I'm coming up on the one-year anniversary of my Primarily Obsessional OCD diagnosis this weekend (on October 2nd). I still remember how I felt that day when the therapist I was working with at the time said the words Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I felt mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was relieved because we had figured out the real problem, and that meant we could actually treat it. On the other hand, I felt scared of the OCD diagnosis, and I felt ashamed because I felt like having OCD meant I was crazy or that something was really wrong with me. A weight had been lifted that I had been carrying for years, but it was quickly replaced with a different weight that felt just as heavy.
A year ago, I didn't want anyone to know that I had been diagnosed with Pure O. I was afraid people's opinions of me would suddenly change or that they wouldn't see me for who I really was and who I wanted to be anymore. I felt like someone had slapped a Post-It on my forehead, and that the Post-It was all everyone was going to be able to see. I knew about the stigma associated with mental illnesses like OCD, and I also knew that OCD was ranked pretty highly on the list of most debilitating mental health conditions. I was afraid, then, when I had to come face-to-face with all those things.
I even had a little bit of a freak out. What if I didn't get better? What if this got in the way of my writing and getting published? What if no one wanted to date me because of the OCD? What if someone did want to date me and I let the OCD and anxiety ruin it? Did I still want to have children knowing that I could pass on the chemical imbalance in my brain that had made my life a silent Hell for so long? For some reason these concerns didn't hit me when I was diagnosed with Panic Disorder, but they hit me like speeding bullets when the OCD diagnosis came.
Now, a year later, I'm in a different place. I'm always aware of my OCD, but it doesn't feel as heavy as it felt a year ago. I'm not terrified of the OCD anymore because I know how my OCD works. I don't feel like I still have the Post-It slapped on my forehead, and I've managed to make some new friends post-diagnosis that don't care that I have OCD. I'm getting back to myself now, after a long and hard battle to hang on to myself with the OCD at its worst. I don't feel crazy (most days), and I don't feel like something is really wrong with me anymore. I realized that I'm just an imperfect human, and I'm no longer ashamed of that.
Over the past year, I have also stopped hiding my OCD. I talk about mental health and therapy. I talk about OCD with people when they ask. I mention the Pure O and therapy, if someone asks or brings up mental health, just like I would tell them about a weather report. I treat it like any other topic of conversation, and I mostly don't feel embarrassed about it anymore. (I haven't been embarrassed to talk about my Cerebral Palsy in quite some time, so I don't see why I needed to treat my mental health any differently.) Although, I don't discuss my obsessions with people that aren't my therapist or my mother, but I can talk about obsessions in a general sense if someone asks about them.
A lot of my questions have been answered over the past year. I'm getting better. The anxiety did get in the way of my writing over the last year, but I have recently been able to start writing the way I was able to write before the anxiety disorder. I still wanted to have children after I realized that I could manage my mental health condition with the right tools and the right help. (Maybe my freak out was a little blown out of proportion now that I look back on it.)
A year ago, I felt like being diagnosed with OCD was a HUGE deal, and I was afraid that it was going to impact every area of my life in a negative way. My mom even says that dealing with OCD on a daily basis is "something major". Now, I realized that being diagnosed with OCD was a big deal in some ways, but that in other ways it wasn't a big deal. It's a big deal in the sense that it is a chronic illness, and I had to make lifestyle (and cognitive) changes in order to manage it. It isn't a big deal in the sense that I've realized that it doesn't define who I am or what I can do with my life, and it hasn't changed who I am as a person.
I'll end with this: I wasn't sure I would ever reach this point in living with my OCD. I thought I might lose myself somewhere along the way, and sometimes I felt like I did lose myself in the battles with my mental health condition. Sometimes, all I could see was the label I felt I'd been given, but today, I can see more in myself than just what I struggle with. Coping with the diagnosis of a mental health condition, like any other chronic health condition, can be hard at first, but it gets easier over time. It's an adjustment, and it's okay to be scared. It might feel like your life is never going to be the same again, but that isn't exactly true. I'm surprised at how close to my normal that my life feels at this moment, a year after a diagnosis that I was afraid would change everything.
