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.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
How Can I Help?
I've discovered something recently. I've discovered that most people (myself included sometimes) don't really know how to deal with someone with an anxiety disorder (or any mental health condition)when that condition seems to be getting the best of us for a moment, or in my case when I experience a significant amount of anxiety or when I have a panic attack. It seems to be humanity's default setting to go into helper-teacher-cheerleader mode (myself included) when we see someone we care about struggling with the symptoms of a mental health condition, which means we try to fix the problem, solve the puzzle, and pep talk people into feeling better. It's a nice gesture, and we're all so glad that someone cares enough to want to help, really.
The problem is that in the middle of a bout of really high anxiety or a panic attack, or a particularly rough day with depression, this helper-teacher-cheerleader mode might not actually help. I know when I'm trying not to panic because of my anxiety, a pep talk filled with reassurance and suggestions about what I should be doing to fix it don't exactly help because I'm so stuck in the unpleasant way that I'm feeling. It actually just makes me feel more frazzled, and when I'm frazzled I tend to get irritable. (I'm really sorry about being irritable, too.) Then, I just feel guilty for being irritable when someone I care about was just trying to help.
A better way to handle these rough moments is to ask one simple question. Ask me, "How can I help?" Odds are, that if you're close enough to me to actually be present when I'm having a rough day because of my anxiety or panic attacks, I'll tell you what I need. It might be something simple like letting me crank up Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds", watching one of my favorite funny movies with me, or just letting me cry for a little bit while you just sit there. Or, it could be more complicated like going for a walk or taking a drive. Or, I might not need anything. It depends on just how bad the day has been.
How can I help? I might not know how to answer this question at first, especially if I'm in the middle of a meltdown, but I'll think about it. I'd also be glad that someone cared enough to ask because that means that whoever asked doesn't want me to struggle, or at least the asker might not want me to struggle alone. Kindness goes a long way, especially if I already feel like an irrational, out of control, crazy person.
Asking someone how you can help someone you care about is also a good idea because that means you care about that THEY (the struggling person) needs most. This question also means that you aren't assuming that you (the asker) understand whatever is going on because, if we (the strugglers) are being completely honest, we may not completely understand what is going on in our mind either at that moment. Even when you ask, though, keep in mind that sometimes, the best thing you can do is just sit with us because we have no idea what you could do to help, but just being there is often helpful.
I'll end with this: It's really hard to see someone you care about struggling, and it's so great that you want to help. I know I'm always simply grateful when someone sticks around to help, even after my anxious brain has gotten the best of me for a few moments. Just keep in mind that giving suggestions, or a pep talk, or treating us like a problem you can fix isn't the most helpful thing to do. The most helpful thing is to ask how you can help, or ask what we need from you, and then just be there.
The problem is that in the middle of a bout of really high anxiety or a panic attack, or a particularly rough day with depression, this helper-teacher-cheerleader mode might not actually help. I know when I'm trying not to panic because of my anxiety, a pep talk filled with reassurance and suggestions about what I should be doing to fix it don't exactly help because I'm so stuck in the unpleasant way that I'm feeling. It actually just makes me feel more frazzled, and when I'm frazzled I tend to get irritable. (I'm really sorry about being irritable, too.) Then, I just feel guilty for being irritable when someone I care about was just trying to help.
A better way to handle these rough moments is to ask one simple question. Ask me, "How can I help?" Odds are, that if you're close enough to me to actually be present when I'm having a rough day because of my anxiety or panic attacks, I'll tell you what I need. It might be something simple like letting me crank up Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds", watching one of my favorite funny movies with me, or just letting me cry for a little bit while you just sit there. Or, it could be more complicated like going for a walk or taking a drive. Or, I might not need anything. It depends on just how bad the day has been.
How can I help? I might not know how to answer this question at first, especially if I'm in the middle of a meltdown, but I'll think about it. I'd also be glad that someone cared enough to ask because that means that whoever asked doesn't want me to struggle, or at least the asker might not want me to struggle alone. Kindness goes a long way, especially if I already feel like an irrational, out of control, crazy person.
Asking someone how you can help someone you care about is also a good idea because that means you care about that THEY (the struggling person) needs most. This question also means that you aren't assuming that you (the asker) understand whatever is going on because, if we (the strugglers) are being completely honest, we may not completely understand what is going on in our mind either at that moment. Even when you ask, though, keep in mind that sometimes, the best thing you can do is just sit with us because we have no idea what you could do to help, but just being there is often helpful.
