Pick Your Battles

I wrote this post on Christmas Eve and almost didn't finish it.  I thought against posting it because I got angry and a little out of line, but I guess that's what these posts are for - to work through that.  I also have a lot of people telling me not to stop writing and this is the one holding me back for now.  So have fun reading my angry rants!

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 I am in control of my actions

Is shaking old ladies as bad as shaking babies?  Can they get "Shaken Old Bat Syndrome?"  Maybe no one would notice the symptoms...

She has no filter.  She never goes 45 seconds without speaking.  Literally, I've timed it, and half of what she says is rude.  Not rude in a politically incorrect kind of way.  She's just plain insulting.  She threatens to hit people all the time for having a different opinion or for being playful and teasing her.  Every time she does it reminds me of her history of abuse and I want to beat the living daylights out of her.  The other half of what she says is anything and everything that has to do with her, especially if you were just talking about yourself.  If that isn't enough, after almost everything she says is a cackling laugh.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QB05n0oFSFw

The other day we walked past two older ladies she had never met before who were talking amongst themselves.  She interrupted their conversation to spout something about herself so they would focus on her, even though she was just walking past them.  It's like a neurotic tic.

I inherited her '04 Camry when she lost her license for driving toward oncoming traffic on the freeway.  At the time she said it was a gift and she was happy to give it to me.  I LOVE that car!  She had never given me anything remotely nice in the past.  My siblings haven't received anything nice either.  She has, however, bought cars for all of my cousins.  She's even bought one or two of them two cars.  I don't blame my cousins.  I love them.  It's just something she's done.

Tonight, as we were watching "It's a Wonderful Life" and folding laundry she said to my father "I think I want my Camry back." He said "You can't even drive you don't have a license." She said she could get another, so he told her to go ahead and try.  I know it's never going to happen, but just the nerve of that woman to say that in front of me made my blood boil.  It was a gift.  My name is on the title.  Even if she were to get her license back she's never getting the car.  It's just not right!  I said nothing.  In fact I've barely said two words to her since.  My dad later told me it had nothing to do with me.  She wasn't even thinking about me when she said she wanted the car.  She still thinks it's hers.  I feel like someone needs to tell her she gave it to me and it isn't right for her to ask for it back.  No not ask for it, request it.  As if it's just waiting here for her to pick it up.  If it were to come from me she'd pitch a fit.

We went to see the new Hobbit movie the other day and she didn't shut up through the WHOLE FRIGGIN' THING.  One of my biggest pet peeves is when people talk during movies.  When Bilbo got stuck after dumping the barrels and it quieted down she yelled "Well where do you think you're going now, dumb a**?!"  Everyone in the theater laughed.  Okay, I did too, but I didn't laugh all the other times she talked.  Like I said, she speaks every 45 seconds (I wouldn't be surprised if she cackles in her sleep).  That doesn't change during movies.  So I told her to be quiet a few times.  I swear I started out polite.  I can't tell you how I was near the end of the movie.  I was seeing red by then, and I wasn't the only one.  After the movie was over she was quiet and I said "What, now that it's over you have nothing to say?"  Later, during dinner, she said "Somebody kept shushing me during the movie." I said "Some people kept shushing you.  I wasn't the only one.  The people in front of us and behind us were shushing you."


Two nights ago my mom and I were wrapping presents in the living room.  She was in there with us and when our movie ended my mom flipped the channels and accidentally left it on Home Alone 4.  Yes, 4.  It was so bad.  It makes The Three Stooges look like Die Hard.  She was cracking up so much.  It's difficult to describe.  Every time one of the baddies stubbed their toe, or bonked their head, or even sneezed funny - HUGE LAUGH (see above video).  We should have kept switching through the channels.  It was a rookie mistake, because within five minutes it was clear that changing the channel would be extremely rude now that she was so obviously enjoying the movie.

But she just told us when the last movie ended she was going to bed.  It was midnight and I wanted to stay up and have some 'me time.'  Alone.  Away from... people.  I don't like being around people all day.  My mom was going to try and stay up until the witch woman went to bed, but it got too late.  So I ended up stuck in a room with her through the rest of the dumbest movie I have ever seen.  I wanted to chloroform her and drag her upstairs by the ankles, letting her head hit each stair on the way up.  Like Santa carrying his sack of presents!  Only my presents would be silence and solitude.  She's sturdy as an ox.  She can take it.

