I've mentioned before that I was a loner who thought she might be too logical to actually have feelings. (Or, at least I pretended to be too logical while my feelings were actually trying to drown me on the inside). I've also always been a very private person, which means I've never felt the need to talk about my worries, problems, and especially not my feelings with another human being. I never minded listening to other people talk about those things, and I was glad to help in that way. If I thought about talking to someone about something like that it just seemed too...mushy and attention-seeking. I had to be tough and logical, always logical. I was afraid that feeling things meant I wasn't logical, so I was afraid of the feelings. (That wasn't logical, now was it?)
One problem: I have lots of worries and lots and lots of feelings. It is pretty much impossible to be logical when your feelings are all bottled up inside, going all over the place like a toddler hopped up on caffeine chasing a Great Dane puppy around a small apartment. Trying to keep up with all the worries and the feelings to process them all so I could let them go when I wasn't even really allowing myself to admit that I had feelings that I needed to express just turned my mind into chaos. I tried writing about everything in the form of journaling or writing poetry, but that still didn't get me out of my own head so I could take a step back and process all the things. I was still giving the worries and the feelings so much power in my mind, even though I was expressing them in writing, that they were getting stuck and not moving along. So, things piled up and piled up, and I just kept bottling things up. Then the anxiety disorder kicked in.
Then I went to therapy, and talking to my therapist about all the things helped. She offered me a simple explanation: she said that by keeping everything locked down and pretending I didn't feel things I was giving my own thoughts too much power, the power to overwhelm me and shove me down all these little thought trails of catastrophe because it's impossible to be logical when you feel so overwhelmed and afraid of things. By saying my thoughts and feelings (even my intrusive thoughts) out loud, I was taking away the power I had given them.
When I heard some of my thoughts and resulting worries out loud, I realized that the thoughts sounded insignificant. I had let my mind blow things up into unreasonably catastrophic proportions, and then I was jumping to the conclusion that all those things were the worst possible things in the world. I just had to verbalize them, and then I could verbally logic my way back to the actual reality where I could realized that my thoughts were just thoughts and my worries were small. Then I could begin to process, and I didn't feel like I was drowning.
I realized that I couldn't keep bottling things up like I had been. I had to talk about things so I could work through them. Even talking out loud to myself (when I'm home alone on particularly bad days with my OCD) helps me think more clearly and then I can process and move on.
On issues when my OCD isn't the cause, like I feel weird or I wonder if my reaction to something is a typical, healthy reaction, or if I'm worried about something else, I talk to my mom or a friend that I know I can trust. I talk about any problem that bothers me now instead of keeping it bottled up or just writing about it, and talking about it always helps me, even when the other person doesn't offer any advice. It helps just because verbalizing my thoughts gets me out of my head. (I don't typically need advice or reassurance. I just need to say things and then logically dial it back down.)
I also realized that talking to someone about something doesn't mean I'm weak or that I'm being an attention-seeking person. It just means that I've realized I don't have to deal with everything alone. I also realized that talking to someone about my OCD or anything else isn't some OCD compulsion for confession or reassurance seeking (because not everything is I do pathological). It just means that I'm human and humans need other humans.
I'll end with this: You don't have to go through everything alone to be tough or strong. Talking about a mental health condition or your jumbled up feelings or something as simple as your everyday happy moments or concerns with someone is a good thing. It doesn't mean you're an attention-seeking person. It just means that you are human, and sometimes things (even happy things) can be too much for one person to deal with on their own. You don't have to go through everything alone, pretending everything is fine.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
One Year Later
This week is the anniversary of the huge meltdown that pushed me into therapy. I thought I'd finally had some kind of psychotic break, and that I was going to be placed in some kind of psychiatric facility. A year ago this week, I was hysterical. I was terrified that if anyone knew what was running through my mind, they would think I was evil. I thought I was evil, unworthy of God's love, even. I was so sure I would feel that way forever, that no one could help me. I can remember all those feelings just like it happened yesterday.
A year later, and I'm still struggling. For the past few weeks, I have only been moderately hysterical, medicated, or asleep, with a few days of high functioning sprinkled in. (Hey, those few good days are better than nothing.) The fear that I'm not a good person (my biggest OCD issue) tries to creep back into my mind on a daily basis right now, and sometimes the OCD feels like it still wins. My situation right now seems similar to the place I was in at this time last year.