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Another Ah-Ha! Moment
I usually contribute most of my anxiety to my OCD without looking too deep to see if there might be another problem underneath the OCD. Sometimes I contribute my unease to free floating anxiety that I can't explain. I thought it was impossible to really figure out the things that seemed to trigger my OCD to flare up randomly when I was in the middle of laughing at something or otherwise experiencing life as an average human.
Then I noticed that, since I added an actual Mindfulness meditation to my daily routine four weeks ago, that it has become easier for me to take a step back and objectively observe my anxiety. I have found it easier to distance myself from my own mind in the past few weeks (with the exception of those days when my anxiety reaches panic attack level). Distancing myself and being objective has also enabled me to find my biggest trigger for my OCD.
Mindfulness meditation, in the short 4 weeks that I've been practicing every day, has also made me much more observant of my own reactions to things. As a result of that new awareness, I noticed that any time that I wasn't in a neutral or content emotional state, the volume would get turned up on my intrusive thoughts. If I got sad or frustrated or stressed or scared or even too happy, my intrusive thoughts would swirl in like a tornado. I even noticed when I had a brief moment of feeling inadequate over the past week the OCD flared up. As long as I was content or not feeling much of anything (unless confronted with my religious or other triggers in my external environment) my mind was relatively quiet.
This was another grand Ah-Ha! moment for me. I understood a little bit better. This moment of realization also drove home the point that I'm REALLY not good with all the feel-y things. I talked to my therapist about it, and she seems to think it makes sense considering I've spent the majority of my life attempting to shut down my feelings. (Why did I think that was a good idea?)
This latest realization has also changed the way I deal with my anxiety a little bit more. In a way, since its easy to spot my triggers, I am more prepared to deal with the free floating anxiety and the OCD. Now, when I notice that my intrusive thoughts are more frequent than usual, or if I notice extra anxiety hanging around when I haven't noticed any triggers in the environment, I stop and take a step back. I ask myself, "What am I feeling that might make this worse right now?" Then I take a breath, and I try accept the feeling and actually let myself feel it. It seems that once I become open to feeling something my mind quiets down.
Now, as a result of this new realization, I'm also more prepared to deal with the OCD spikes when they happen. I sort of expect them when I'm in a situation that I know might cause me to feel sad or frightened or stressed or too happy. (As I typed that sentence, I couldn't help but to think about how poorly I must have dealt with life up to this point.) When I expect them, it becomes easier to really believe that it is just an anxiety disorder, and I can brush them off. It's a relief any time I avoid the rumination that can take up hours or even days of my time.
I'll end with this: I never thought feeling things was so important, and I have realized that was a mistake. Hiding feelings, muting them, or convincing yourself that you're too logical for feelings can have long term, damaging consequences. Accepting all the feelings and letting yourself feel them really is the best way to deal with them. If you're distress intolerant like me, I encourage you to check out Mindfulness and try it out.
Then I noticed that, since I added an actual Mindfulness meditation to my daily routine four weeks ago, that it has become easier for me to take a step back and objectively observe my anxiety. I have found it easier to distance myself from my own mind in the past few weeks (with the exception of those days when my anxiety reaches panic attack level). Distancing myself and being objective has also enabled me to find my biggest trigger for my OCD.
Mindfulness meditation, in the short 4 weeks that I've been practicing every day, has also made me much more observant of my own reactions to things. As a result of that new awareness, I noticed that any time that I wasn't in a neutral or content emotional state, the volume would get turned up on my intrusive thoughts. If I got sad or frustrated or stressed or scared or even too happy, my intrusive thoughts would swirl in like a tornado. I even noticed when I had a brief moment of feeling inadequate over the past week the OCD flared up. As long as I was content or not feeling much of anything (unless confronted with my religious or other triggers in my external environment) my mind was relatively quiet.
This was another grand Ah-Ha! moment for me. I understood a little bit better. This moment of realization also drove home the point that I'm REALLY not good with all the feel-y things. I talked to my therapist about it, and she seems to think it makes sense considering I've spent the majority of my life attempting to shut down my feelings. (Why did I think that was a good idea?)