Okay, there was a line and I just crossed it, didn't I?  Crap.

You may be thinking "Lindsay, stop being so short with her! She's just a little old lady!" 

I am trying so hard.

It's Christmas Eve and my heart is filled with anger and hatred.  It shouldn't be this way!  I keep using the word "can't."  I can't stand her.  I can't handle being in the same room with her.  I can't love her.  I can't take this much longer.  I am going to [[[EXPLODE]]].  I am going to {{{SCREAM}}} at her!  I dwell on every single thing she does and imagine ways to tell her off in my head, as if that's something cathartic. 

But there's my moms voice in my head again.  GAH!

"People are doing the best they can.

If not, they'd be doing better."

Then I think to myself, 'this woman has been the same her whole life.'  Nothing anyone has ever done to try and improve her has helped.  So as I sit here letting each thing she does add to the pile of straws on this camels back I realize I'm putting them there.  She will remain the same, while I get worse.  I have to learn to ignore, or look past all the evil, hurtful or annoying things this demon woman does.  No, not demon woman.  Just woman.  Just like the chocolate smudging, soda spilling, booger picking, ice cream artist in my germophobia post, she probably doesn't understand how bad she is.  If she does understand, she probably can't imagine how to change.  Either way it's not my concern.  My only concern should be myself and my actions.  How am I going to handle this?  Obviously this inner turmoil isn't going to cut it.

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That's where my post ended.  I needed to get to sleep because my sister and I have a tradition where - even though she's 17 and I'm 25 - we get up at 4:00 am every Christmas morning and see what Santa brought.  I ended up getting half an hour of sleep.

I pondered my attitude that night, and through the next week before her departure.  Something changed.  Suddenly I didn't care anymore what she did or said.  I smiled at her.  I talked with her.  I helped her in and out of the car.  She didn't have control over my emotions.  I think that irked her a little bit.  Normally that would have given me some sick pleasure, but I didn't care.  She was no longer a big deal to me.

She continued to try and cause a rift between each member of my family.  She does that.  For instance: I wound the lights on the Christmas tree too tight.  My dad was livid while he was trying to take them off.  I wasn't in the room.  In fact I had no idea, otherwise I would have helped.  She said, "Do you think she did it on purpose?  Like maliciously?"  She does things like that all the time.  But that's fine, because we're above it.  We love each other and trust each other.

I apologized to my dad and he told me to not be such an OCD tight a**.  Also, I think I got out of putting lights on the tree next time.  I'll count that as a win.

She didn't bother me anymore.  At least not like before.  It wasn't like I loved being in her presence, but I didn't leave the room every time she entered either.  It just wasn't a big deal.

How did I do it?

I tried to ignore, remove, or at least not entertain any negative thought or emotion that came up.  I found that dreaming of ways to tell her off only made me focus on the things I hated about her, when really it shouldn't have mattered.  She'll just sit there, laughing and/or scheming, while I boil.  



Say I did tell her off.  What would have happened?  She would have shed some crocodile tears and told everyone how horrible I am.  I would have lost the respect of my family.  Respect that has taken a long time for me to earn.  The rest of her stay would have been laced with angry, awkward feelings that I wouldn't have been able to take back.  She would have gone home and told everyone how horribly we treated her - even though it was the other way around.  My family's name would have been tainted.  It isn't like when I was a kid and my big brother pestered me and pestered me until I blew up at him and chased him with sharp objects and I was the one sentenced to time out.  I know, so unfair, right?!

Sure she insults the people I love, and tries to pin us against each other, but we're all adults.  I don't need to fight everyone else's battles.  I know the average population has emotion on a regular basis, but because I'm Bipolar II I'm usually void of feeling.  When I do feel emotion it's intensified.  I tend to feel the most when it comes to my family.  

Yes, she was acting like she wanted the car.  She's a crazy person.  She's not going to get it.  So why bother freaking out?  She probably forgot about it the next day.  I have a support system, and like I've said in previous posts, I don't need to worry about that bridge until I come to it.