Even though my current situation seems similar to the place I was in last year, there is one difference, and it's a very important difference. I understand now. I understand that these thoughts and this seemingly never-ending worry that I'm still not a good person are just the OCD. I understand that thoughts don't matter. I understand what is happening in my mind, and I know how to manage it (even if I'm struggling to manage it all right now). I also understand that these unpleasant feelings won't last forever. I know I can eventually get back to the place where my OCD isn't the loudest thing in my mind. I was just in that place about a month ago, and I was in that place for around 8 months. I was okay for 8 months, and I will be okay again. I understand that mental illness waxes and wanes over time, and that even when it gets worse, it isn't my fault. I understand that my anxiety and guilt aren't some sort of divine punishment.
I will admit that I'm not in the place I thought I would be or in the place I wanted to be a year after what I was sure was a psychotic break. I expected to move through therapy in leaps and bounds instead of toddling along in baby steps with the occasional moments when I lose my balance and fall down. I will also admit that my super high expectations of therapy and of myself are part of my problem. My high expectations of myself even play a part in my obsession about whether or not I am truly a good person. (One year later, and I still need to work on not being too hard on myself.)
One year later, and the point is that I survived. One year later, and I've fought my way into the place where I am right now. One year later, and I'm still a work in progress, and that's okay. The point is that I'm still trying everyday, and I know I have a long journey (still) of more treatment and recovery ahead.
I'll end with this: It's nice to stop sometimes and just look at the progress you've made, even if you feel like you haven't made much progress at all. You're trying, so give yourself a break. If you're in a bad place right now, please don't lose hope. It can get better, and it will get better eventually. Our minds can be bullies so don't believe everything you think (something I'm still working on myself.)
A year later, and I'm still struggling. For the past few weeks, I have only been moderately hysterical, medicated, or asleep, with a few days of high functioning sprinkled in. (Hey, those few good days are better than nothing.) The fear that I'm not a good person (my biggest OCD issue) tries to creep back into my mind on a daily basis right now, and sometimes the OCD feels like it still wins. My situation right now seems similar to the place I was in at this time last year.
Even though my current situation seems similar to the place I was in last year, there is one difference, and it's a very important difference. I understand now. I understand that these thoughts and this seemingly never-ending worry that I'm still not a good person are just the OCD. I understand that thoughts don't matter. I understand what is happening in my mind, and I know how to manage it (even if I'm struggling to manage it all right now). I also understand that these unpleasant feelings won't last forever. I know I can eventually get back to the place where my OCD isn't the loudest thing in my mind. I was just in that place about a month ago, and I was in that place for around 8 months. I was okay for 8 months, and I will be okay again. I understand that mental illness waxes and wanes over time, and that even when it gets worse, it isn't my fault. I understand that my anxiety and guilt aren't some sort of divine punishment.
I will admit that I'm not in the place I thought I would be or in the place I wanted to be a year after what I was sure was a psychotic break. I expected to move through therapy in leaps and bounds instead of toddling along in baby steps with the occasional moments when I lose my balance and fall down. I will also admit that my super high expectations of therapy and of myself are part of my problem. My high expectations of myself even play a part in my obsession about whether or not I am truly a good person. (One year later, and I still need to work on not being too hard on myself.)
One year later, and the point is that I survived. One year later, and I've fought my way into the place where I am right now. One year later, and I'm still a work in progress, and that's okay. The point is that I'm still trying everyday, and I know I have a long journey (still) of more treatment and recovery ahead.
I'll end with this: It's nice to stop sometimes and just look at the progress you've made, even if you feel like you haven't made much progress at all. You're trying, so give yourself a break. If you're in a bad place right now, please don't lose hope. It can get better, and it will get better eventually. Our minds can be bullies so don't believe everything you think (something I'm still working on myself.)
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Memory Lane
Since I've been attending therapy sessions once a week, I've had some times when the volume has been turned way down on my intrusive thoughts. The quiet in my mind and the lack of anxiety caused by my intrusive thoughts is a relief...until I check in with myself and realize that I don't feel anxious. Then the free floating anxiety sets in.