This latest realization has also changed the way I deal with my anxiety a little bit more. In a way, since its easy to spot my triggers, I am more prepared to deal with the free floating anxiety and the OCD. Now, when I notice that my intrusive thoughts are more frequent than usual, or if I notice extra anxiety hanging around when I haven't noticed any triggers in the environment, I stop and take a step back. I ask myself, "What am I feeling that might make this worse right now?" Then I take a breath, and I try accept the feeling and actually let myself feel it. It seems that once I become open to feeling something my mind quiets down.
Now, as a result of this new realization, I'm also more prepared to deal with the OCD spikes when they happen. I sort of expect them when I'm in a situation that I know might cause me to feel sad or frightened or stressed or too happy. (As I typed that sentence, I couldn't help but to think about how poorly I must have dealt with life up to this point.) When I expect them, it becomes easier to really believe that it is just an anxiety disorder, and I can brush them off. It's a relief any time I avoid the rumination that can take up hours or even days of my time.
I'll end with this: I never thought feeling things was so important, and I have realized that was a mistake. Hiding feelings, muting them, or convincing yourself that you're too logical for feelings can have long term, damaging consequences. Accepting all the feelings and letting yourself feel them really is the best way to deal with them. If you're distress intolerant like me, I encourage you to check out Mindfulness and try it out.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
On Being Highly Sensitive
I've always felt like I was weird, and not in a good way, like something was wrong with me. I felt like I didn't handle things like disappointment, the death of pets or loved ones, or even something as simple as loud noises and strong smells as well as everyone else around me. I felt like I was too sensitive to things at best, and I felt like I was overdramatic at worst. I hated that the smallest things could make me cry, make me feel so overwhelmed that I needed to shut down, make me anxious, or make me feel terribly sad. I hated that it felt like I couldn't control my own emotions sometimes. Not only did I hate it, but feeling things so strongly tended to freak me out so that I thought I needed to shut it down to be "normal" and sometimes even to survive.
Then my second therapist had me do some research on Highly Sensitive People. It turns out that I'm not actually weird, too sensitive, or overdramatic. I'm just a Highly Sensitive Person, like around fifteen to twenty percent of the general population. It's not a clinical sort of thing. I don't need fixing because of it. Being a Highly Sensitive Person is just an innate trait, and some research suggests that it may be genetic, (Aron, 2016). (My mom is also a Highly Sensitive Person, and so was my grandmother.)
I know I've mentioned that I am a Highly Sensitive Person in previous blog posts, but it occurred to me that not many people may know what that really means. Basically, being highly sensitive means that I process things like my emotions and my external environment on a deeper cognitive level. That also means that because I process things on a deeper level, I feel emotions more intensely, and I react to things like being startled or repeated loud noises more intensely than someone who isn't a Highly Sensitive Person. (I'm jumpy, like a cat...) I can also become overstimulated quickly by loud environments, strong smells, lights that are too bright, and even just too many people talking at once while I'm trying to pay attention. I may also get overwhelmed and become anxious when I have too much to do in a rushed timeframe, which is why I was never a procrastinator in school. (That's called sensory overload, and it happens with anxiety disorders as well.) (Aron, 2016).
What else does being a Highly Sensitive Person mean? It also means that I am more susceptible to experience an anxiety disorder and/or depression, according to a Psychology Today post. I also mentioned in a previous post that I also muted my feelings whenever possible, which may have also contributed to my development of Pure OCD. That makes so much more sense now that I understand that I feel things more intensely. Not all Highly Sensitive People will develop an anxiety disorder or depression, but it does seem worth knowing that being Highly Sensitive might make someone more susceptible to something like that.
Why do I think it's important that I recognize that I am a Highly Sensitive Person? Because I felt like an overdramatic weakling, like I was too sensitive to deal with normal events before I realized that it was just an innate trait that I have. That was an unpleasant feeling. Realizing that I am a Highly Sensitive Person has also helped me to be more accepting of myself and my feelings. Even just understanding why I'm feeling something in a certain way, and why I have difficulty shaking off my feelings the way everyone else seems to, has decreased my anxiety related to my emotional state.
I'll end with this: We live in a culture that tends to prize developing a thick outer skin instead of sensitivity, but that definitely doesn't mean that being a Highly Sensitive Person is bad thing. Getting to know and understand yourself is super important, even if you aren't trying to learn to deal with a mental health condition, because you have to know and understand yourself before you can accept yourself. If you're interested in learning more about Highly Sensitive People, or if you think you might be a Highly Sensitive Person, I encourage you to check out the work of Elaine Aron online or to buy her book on Amazon. You can even take a self test.