If she isn't going to be the adult, who is?  The epiphany I had was quite simple: she isn't worth it.  Since then I've made a habit of looking at things that start to bother me and automatically thinking, is it worth it?  In five years will this matter?  How about one year?  A month?  A week?  An hour?  If I get to an hour and it matters I tell myself an hour isn't that long.

So basically, pick your battles.

Success!

I am a planner

I am an initiator

I am strong

I am a finisher

I am in motion

I am building character

After taking the first two of my four finals I felt some dread toward taking the last ones.  It wasn't that I felt I wouldn't do well.  I knew the material.  For some reason I became petrified of finishing the semester.  I didn't want it to end.  I was used to the subjects, the workload, and the professors, but it wasn't that either.  I couldn't put my finger on it. 

I had no choice but to take the remaining finals, so I waited until the last possible minute.  I thought if I could distract myself with other things, or sit and do nothing, then time would move slower and I could pretend it would never end.  Everyone in school was so excited for it to be over, but I grew distraught.

After I took the finals I went home and waited for the relief and calm to kick in, but it didn't.  Everyone congratulated me on a job well done.  I've never successfully finished a semester going full time before.  In fact, the best I've done is take two classes at once.  Any other attempts have been met with failure.  Granted, the first time I tried full time I was 17 and had just tested out of high school early.  The second time, when I tried 3/4 time I got a kidney stone, and the third time I got mononucleosis.  There are two other times where I attempted half a workload and passed only one of the classes because I panicked.  Then finally last fall I took two and passed both.  So yes, it's a pretty big deal for me to finish a semester going full time.  Especially taking Accounting, Botany, Math, and Communication.  

I found out a few days later that I got all 'A's.  I should have been ecstatic!  Instead, I ended up lying on the couch for four days without eating, sleeping, or showering.


Because of the agoraphobia I've been working through for a few years it's a miracle I even made it to my first day of school.  There are so many people on campus!  I started this semester pretending to be an outgoing person.  Now I am an outgoing person.  I faked it until I became it. 

But there's this sick part of me that worries I'm taking myself too far.  I'm afraid I might not be ready.  I almost never finish anything.  If I'm actually ready and able to succeed at full time that opens up the floodgates to more challenges I'll have to face.  On top of school I planned and executed a wonderful Christmas program and lost 19 lbs. (in a healthy way).  Crap! If I can do all that at the same time let's pile on more!

No...please no.

 I laid there wallowing in self doubt, telling myself I might not be ready for all of this.  If I become a "finisher" then I have to keep moving forward, and every time I finish something there will be more expected of me.  For someone who didn't step out her front door for over a year just three short years ago I have to wonder if I'm ready to take this step.

I almost talked myself out of signing up for next semester, but in my weakened state I had a moment of ironic clarity.  I knew I didn't think clearly when in a depressive state, so I decided to stay on the path I had already lain out for myself.  If I really was in a full mental breakdown spiral I still had plenty of time to drop out of the classes without receiving penalties.  So that's when I registered for classes in my PJ's with an empty stomach and a nice filmy sheen.  I'm taking Business Statistics, Introduction to Philosophy, Geography, and Principles of Microeconomics.  I reminded myself - as I still do - that there isn't any pressure right now, because I'm not even close to that bridge yet. 

I can either be sad and depressed because I'm not going anywhere with my life, or stressed half the time with bigger mood swings while I accomplish my goals, meet people, learn about business, love, family, relationships, and most importantly become a strong, independent, emotionally healthy individual. 

Fine.  I guess I'll go with the second one.

I am a planner.  I set goals and plan for my future.
   
I am an initiator.  I start working toward those goals as soon as possible.
  
I am strong. I stay on my path, even when it gets rocky.
  
I am a finisher.  I accomplish those goals at a manageable pace, without dragging them out.
   
I am in motion.  I pick new goals to work on when I finish previous ones.  

I am building character.  I am growing as a person as I walk this path. 

Process - Not Product

I am enjoying the process

During the semester I spent a lot of time saying to myself "I'll be able to breathe after this test," "I'll breathe when I finish this paper."  Eventually it was "I'll breathe when the semester is over."  

Then as soon as it was over I was recruited to start off a singing flash mob of Joy to the World.  So I said to myself "I'll breathe when that's over."  