The free floating anxiety is actually more bothersome at this point than the anxiety caused by my intrusive thoughts. I know what to do to help manage my anxiety specific to my intrusive thoughts, but I have no idea how to manage anxiety that just hangs out in my mind that isn't attached to any specific thought. So, I just have to sit with that anxiety, which is something that I'm not exactly good at. At the first sign of free floating anxiety, my mind starts trying to solve the puzzle. The thoughts starting spinning around like a dog chasing its tail. Why do I feel anxious? What's going on? Why is this feeling still there? Why? Why? WHY?
All the introspective questions and the digging just cause another problem. When I can't find an external trigger for my anxiety, my brain looks for an internal trigger. When it doesn't find any thoughts to deal with, it decides to take a trip down memory lane. On the trip down memory lane, all sorts of memories get brought to the surface of my mind, and none of them are pleasant. All of the memories are usually things that I would much rather forget, like some mistake I made sixteen years ago or some other guilt-inducing thing that I forget that I even did or said. These unpleasant trips down memory lane have been a nonstop cycle for the past few weeks now. Anything that can make me feel like a bad person gets dug up and shoved right to the front of my mind. Then I cry about it.
I've read some other blogs and things like that, and apparently unpleasant trips down memory lane are a pretty common thing when you live with an anxiety disorder. The information I found said that the memories get brought up because our brains were used to such high levels of anxiety that it would do whatever to keep up the usual levels of anxiety (basically replacement anxiety all over again.) Will I never escape replacement anxiety?!
The key to supposedly being able to let this go: acceptance and forgiveness. Accept that you made a mistake in the past because you're human, and you can't go back and change the past. Then, forgive yourself just like you'd forgive someone else if they made the same mistake. We're all human, and we all make mistakes. (My therapist likes to point this out to me regularly.) When a memory pops up and increases my anxiety, I try to just say, "Yeah, but I'm a different person now. I can try to not make that mistake again."
I'll end with this: Memory lane isn't really the place any of us want to be when we're dealing with an anxiety disorder and replacement anxiety because our brains will latch on to anything to keep up the usual levels of anxiety. Remember, these sudden trips down memory lane that cause you anxiety aren't your fault, and the anxiety doesn't mean you're a bad person. We all should go a little easier on ourselves and realize that we're human. We just have to accept that we made a mistake (like every human makes mistakes), and then we have to try to forgive ourselves.
The free floating anxiety is actually more bothersome at this point than the anxiety caused by my intrusive thoughts. I know what to do to help manage my anxiety specific to my intrusive thoughts, but I have no idea how to manage anxiety that just hangs out in my mind that isn't attached to any specific thought. So, I just have to sit with that anxiety, which is something that I'm not exactly good at. At the first sign of free floating anxiety, my mind starts trying to solve the puzzle. The thoughts starting spinning around like a dog chasing its tail. Why do I feel anxious? What's going on? Why is this feeling still there? Why? Why? WHY?
All the introspective questions and the digging just cause another problem. When I can't find an external trigger for my anxiety, my brain looks for an internal trigger. When it doesn't find any thoughts to deal with, it decides to take a trip down memory lane. On the trip down memory lane, all sorts of memories get brought to the surface of my mind, and none of them are pleasant. All of the memories are usually things that I would much rather forget, like some mistake I made sixteen years ago or some other guilt-inducing thing that I forget that I even did or said. These unpleasant trips down memory lane have been a nonstop cycle for the past few weeks now. Anything that can make me feel like a bad person gets dug up and shoved right to the front of my mind. Then I cry about it.
I've read some other blogs and things like that, and apparently unpleasant trips down memory lane are a pretty common thing when you live with an anxiety disorder. The information I found said that the memories get brought up because our brains were used to such high levels of anxiety that it would do whatever to keep up the usual levels of anxiety (basically replacement anxiety all over again.) Will I never escape replacement anxiety?!
The key to supposedly being able to let this go: acceptance and forgiveness. Accept that you made a mistake in the past because you're human, and you can't go back and change the past. Then, forgive yourself just like you'd forgive someone else if they made the same mistake. We're all human, and we all make mistakes. (My therapist likes to point this out to me regularly.) When a memory pops up and increases my anxiety, I try to just say, "Yeah, but I'm a different person now. I can try to not make that mistake again."