Sources:
1. Aron, E. N. (2016). Retrieved from http://hsperson.com/
2. https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/sense-and-sensitivity/201210/coping-anxiety-hsp
Then my second therapist had me do some research on Highly Sensitive People. It turns out that I'm not actually weird, too sensitive, or overdramatic. I'm just a Highly Sensitive Person, like around fifteen to twenty percent of the general population. It's not a clinical sort of thing. I don't need fixing because of it. Being a Highly Sensitive Person is just an innate trait, and some research suggests that it may be genetic, (Aron, 2016). (My mom is also a Highly Sensitive Person, and so was my grandmother.)
I know I've mentioned that I am a Highly Sensitive Person in previous blog posts, but it occurred to me that not many people may know what that really means. Basically, being highly sensitive means that I process things like my emotions and my external environment on a deeper cognitive level. That also means that because I process things on a deeper level, I feel emotions more intensely, and I react to things like being startled or repeated loud noises more intensely than someone who isn't a Highly Sensitive Person. (I'm jumpy, like a cat...) I can also become overstimulated quickly by loud environments, strong smells, lights that are too bright, and even just too many people talking at once while I'm trying to pay attention. I may also get overwhelmed and become anxious when I have too much to do in a rushed timeframe, which is why I was never a procrastinator in school. (That's called sensory overload, and it happens with anxiety disorders as well.) (Aron, 2016).
What else does being a Highly Sensitive Person mean? It also means that I am more susceptible to experience an anxiety disorder and/or depression, according to a Psychology Today post. I also mentioned in a previous post that I also muted my feelings whenever possible, which may have also contributed to my development of Pure OCD. That makes so much more sense now that I understand that I feel things more intensely. Not all Highly Sensitive People will develop an anxiety disorder or depression, but it does seem worth knowing that being Highly Sensitive might make someone more susceptible to something like that.
Why do I think it's important that I recognize that I am a Highly Sensitive Person? Because I felt like an overdramatic weakling, like I was too sensitive to deal with normal events before I realized that it was just an innate trait that I have. That was an unpleasant feeling. Realizing that I am a Highly Sensitive Person has also helped me to be more accepting of myself and my feelings. Even just understanding why I'm feeling something in a certain way, and why I have difficulty shaking off my feelings the way everyone else seems to, has decreased my anxiety related to my emotional state.
I'll end with this: We live in a culture that tends to prize developing a thick outer skin instead of sensitivity, but that definitely doesn't mean that being a Highly Sensitive Person is bad thing. Getting to know and understand yourself is super important, even if you aren't trying to learn to deal with a mental health condition, because you have to know and understand yourself before you can accept yourself. If you're interested in learning more about Highly Sensitive People, or if you think you might be a Highly Sensitive Person, I encourage you to check out the work of Elaine Aron online or to buy her book on Amazon. You can even take a self test.
Sources:
1. Aron, E. N. (2016). Retrieved from http://hsperson.com/
2. https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/sense-and-sensitivity/201210/coping-anxiety-hsp
Wednesday, September 7, 2016
New Hope
This past week, I had a sort of Ah-Ha! moment. I'm not sure exactly what made something click into place in my mind, but it happened. I was reading online about mental health topics, and this particular night I was reading about anxiety disorders and intrusive thoughts. (I was having a rough day, and reading about people with similar experiences to my own makes me feel less alone.)
Intrusive thoughts on any frightening topic imaginable happen with any anxiety disorder. I read about a lady with Generalized Anxiety Disorder that had intrusive thoughts about murdering her children. I read about someone with Panic Disorder that also had to deal with equally catastrophic intrusive thoughts. I was already aware of the OCD intrusive thoughts, but I read about a couple of those recovery stories as well. (You know...if those people can recover and learn to dismiss their scary intrusive thoughts, surely I can do the same.)