I'm the choir director in my church and for almost three months I've been working on the big Christmas program with my choir.  As soon as the flash mob was over I said, "I can breathe when the Christmas program is finished."  

We have a relative staying at my house for Christmas.  She isn't exactly the kindest person and it isn't an ideal situation.  I've been telling myself "I'll breathe when we're done cleaning the house so she doesn't make everyone miserable," "I'll breathe when I know she won't make backhanded insults at me and my loved ones," and then "I'll breathe when I can get out of the house and spend time away from her," and "I'll be able to really breathe when she's gone."  

Then I started noticing a pattern.  I know right?!  It took me long enough.  When do I get to breathe?  I can't live like that!  Oxygen is kind of important.  How am I supposed to enjoy learning so much in school if I'm focused on what happens after?  How am I supposed to enjoy the experience of being in a flash mob with my mom if I'm anticipating it being behind me?  How am I supposed to feel satisfied with my Christmas program if I'm not taking the time to enjoy the company of the people who work so hard to help make it happen?  And finally, how am I supposed to enjoy Christmas if I'm letting so-and-so get to me?  I am the one who dictates how I feel.

I was focusing too much on the product, while ignoring the process.  I just learned about process vs. product in my communication class.  I thought I understood it, but it really struck home in the last week.   So I'm taking the time to be grateful for the experiences I have - as I'm having them.  

Furthermore, if I don't spend my time enjoying what I can from these experiences then what happens when I'm faced with similar circumstances in the future?  I might be faced with starting school again and think "it will just be stressful and my life will be put on hold," instead of "I learned so much and met so many new and interesting people!"

The next group project I have to do - whether it will be with a choir or others - I might think "it was so stressful and took up so much time and energy," instead of remembering how close I got to the people I was working with.  It was definitely worth it, and I got to see some of them grow more sure of themselves.  I like to think I helped them blossom.  When I think of that I want to dive right back in. 

By trying to spend my time hiding away from this visiting relative I'm not giving her a chance - or myself the opportunity - to look at the positive things she does.  Sometimes her redeeming qualities are hard to see, but they are there.  In the future I might steer clear of an individual just for making a bad impression, and as a result miss out on someone special.  Avoiding her isn't going to change anything; it will just make me dread her more.  She really isn't as awful as I make her out to be, but the hurtful memories are easier to focus on.


So by focusing on the product I'm robbing myself of the joy that is life and learning.  I could be making it more difficult for my future self to begin new projects.  I don't want to wake up one day regretting all the times I thought "I can't wait until..." instead of seeing the beauty in every challenging moment.




As always, thank you for reading!  Comments are welcome. 

Germs Update: I Am Persevering

I am PANICKING persevering

A few days after my last post, which was on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with germs, I went to a restaurant with my family.  It was a pretty nice one so I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to start moving forward with my experiment.  The menus weren't sticky - and I didn't see any fingerprints - so I told myself they were washed regularly.  The table was clean so I told myself they washed it thoroughly every time they cleared it.  The silverware was just laid on the table, not on a napkin like any other restaurant!  JUST LAID ON THE TABLE!  Now normally that would freak me out and I'd be cringing every time I took a bite, but this was NOT going to be one of those days.  It was a booth seat and I was stuck against the wall.  My parents were blocking potential escape to the 'safe haven' of the bathroom with the glorious sink and the blessed hand soap.  I was glad.  It was easier for me that way.  After we ordered our food I asked my family if they noticed a difference.  "You haven't washed your hands!" all five of them said.  They were all so proud of me and so supportive.  Not in a condescending way, because they know how hard this is for me.  I put on a confident grin, took a deep breath and slapped my palms on the table (something I would normally NEVER do) and wiped them around.  Yeah.  I was totally showing off.

Why am I giving you all these tiny details?  The answer is simple: because I can.  Also it might help you get an idea of what goes on in my head when I'm in these situations.  But mostly because I can.  If you keep reading this it's on you.  

Anyway, I survived.  So that's good.

I was SO EXCITED by what I did that I came straight home and began writing an extremely positive post.  I was on a bipolar manic high.  No more depression!  If I could do that I could do anything!  Never mind the slight panicky feeling in my chest or the tense feeling in my shoulders.  That was just the excitement! 