I'll end with this: Memory lane isn't really the place any of us want to be when we're dealing with an anxiety disorder and replacement anxiety because our brains will latch on to anything to keep up the usual levels of anxiety. Remember, these sudden trips down memory lane that cause you anxiety aren't your fault, and the anxiety doesn't mean you're a bad person. We all should go a little easier on ourselves and realize that we're human. We just have to accept that we made a mistake (like every human makes mistakes), and then we have to try to forgive ourselves.
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Threat Assessments from an Anxious Brain
July is finally here, and I'm usually so excited about my birthday. Well, I'm not super excited this year. I'm more worried about having my anxiety ruin my birthday because, I know I've mentioned before, that in July, shortly before my birthday, was the time when I had my meltdown that landed me in therapy. Last year was a birthday that I do not look back on with happiness.
My therapist asked me last week what I thought might be causing the heightened anxiety that I've been dealing with since around mid-June. I shrugged because I was sure it was PMS-related and that it would go away. Then a few days later, I caught myself thinking, "Man, I hope my anxiety doesn't ruin my birthday this year." I even caught myself praying more and more often that my anxiety wouldn't ruin my birthday. So...that was the root of my anxiety. I remembered the place I had been in last year at the time of my birthday, and I was terrified of being in that place again.
I even caught myself guarding against my own mind, trying to protect myself from anything that made me anxious. I was so afraid of the way I felt last year at this time that I desperately wanted to avoid anything, any place, any thought that could send my anxious brain into overdrive lest I experience a major setback and have more panic attacks again. It’s like my anxious brain was constantly running a threat assessment and then deciding that everything my mind thought was a threat. It had been 8 months since my last panic attack, until Monday when my anxiety reared up and consumed me in a crowded park where I had hoped to watch some fireworks. Ever since that super high, panicked level of anxiety broke through the walls I thought I had built up, more anxiety has come. I wouldn’t say that I am back in that frightening place of last July, but I have definitely had a setback, all because I was so worried about how my anxiety was going to affect my birthday. The difference this time is that I know it can get better. I know I can climb out of this black hole of anxiety and feel okay again.
Almost as often as I was worrying about my anxiety and praying that it wouldn’t ruin my birthday, I found myself saying things like, “Alright, Megan. You know how to handle this. You can get through this like you did before. It’ll just take time.” Sure, the OCD creeps in and makes me worry that I’ll be like this forever, in this heightened, anxious state, terrified of what dreadful thing my mind might throw at me next, but I know that is just the OCD this time around. It isn't a reflection of how good or bad a person I am. It isn't some punishment because I am a bad person. It's just chemicals off balance in my brain that gave me an anxious brain.
I’m dealing with the same strange things as always, but at the moment, my response to anything related to my mental health is heightened because I have been so worried about my mental health lately. Mental health conditions do wax and wane over time. I also know that new obsessions can form with OCD, and that old obsessions can change. I had been guarding against developing new obsessions for months now (which also means that my anxious brain was running threat assessments in the background of my mind this whole time.) So, the background business just pushed through to the front and gave me even more things to be anxious about.
I feel like a crazy person, and this time I bought my ticket to crazy town. Maybe if I wouldn’t have been so worried about my upcoming birthday, I wouldn’t be struggling with a setback at this very moment. Maybe I self-sabotaged this entire month instead of thinking that, after 3 years of bad birthday experiences, I deserved a great birthday. Or, maybe in my cycle of dealing with panic attacks and OCD, it was just the time my symptoms flared up, which, accidently, also happened to be around the same time as the meltdown last year.
I'll end with this: An anxious brain can see a threat in the smallest thing, and it can form associations with some time, event, place, or even person that we might not be consciously aware of. Living with an anxious brain doesn’t mean that I am a crazy person; it means that I am human. Setbacks are a normal part of recovery, but we can’t let ourselves get stuck in them. Also, please know, that it won’t be like this forever, no matter what your anxiety, OCD, or depression is making you think during your setback. Just take it one day, or even one hour, at a time.
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