I'll end with this: It's really hard to see someone you care about struggling, and it's so great that you want to help. I know I'm always simply grateful when someone sticks around to help, even after my anxious brain has gotten the best of me for a few moments. Just keep in mind that giving suggestions, or a pep talk, or treating us like a problem you can fix isn't the most helpful thing to do. The most helpful thing is to ask how you can help, or ask what we need from you, and then just be there.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Thinking in Extremes
My therapist brought something to my attention this week in our session, and I'm still struggling with it. It's called thinking in extremes, and it's the reason that my anxiety gets the best of me. Apparently it's a pretty common thing when you live with OCD (or other anxiety disorders) along with the doubt and the need for certainty, but according to my therapist, it's a thing that can happen whether or not a person has a diagnosable mental health condition.
What I mean when I say thinking in extremes is seeing the world (or whatever issue you're dealing with at the moment) in only black and white with no gray area. In my case it's seeing something only as good or bad, and by something I mean myself. I would label certain thoughts I would have as bad, and since I had those thoughts, I was also bad. I also classified emotion in this way. Anger and sadness were bad, so I must never feel those. In regard to my OCD thoughts and my anxiety I would often go to the extreme in thinking that I was never going to get well again, and that I was always going to feel as awful as I felt in that moment. (I still struggle with the last example in particular.) Basically, thinking in extremes is an unhealthy thinking pattern.
Most of the time, I only tend to go into thinking in extremes when I'm already experiencing an elevated level of anxiety, and when I go into the extreme thinking pattern, my extreme thoughts always revolve around the OCD worry that I have that I'm really a terrible, possibly intrinsically evil person. Do you know what happens when I think in extremes? I get even more anxious, and then I cry...a lot. This happened yesterday. I had a thought (a completely normal thought that I've had before), and I wasn't proud of the thought, even though it was a completely human thought. I went to the extreme, and I felt like I was a terrible person.
My therapist and I are working on separating my thoughts so that I can develop healthier thinking styles. At the moment, I just have to label my thoughts as extreme and/or OCD thoughts. My therapist is also working with me so that I can be okay with a gray area instead of insisting on certainty or thinking that to be good I can only live life strictly in the "white" area of things. I shouldn't feel guilty if I can't be all good, 100% of the time. It's impossible to live that way. We all have a shadow self. Life is full of uncertainty and the "gray area". Nothing is ever just black and white, and no person is only good or only bad, like my OCD and extreme thinking patterns would have me believe when my anxious brain chimes in.
I'll end with this: Thinking in extremes is a harmful thinking pattern that has definitely added to my anxiety, and changing that thought pattern takes more time and effort than I thought it would. A gray area of uncertainty does exist in life, and it's impossible to live an all black or an all white life in a world full of all kinds of different shades of gray. Life is on a spectrum of good or bad, and it's okay to slip into the middle sometimes because we are human, and we don't all always make the best choices. They gray area isn't the end of the world, or at least I don't think it would be if I could find a gray area to categorize my thoughts into. (I'm working on that...")
What I mean when I say thinking in extremes is seeing the world (or whatever issue you're dealing with at the moment) in only black and white with no gray area. In my case it's seeing something only as good or bad, and by something I mean myself. I would label certain thoughts I would have as bad, and since I had those thoughts, I was also bad. I also classified emotion in this way. Anger and sadness were bad, so I must never feel those. In regard to my OCD thoughts and my anxiety I would often go to the extreme in thinking that I was never going to get well again, and that I was always going to feel as awful as I felt in that moment. (I still struggle with the last example in particular.) Basically, thinking in extremes is an unhealthy thinking pattern.
Most of the time, I only tend to go into thinking in extremes when I'm already experiencing an elevated level of anxiety, and when I go into the extreme thinking pattern, my extreme thoughts always revolve around the OCD worry that I have that I'm really a terrible, possibly intrinsically evil person. Do you know what happens when I think in extremes? I get even more anxious, and then I cry...a lot. This happened yesterday. I had a thought (a completely normal thought that I've had before), and I wasn't proud of the thought, even though it was a completely human thought. I went to the extreme, and I felt like I was a terrible person.
My therapist and I are working on separating my thoughts so that I can develop healthier thinking styles. At the moment, I just have to label my thoughts as extreme and/or OCD thoughts. My therapist is also working with me so that I can be okay with a gray area instead of insisting on certainty or thinking that to be good I can only live life strictly in the "white" area of things. I shouldn't feel guilty if I can't be all good, 100% of the time. It's impossible to live that way. We all have a shadow self. Life is full of uncertainty and the "gray area". Nothing is ever just black and white, and no person is only good or only bad, like my OCD and extreme thinking patterns would have me believe when my anxious brain chimes in.
I'll end with this: Thinking in extremes is a harmful thinking pattern that has definitely added to my anxiety, and changing that thought pattern takes more time and effort than I thought it would. A gray area of uncertainty does exist in life, and it's impossible to live an all black or an all white life in a world full of all kinds of different shades of gray. Life is on a spectrum of good or bad, and it's okay to slip into the middle sometimes because we are human, and we don't all always make the best choices. They gray area isn't the end of the world, or at least I don't think it would be if I could find a gray area to categorize my thoughts into. (I'm working on that...")