I passed out in the middle of writing and woke the next day feeling a little less stoked.  The high was wearing off.  I was crashing.  But I didn't want to admit it to myself because I knew what came next: panic, depression, rage, or numbness.  Take your pick.  I'm still not sure how it works.  So I tried to drag it out as long as possible.

Slapping my hands on the table reminded me of a river rafting trip I went on this last summer.  About halfway down the river we pulled to the side and went cliff diving.  I had never been cliff diving before.  It was really high.  I know it's probably sad, but that feeling I got when I decided to touch the table was akin to standing on the edge of the cliff.  I was scared to death but resolved.  I knew if I didn't jump right away it wasn't going to happen.  Moving my hands down was the act of falling, screaming the whole way.  I was so scared but so excited!  Then afterward I was glad I jumped.  Even though hitting the water gave me the wedgie of a lifetime and I almost lost my shorts, it was worth it!  I felt I had accomplished something.  

That's what touching the table was for me.  Sans wedgie...

But - of course there's a 'but' - all of this progress I've been making is in no way easy.  On the exterior I've been doing everything in my power to seem calm and confident.  I'm not putting on the act for anyone but myself.  I figure the more confident I act the more confident I'll feel and the easier this journey will become.  But all of this confidence is just the calm surface of the water I'm treading, hiding the deadly undertow of panic.  It has been welling up inside of me.  The more exposure to germs I force myself into the more I feel that undertow trying to pull me down into never-ending darkness.  It often becomes hard to breathe (how's that for dramatic?).  Don't get me wrong; I really do feel a sense of accomplishment.  Sometimes I think to myself "maybe I can actually do this!"  But under the surface the water is churning.

I had a panic attack.  This is going to be a little difficult to describe, but I'll do my best.  As you read this please remember that this is how I personally experience these things.  Panic attacks can be completely different for other people.  For me the cause can be a number of things, all of which are internal.  The trigger is usually internal as well.  The cause is a build up of stressors that can be anything from negative self-talk to something subconscious that takes a long time to sort out.  I was with someone for over three years with regular panic attacks before I realized what the problem was.  But that's another post altogether.

It starts with elevated heart rate and shallow breathing.  My face and neck become flushed and warm.  My senses grow stronger.  If I'm in a public place like a classroom, restaurant, or store I'm suddenly able to hear every word of every conversation nearby, until I'm sure they're all screaming at me and it makes my head throb.  Even white noise feels like an assault, and I know the people in the room are going to kill me.  Scents become stronger.  My eyes start moving rapidly in every direction, and suddenly I'm able to see more detail.  Color is richer and light is far too bright.  The increase in stimulus becomes too much so I cover my face and plug my ears.  The shaking starts and quickly becomes uncontrollable.  The tears start pouring.  I can't stop them.  My breathing becomes so fast that my chest hurts and I'm sure I'm going to die.  I can hardly breathe anymore and it feels like I'm drowning, but all I can do is let it run its course.

Image from: http://mariovittone.com/2010/05/154/

I don't feel strong enough to swim against the undertow of panic, and there is no way to tame it.  What mortal can tame the ocean?  Crap!  Now I need a new metaphor.  One that at least gives me the potential to calm the panic.

I've learned that standing still, staring at one spot and focusing solely on my breathing can keep the panic attacks from becoming full blown.  But that's only when I catch my body's cues beforehand.  Sometimes I'm not fast enough.  If possible I also go to a quiet place and sit or lie down, hug my knees, cover my face and hum a random tune.  But the best thing I've found is positive self-talk.  I repeat over and over out loud to myself "You're okay.  It's okay.  It'll be over soon.  You'll get through this.  You've got this."  Until I believe it.  Doing this keeps me from screaming at the top of my lungs, or clawing at my neck.

