraid of the treatment process. I was afraid of being judged by everyone if they knew I needed counseling. I was afraid the therapist couldn't help me. I was even afraid of being institutionalized. (That last one is just one of my personal fears, and I knew it was unlikely). It's okay to feel scared and overwhelmed, just please, don't let fear keep you from asking for help, like it did with me for almost a decade.
     After you make the big decision comes the next step: getting a CORRECT diagnosis. I made an appointment for the same day I called the counseling service. I talked to a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. She just wanted to know about my symptoms and my family history. I told her about the intrusive thoughts, the shame and extreme guilt, and the panic attacks. She didn't mention the words crazy or insane because those words are not a diagnosis, and a counselor is only concerned with a clinical diagnosis so you can receive treatment.
     I left the center with a diagnosis of Panic Disorder, which I mentioned in my first post, and a large packet of information on Panic Disorder. I also left with appointments for counseling and medication. I read the packet of information twice on Panic Disorder. The second time I read the packet, (almost 3 months in to therapy), I realized that Panic Disorder wasn't explaining all of my symptoms. I kept feeling like something else was going on. I talked to my mom and my counselor about it. I even did research on my own because I thought I might just be working myself up for no reason, and I took my research to my therapist.
     I had been misdiagnosed. That was why the medication and the therapy weren't helping. As of October 2015, my therapist changed my primary diagnosis from Panic Disorder to Purely Obsessional Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, also referred to as Pure O. I got a new treatment plan, and we talked about different medication specifically for OCD, if I wanted to try medication at any point during my treatment. I chose not to try medication right now, but I'm open to the idea of medication if that's what I need to get better.
     The reason for my misdiagnosis is simple: a communication error. My counselor didn't ask the right questions, and she took responsibility for that. I also didn't volunteer other relevant information, like the fact that my management techniques for my intrusive thoughts and the resulting anxiety were actually mental compulsions (because I had no idea). I took responsibility for that. I haven't been getting better at managing the intrusive thoughts at all, and being treated for the wrong thing made the Pure O worse. I didn't know that Pure O even existed until this month, and I was a psychology major in college.
     I'll end with this: There is no shame in seeking professional help for mental health, even if that help includes medication. If you have the ability to see a counselor, make sure you tell them everything, no matter if you think it is relevant or not. If you have questions or concerns don't be afraid to voice them to the professional because helping you understand is part of their job.

My Personal Struggle

     My name is Megan. I'm a twenty-five-year-old writer with a completed first novel just waiting for the right agent. I have a BA in Applied Psychology and a minor in General Sociology from Carson-Newman University. I'm a person of faith. I also have an anxiety disorder.
     I was diagnosed with Panic Disorder in July 2015, but my anxiety disorder struggle starts way before that. I remember distinctly the day I was sure I was going crazy/evil/possessed (because those were all the things I thought were happening at that time). I was a high school senior in my last semester, and I was just having a normal conversation with the girl behind me in class. Nothing out of the ordinary was going on. I didn't feel strange. I wasn't stressed out that I knew of. This very distressing, and to me, blasphemous thought whooshed into my brain. The thought kept happening, and it's still happening.
     I tried to ignore the thought. I tried to push it out. I prayed. I did everything I possibly could, except the one thing I absolutely should have done. I didn't ask for help or tell anyone what was happening. I didn't have a panic attack then, but I got really scared. I got anxious, but I somehow managed to ignore it and power on with my life for a few months.
     Fast forward to my freshman year of college, Christmas break. The obsessive intrusive thought was still there. I was already stressed because I was in college, but I thought everything was fine. Then over Christmas break, it hit me like a punch in the stomach. I was positive that I was either crazy or possessed or just straight up evil, and that I was going to Hell because God didn't love me because of that one thought I couldn't control. I FREAKED OUT. I couldn't eat. I couldn't be alone. I even convinced my mom to let me sleep in her room, and I got her to sleep in mine. I prayed and begged God to help me. I read my Bible. I cried. I made sure to try and keep religious songs in my head to make up for the blasphemous thought that I couldn't get rid of. I still didn't tell anyone or seek help. I went back to school, and I was so busy and distracted that I could ignore my anxiety. I even went to the required chapels joyfully because I somehow got it through my head that God still loved me, even though I was a bad or evil person.
     Fast forward again to summer 2015. It was the week before my 25th birthday. It was a Sunday. Of course, the bad obsessive thought was still there. All of a sudden, I was overwhelmed by this fear again, that God wasn't going to love me because of my bad thought that I couldn't control. I knew I was going to burn in Hell for eternity. Bad things happened because of me, as my punishment. BOOM! PANIC! I couldn't breathe. My chest hurt. I broke out in a sweat. I started to shake. I wanted to cry. I thought my heart was going to give out because it was pounding. I couldn't eat again. I tried not to show it because I didn't want anyone to know what I was hiding. I was so afraid they would validate my worst fear: that I was evil and going to Hell. I was so filled with shame and guilt. I just wanted to be good.
     I had a panic attack every day for a over a week. I even cried when my mom left for work because I didn't want to be alone. I didn't know they were panic attacks until I was told they were. I thought I was just crazy. I even showed up at my mom's work, in another county, because I was terrified. My mom also suffers from anxiety (not Panic Disorder) so she suggested I seek counseling. I ended up in the emergency department. I visited my primary care physician, and she suggested therapy for panic attacks.
     I finally did the thing I should have done in high school. I told my mom about my intrusive thought, and we called a counseling service. I was evaluated and immediately diagnosed with Panic Disorder. I wasn't evil or possessed. I wasn't even crazy. I just had a very treatable and very manageable mental health issue that I had let get out of hand, much like someone might let diabetes or blood pressure get out of control. My obsessive intrusive (and blasphemous) thought was a product of my brain chemistry issue. That was a huge relief, but it also scared me because that meant I actually had an issue that wouldn't be as easy to fix as I wanted. That also meant I was human, just like everyone else (gasp!). I also wouldn't be able to learn how to fix things and manage Panic Disorder on my own.
      I'm currently in counseling, and I'm improving. It's a rough road, and I've had a few setbacks. I still have panic attacks, and I still get anxious. I'm OK, though. I can manage it. After a little less than a decade of thinking I was evil, it's hard to change that belief, but I'm trying. I still pray. I even have friends pray with me. I also still have my obsessive intrusive thought, but I can deal with them now, most of the time. Some days are harder than others.
     I had a realization. I can't be the only person of faith with an anxiety disorder, and I can't be the only person in the world with obsessive intrusive thoughts that fall into the blasphemous category. So, I'm reaching out. I'm here. God is still here, and God loves us no matter what. God isn't going to give up on us. We don't have to struggle alone because we think no one else gets it. I don't want anyone else to feel the way I felt for years before I was finally forced to seek help.
     I'll end with this: if you're having bad thoughts that intrude into your mind or happen without your control, whether they are violent thoughts, sexual thoughts, or blasphemous thoughts, or anything that goes against your moral code and causes you anxiety, it's okay. You are not your thoughts. You aren't bad, evil, possessed or crazy. You're human. Just, please, talk to someone you trust, a friend, parent, family member, clergy, school counselor, or other mental health professional. The sooner you can receive help, the better, believe me. I wish someone would have said this to me.