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Replacement Anxiety
A week has passed since I decided to jump in and give exposure therapy a try. Everything was going well. Then, this week, I noticed that I had a whole new set of concerns to add to my list. I had become very concerned with developing another obsession.
I've done quite a bit of research on Primarily Obsessional OCD as well as the more recognizable types of OCD. I know that it is common for OCD obsessions to change over time. I also know that it is pretty common for new obsessions to develop. I had never really worried about that, though. I'd had the same religious obsession for nearly a decade, and my second obsession reared its ugly head as a result of some medication I tried before to treat my anxiety. I had been lucky in regard to obsessions so far, in that I wasn't constantly developing new ones.
Then I remembered something about my mind. I'm working through my religious obsession in therapy, so that means one less thing to kick my brain into anxious overdrive. That sounded like a good thing, but then I remembered that my brain doesn't really know how to chill out our go into neutral, at least. I had dealt with replacement anxiety before, when I first started therapy over the summer. I could feel the same thing happening again.
This time, the replacement anxiety wasn't taking trips down memory lane or making me hyper-aware of my behavior so that I constantly analyzed how I behaved to see if it was normal. (Which were things I knew how to pull myself out of.) This time the replacement anxiety attached itself to the idea that I could develop a new obsession at any moment. Any new thought could trigger an anxious brain meltdown, and there I would be, with a new obsession to terrify me. I was suddenly even more aware of my thought patterns than I had been before. I was aware of every strange, nonsense thought generated by my brain, even though I was trying not to get caught up in any of them. (How could I manage something that hadn't happened yet, even if I thought I knew it was going to happen?!) I was having replacement anxiety about replacement anxiety.
How did I handle this new fear? Not very well. (Until after I talked to my therapist, anyway.) I tried to avoid anything that might trigger a weird thought that could turn into an obsession. That really is impossible. So, after I realized how irrational I was being, I went back to the beginning. I pulled out my old workbook, and I went back to making my charts. I feel like I narrowly avoided a setback, but at least I didn't beat myself up about it this time.
I'll end with this: It's impossible to avoid everything that might send you into a setback. It's also impossible to change an anxious brain overnight. Replacement anxiety can happen, but it can be managed using the techniques that I've mentioned in previous posts or that you might have learned from your own therapeutic journey. Don't beat yourself up if it happens because that'll just make it harder to get back on your feet.
I've done quite a bit of research on Primarily Obsessional OCD as well as the more recognizable types of OCD. I know that it is common for OCD obsessions to change over time. I also know that it is pretty common for new obsessions to develop. I had never really worried about that, though. I'd had the same religious obsession for nearly a decade, and my second obsession reared its ugly head as a result of some medication I tried before to treat my anxiety. I had been lucky in regard to obsessions so far, in that I wasn't constantly developing new ones.
Then I remembered something about my mind. I'm working through my religious obsession in therapy, so that means one less thing to kick my brain into anxious overdrive. That sounded like a good thing, but then I remembered that my brain doesn't really know how to chill out our go into neutral, at least. I had dealt with replacement anxiety before, when I first started therapy over the summer. I could feel the same thing happening again.
This time, the replacement anxiety wasn't taking trips down memory lane or making me hyper-aware of my behavior so that I constantly analyzed how I behaved to see if it was normal. (Which were things I knew how to pull myself out of.) This time the replacement anxiety attached itself to the idea that I could develop a new obsession at any moment. Any new thought could trigger an anxious brain meltdown, and there I would be, with a new obsession to terrify me. I was suddenly even more aware of my thought patterns than I had been before. I was aware of every strange, nonsense thought generated by my brain, even though I was trying not to get caught up in any of them. (How could I manage something that hadn't happened yet, even if I thought I knew it was going to happen?!) I was having replacement anxiety about replacement anxiety.
How did I handle this new fear? Not very well. (Until after I talked to my therapist, anyway.) I tried to avoid anything that might trigger a weird thought that could turn into an obsession. That really is impossible. So, after I realized how irrational I was being, I went back to the beginning. I pulled out my old workbook, and I went back to making my charts. I feel like I narrowly avoided a setback, but at least I didn't beat myself up about it this time.
I'll end with this: It's impossible to avoid everything that might send you into a setback. It's also impossible to change an anxious brain overnight. Replacement anxiety can happen, but it can be managed using the techniques that I've mentioned in previous posts or that you might have learned from your own therapeutic journey. Don't beat yourself up if it happens because that'll just make it harder to get back on your feet.
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