I'm agoraphobic, and I want to hide in my room, away from anything and everything that could potentially harm me.  What I really want to do right now is watch the rest of "Chuck" on Netflix, or play Skyrim until my eyes bleed and my brain turns to pudding, or get lost in the newest Odd Thomas book by Dean Koontz, or finally finish the Wheel of Time series.  But I haven't done that.  I still refuse to have my life dictated by this weakness.  At least that's what I'm telling myself. I've gotten used to using affirmations to keep me going. This positive self-talk motivates me. It has become habit for me to say "Yeah! This is going to be awesome! We can do it!" as if I'm two people.  Maybe that's to remind myself that I have guardian angels.  It gives me strength.  I like knowing I'm not going at this alone.  

So despite all of this panic I'm not letting myself revert to where I was three weeks ago.  I've taken two steps forward.  It's time to take one step back.  I have too many other stressors in my life right now to keep ignoring my body when it tells me I'm going too far.  I'm still moving forward and grabbing door handles.  I'm still going to be less OCD at restaurants.  I just might not be at the same level as everyone else.  It's a journey.  As soon as finals week is over I'm going to try taking another step forward.  I just have to pace myself.  It takes a while to retrain your body to respond differently to a perceived threat.  If I overdo it I will crash.  That's realistic.  I'm not Superwoman.  Then where will I be?  I'll be Howard Hughes in The Aviator sitting in the private theater room naked, peeing in milk jars, repeating phrases over and over again.  I've already done the repeating before.  Trust me, it's no fun.  I think I'll try to avoid the peepee/nakey part...

As always, comments are welcome.  It's easier to comment from a computer than a phone for some reason.

Wish me luck!

Avoidance Breeds Fear Pt. 1: Germs

I am overcoming my fears through exposure 

Before I write this post I feel the need to explain that most of the things I have or have had issues with didn't happen over night.  In fact I didn't even notice the changes until what I thought to be too late.  I also want to say that when I talk about the bad things I've been through, I'm not complaining.  I'm grateful for my life and my experiences.  The point of this is to explain how some of the things I've been through have affected me, and how I'm getting past them.  I'm not by any means trying to compare my life to anyone else.  

In my previous post I wrote about growing up with undiagnosed Bipolar II disorder.  Because I was undiagnosed I grew up with what I thought to be your average ups and downs, outbursts, and rare 'on top of the world' hyperactivity.  The only thing I was afraid of was myself - when my next outburst would be.  I was very active.  I played church volleyball and basketball, I sang in choirs and had a lot of friends, and I wasn't afraid of getting dirty.  Which brings me to what this post is about.

When I was 20 I got sick.  My immune system crashed.  My migraines grew worse.  I developed deep bone and joint pain all over my body.  I developed horrible stomach pains.  A couple months later I had to move back home so my mom and sister - who was 13 at the time - could nurse me back to health.  I was on bed rest for about 8 or 9 months.  If ever anyone around me had a cold or the flu or anything contagious I caught it.

Very gradually, over a period of about 3 years, I was able to start functioning again.  The pain and fatigue were still there, but they weren't as debilitating.

But also very gradually over those 3 years I started avoiding germs.  More and more germs.  Germs that I knew would make me feel worse again and I was SO SICK AND TIRED OF FEELING SICK AND TIRED.

So I started washing my hands more.  About fifty or sixty times a day, with hot water.  Not scalding, just really hot.  I started avoiding touching doorknobs when I was outside the house, and just the thought of someone touching me with their feet...*deep breath*.  It started out as just a precautionary measure, but it grew and grew.  The more I avoided these invisible fiends the scarier they were to me, until flesh-eating bacteria was on every surface.  I mean I knew there wasn't flesh eating bacteria, but the fight-or-flight response my body had told me differently. 

So the world grew bigger and scarier and I became smaller and weaker.

Okay, here's where I remind you this didn't happen over night...

About two years ago I opened up a brand new jar of Clorox disinfecting wipes to clean off my desk and dresser.  Then I moved on to the doorknobs.  Then I noticed all the dust on the floor molding.  Then suddenly it was four in the morning and I had used up the last wipe scrubbing off every hard surface in my bedroom, bathroom, and hallway, including the walls.  As I was throwing the last wipe away 'Logical Lindsay' pushed her way past 'Manic Lindsay' and I realized what I just did.  My problem was worse than I thought.