I went to my weekly therapy session, and I discussed the prevalence of intrusive thoughts across the board of anxiety disorders with my therapist. She nodded. Then she said, "Everyone has intrusive thoughts at one point or another." Everyone in the world has thought something blasphemous or violent or something equally frightening and repulsive at least once in their lives, but they choose not to pay attention to that weird thought. I knew that logically, but for some reason that idea just recently sank into my mind that they were able to choose what thoughts they paid attention to.
I also talked to my therapist about my meditation practice, and I told her that thoughts would pop up about what I wanted to wear the next day, or about my friends, or some scene from a movie. She informed me that those were also considered intrusive thoughts simply because I didn't want to be thinking about those things while I was meditating. I just brushed those thoughts away, though, and went back to focusing on my breathing. I said, "But those don't count. They don't bother me." She said something like, "Exactly. Other people treat the thoughts that you don't like that way and move on, too."
Then something just clicked, and an idea seemed to take root in my mind. I can actually choose what thoughts I pay attention to. I knew that already, but I had never realized it could happen to me. I didn't realize that I did it every day already with certain thoughts. (I'm not saying that I do that with my OCD thoughts, but I'm saying that I realized that I could get to that point eventually.) I felt like a new, sunshine-y ray of hope had peeked out from behind the clouds.
For somebody trapped by OCD into being sensitive to certain thoughts and being forced into paying attention to them, the idea of having a choice in the matter almost felt like a foreign concept. I often feel like I don't have a choice but to pay attention to every repulsive thought that rolls through my mind because I hate the thoughts. It's like a lightbulb moment to actually take to heart the idea that thoughts are junk, that they don't matter, and that I can be still considered a good person if I don't freak out about the thoughts that I don't like.
I'll end with this: Thoughts don't matter. It's how you react and treat the thoughts that matters, and actually realizing that is a big deal. I encourage you to read some recovery stories online if you're having a bad day. If somebody else can recover from something similar to what any one of us has going on in our minds, then so can we.
Intrusive thoughts on any frightening topic imaginable happen with any anxiety disorder. I read about a lady with Generalized Anxiety Disorder that had intrusive thoughts about murdering her children. I read about someone with Panic Disorder that also had to deal with equally catastrophic intrusive thoughts. I was already aware of the OCD intrusive thoughts, but I read about a couple of those recovery stories as well. (You know...if those people can recover and learn to dismiss their scary intrusive thoughts, surely I can do the same.)
I went to my weekly therapy session, and I discussed the prevalence of intrusive thoughts across the board of anxiety disorders with my therapist. She nodded. Then she said, "Everyone has intrusive thoughts at one point or another." Everyone in the world has thought something blasphemous or violent or something equally frightening and repulsive at least once in their lives, but they choose not to pay attention to that weird thought. I knew that logically, but for some reason that idea just recently sank into my mind that they were able to choose what thoughts they paid attention to.
I also talked to my therapist about my meditation practice, and I told her that thoughts would pop up about what I wanted to wear the next day, or about my friends, or some scene from a movie. She informed me that those were also considered intrusive thoughts simply because I didn't want to be thinking about those things while I was meditating. I just brushed those thoughts away, though, and went back to focusing on my breathing. I said, "But those don't count. They don't bother me." She said something like, "Exactly. Other people treat the thoughts that you don't like that way and move on, too."
Then something just clicked, and an idea seemed to take root in my mind. I can actually choose what thoughts I pay attention to. I knew that already, but I had never realized it could happen to me. I didn't realize that I did it every day already with certain thoughts. (I'm not saying that I do that with my OCD thoughts, but I'm saying that I realized that I could get to that point eventually.) I felt like a new, sunshine-y ray of hope had peeked out from behind the clouds.
For somebody trapped by OCD into being sensitive to certain thoughts and being forced into paying attention to them, the idea of having a choice in the matter almost felt like a foreign concept. I often feel like I don't have a choice but to pay attention to every repulsive thought that rolls through my mind because I hate the thoughts. It's like a lightbulb moment to actually take to heart the idea that thoughts are junk, that they don't matter, and that I can be still considered a good person if I don't freak out about the thoughts that I don't like.
I'll end with this: Thoughts don't matter. It's how you react and treat the thoughts that matters, and actually realizing that is a big deal. I encourage you to read some recovery stories online if you're having a bad day. If somebody else can recover from something similar to what any one of us has going on in our minds, then so can we.
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