I am still suffering from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with germs.  I haven't cleaned off any walls since that night, though that's not to say I haven't been tempted.  I always wear long sleeved shirts, stretchy shirts or shirts with tails that I can use to open doors.  Every time I go out to a restaurant I wash my hands after touching the menu.  Or the seat.  Or the table.  I carry individually wrapped wet wipes wherever I go.  I keep lotion with me at all times because my hands get so dry from washing them that they crack.  

When I'm in a public restroom and I'm done washing my hands I avoid touching the knobs to turn the water off at all costs.  I'll go for the paper towels first and use that to turn the water off.  If part of my hand - or my arm - bumps the faucet or the knob, or the thing on the paper towel dispenser that makes the towels come out, I start the whole process over again.  Motion sensing technology has been a huge relief, but also an enabler.  

My bathroom routine is not unlike Leonardo DiCaprio's portrayal of Howard Hughes in The Aviator.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2J5RWf_LJk

I've never cut my hands before, and I've never run out of towels or been without a sleeve or something else to use to protect my hand from the door handle.  I think if I had no other option, a year or two ago I would have waited for someone to enter the bathroom, then caught the door with my foot.  Or I would have just used the door and tried to find another bathroom with paper towels to wash my hands.  No matter how OCD I am, I'm also extremely impatient.

I'm a little less neurotic now, but not by much.  The past six months or so I have made a serious effort to put thoughts of germs out of my mind.  When I go to the store or a doctor's appointment and have to touch a door I tell myself "It's okay, you'll be home in a little while. You can wash your hands then".  After a while it was just something I already knew and didn't need to say.  So I guess that's good because I stopped freaking out looking for disinfectant.  It may not seem like much to someone who hasn't dealt with an anxiety disorder, but in order for me to move forward I have to acknowledge the accomplishments, no matter how small.

But there are setbacks.  Of course there are setbacks!  With mood disorders, or anxiety disorders, or I guess anyone in general, lack of sleep and overworking yourself can exacerbate whatever problems you deal with.  My school load has been pretty hectic these past few weeks, and I haven't been sleeping because I'm so tense.  I'm still depressed like I mentioned in my last post.  I'm not eating enough, or as well as I should.  Because of all these factors - most of which I can and should adjust myself - my moods are on edge, my Agoraphobia (I'll talk about that another time) is kicking in and most of all my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder has reared it's ugly head.  

I was doing so well!  Okay, still not touching railings or doors at school.  Have you any idea how many thousands of hands touch those every day?  But I guess I can't progress if I'm not being challenged. 

The last two weeks I've entered one of my classes to find the table in front of my chair COVERED in smudges.  Why does this have to happen now when I'm so on edge?  Why are people so disgusting?

After I typed the last bit about people being disgusting I immediately heard my moms voice in my head: "People are doing the best they can.  If not, they'd be doing better."  That usually gets me to stop thinking negative things about people.  I'm sure the person before me doesn't know he's being messy, or the effect it's having on me. 

Either way, I've immediately whipped out my wet wipes and scrubbed down the table.  I know my teacher understands even though he seems really amused, and so are the other two at my table.  I try to laugh it off.  Even though those people are kind and I'm sure aren't judging me negatively it's still embarrassing.  My ideal healthy self would be okay with some chocolate smudges (I so hope it was chocolate), or spilled soda, or boogers (GAH!)...or...or...flesh-eating bacteria...kidding kidding!

So here is where I finally get to the good stuff!  Because I refuse to continue being driven by this fear.  I am so tired of having the thought of the last thing I touched running over and over in my mind while I'm trying to have a conversation with someone, focusing instead on keeping my hand in a fist in my lap so I don't touch anything else.  

The past couple days I have made a conscious effort to touch as many door handles as I can.  After I do I tell myself "it's no big deal" and various other confidence inducing phrases.  Sometimes out loud if I need to.  I also refuse - I repeat REFUSE - to wash my hands or use wet wipes after touching doorknobs and dirty tables.  I touch all my pens and don't avoid my face.  

I'm playing it off as an experiment.  You see I finally got to the point about six months ago where I feel physically healthy again.  Woohoo!  After almost five years I no longer need pain medication.  I got off of it as soon as I felt I could.  So the experiment I am conducting is to see if I get ill from all these 'horrible germs' floating around.  I went to that class again SO ready for that messy table.  As soon as I saw it I was filled with dread.  It was as if he spilled vanilla ice cream and did some finger painting.  I left my wet wipes in my backpack and paid as much attention to the lecture as possible, which wasn't too difficult because I love that class.

So to sum up a bit, because I avoided germs I grew afraid of them.  Further avoidance led to dread, which grew into phobia.  It's all about baby steps, and like I said before: I can't progress if I'm not being challenged.  The way I am overcoming this fear is through exposure. 

So I guess in a way I'm grateful for the chocolate smudging, soda spilling, booger picking, ice cream artist.  Wow.  That's something I never thought I'd say. 

Just knowing a fear is irrational does not help.  I've known it was irrational for a long time.  In my case - as in most - it's the body's naturally developed response and has nothing to do with the cognitive process, though the cognitive process may be how I got there and will definitely help in pulling me out.  If you are trying to support a loved one on their journey then thank you so much!  Do just that.  Be supportive.  Don't pressure them, or tell them when to try again, because unless they're willing nothing is going to change.  Tell them they're strong.  Tell them you believe in them, and that they aren't stupid or worthless for having whatever problem it is they have.  Let them know that you'll catch them if they fall, and if they do fall, tell them you know they'll do even better next time, whenever they're ready.

I have a wonderful support system, and I wouldn't be where I am without them.

Thank you for reading!  Comments are always welcome.

Depression is a Natural Cycle

I find comfort knowing that when depression comes, it always leaves

 

Growing up with undiagnosed Bipolar II disorder I was regularly hit with depression for weeks at a time.  During these depressive episodes I knew it would never end.  I hated being around people.  I felt worthless because "normal people can handle these things."  Why couldn't I?  Why was I so sad?  I stayed away from people.  I spent time crying in my room for reasons completely unknown.  I was so confused that I grew angry and threw fits, screaming at my loved ones, breaking whatever was in reach, slamming doors, then hiding away blasting angry music on my boombox.  I was in this emotional 'rut' that was never going to end.

I had no eternal perspective.

I'm currently 25 and in my freshman year of college.  My depressive episodes are still prevalent, but because of some medication and a lot of work on my part, they are not as strong as they used to be.  I spent about five minutes crying last night after stabbing my math book with a pen.  The crying only lasted five minutes because I put an end to it when I realized I was out of control.  For the second time I have a math assignment due and because of migraines I've missed too many classes to understand it.  The first one I simply didn't turn in, which was a first for me this semester - and I'm taking 13 credit hours.  This other one was due this morning.  There were fourteen problems.  I finished two and I'm not even sure they're correct.  This is especially disheartening because math is my favorite subject and I know if I had just made it to class I would have no problems.

Now that I've slept and calmed down I've been able to think more clearly.  I emailed my math teacher and asked him for help.  I'm meeting him after class in the morning.  Even if I only get partial credit on my assignment I'll be comforted knowing that I understand it.  I have a test this Friday and those problems will be part of it.  I also know that there are less than three weeks left of the semester, followed by the final exams.  I spent time thinking about all of the positive things.  I still miraculously have all 'A's.  So even if I do bomb this assignment, or this Friday's test, I'm going to pass the class...why was I freaking out again?

I recently had an epiphany and I think it's a shame it took this long.  For me depression happens regularly and it's now rarely accompanied by anger.  It can last anywhere from two days to a month, but usually it's only around a week.  The epiphany is the title of this post: "Depression is a natural cycle."  So now, when I'm feeling depressed, I think that no matter what happens I'm going to come out of it.  With my mood disorder depression is commonly followed by 'hypomania,' or mild mania.  In other words as soon as I get out of this depression I might feel better than just okay.  I might feel really good.  Because of this knowledge - as I'm sitting here feeling really low and worthless - I'm telling myself that it will be over soon, and I am comforted.  I feel I can keep myself from sinking further.  I'm hitting the metaphorical 'pause' button.  I'm focusing on other things, like my busy schedule, my loved ones, and all the things I'm grateful for.  I'm fully aware of how down I'm feeling, but I've put that on the back burner.  Whenever I can I remind myself it's just a phase.  I'm not the only one who has depression, and when I do feel better I'll stare that depression in the face and say "I told you so." 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoDvK9NAM5E