I’m back on my medication, thank GOD. I have been on the verge of a mental breakdown without it and my doctor convinced me that it would be best if I started the regiment back up. That, and Dean’s constant “You need your medicine, Kyra.” comments.
I’ve been having a lot of anxiety lately and I’m learning some new things about my “illness”. In the past, my shrink has always explained obsessive compulsive disorder as an anxiety disorder where my subconscious attempts to gain some form of control over my life to make up for the fact that I actually have no control. As a result of the obsessions, compulsions sort of take over.
I don’t know how my family deals with me and I’m really frustrated. Even I know that the majority of this stuff is completely irrational but I can’t seem to stop it from bothering me.
One of these things involves bumper stickers, as odd as that might sound and it is a perfect example of something that *shouldn’t* bother me but bothers me so much that I have a total cow and freak out.
I cannot be behind a car that has a crooked bumper sticker on it.
I have such an aversion to this that I have to turn and look away or cover my eyes if I see it. Dean always says that if I could get out of the car and go straighten the bumper sticker that I would and he is right. Except that I cannot get out of a moving vehicle and adjust the sticker on the back of the moving vehicle in front of us so instead, I have to hide from it or I will scream at Dean to switch lanes and get the fuck away from the bumper sticker as fast as he can and I won’t be able to uncover my eyes until we are safely away from this monster.
Here is an example of a bumper sticker no-no:
This bumper sticker is totally unacceptable because although it is nice and straight (almost), it is off centered. This makes me want to vomit. Here is another example:
This one is upsetting and not because there are so many stickers on it, but because there are a
couple million of them that are on weird angles. If someone wants to cover their car with stickers, go for it, but dear god… please make sure that they are all placed with the larger ones at the bottom, the same amount of them per row and with the exact same distance between each one. And make sure they are fucking straight!!!
Some obsessive compulsive’s have issues driving in cars because every single time they hit a bump, run over a stick, or nick a pothole, they become convinced that they have just hit a person. This causes them to have to stop, get out and check. Therefore, a ten minute drive turns into a two hour long trip and a lot of the time, these people just refuse to drive at all.
I do not experience this.
My paranoid obsession is garbage bags. If I am driving up the road and see a garbage bag that clearly has things in it, I freak out and will worry about it, drive back to look at it, feel I must go open it up and look through it and panic my ass off if I don’t. This is because I am firmly and irrationally convinced that there is a baby in the garbage bag or the remains of someone else who has been chopped up, but usually a baby. I will worry so much that I will cry, my pulse will race and I will feel compelled and terrified to go and look.
Even if the garbage bags are sitting next to a trash can or dumpster. Yes. I know.
The garbage bag thing is sort of similar at home although I don’t freak out about garbage bags at home as I know what is in them. Here at the house, I will be extremely convinced that someone has stopped breathing and I will check on them multiple times but not after completely freaking out.
There have been times when I have put one of my kids down for a nap only to call Dean at work an hour later in tears because I’m convinced that the child is dead in his or her bed and I am so terrified to go in there and look that I will pace like a wild animal outside of the bedroom door and shake.
You do not know how many times I have tearfully and hysterically sent Dean in to check. It’s awful and ridiculous at the same time and I wish it would go away but it doesn’t.
Dean thinks that my disgust for germophobics is hysterical because I am constantly saying that they worry and obsess needlessly and for no reason and it annoys me. He tells me that I am no different and I tell him that I AM different because these morons don’t seem to understand that germs boost our immune systems and that by repeatedly sanitizing everything they are actually harming themselves more than anything.
Of course, this is outrageous, but oh well. I’m just glad I’m not a germophobe.
My weird thing with names and numbers and symmetry is all based on things just not being right unless they are certain ways. Many obsessive compulsive’s count things and line things up as I do, but the name thing is less common, I am told. As a matter of fact, I have been told that that one is pretty out there.
It has to do with an almost mathematical equation.
Certain letters SHOULD not go together and as a result, some names make me extremely uncomfortable. An S can never got with a V which makes the name Steven a problem for me. A P cannot go with a U or an L and so Paul makes me uncomfortable. The name Phil puts a P with an L and also an H which is unacceptable. Ross is bad because two S’s should not be seen with an R unless there at least five other letters to distract from it and so long as the S’s are not side by side.
I wish there was an explanation for this but I don’t have one.
If letters are bad, numbers are worse. I once spent over an hour on the phone with the phone company making them search their database for a phone number that was made up of 9’s, 8’s, 4’s, 6’s, 1’s and 3’s. No 7’s, 5’s, or 2’s. And then 1’s and 3’s can only be okay numbers if they are not in the same vicinity as the other good numbers. For example:
941-8864 is a good number
941-8863 is not.
This is because 3’s and 6’s cannot go together and neither can 3’s and 1’s.
7’s, 5’s, and 2’s cannot go in at all. I’ll throw up.
I think that part of being ocd is also being really, really frustrating. I don’t want to be this way as it makes things difficult and causes stress and panic attacks over some pretty weird shit. There is a large part of me that wishes I had Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder because those people get to live in ignorant bliss as they don’t realize that their shit is ridiculous and unnecessary. They are so convinced that the world is in black and white and that their way is correct and the other way is wrong, that there is no treatment for it most of the time because to treat something they have to admit it’s a problem. Which they will not do.
But it has to be sort of liberating to not have to try to control your obsessions or your compulsions. Driving back and forth near a garbage bag bawling for the dead baby inside of it is not fun. It’s torture.
Some things are laughable and others are not. My inability to go to sleep if a toilet seat is up or if a closet door is open is amusing to Dean, but not so much to me because I will lie in bed awake for half the fucking night continuously getting up to check closet doors and toilet seats. It’s the same during the day with lights being on and cabinet doors being left open. I can’t handle it.
It’s really aggravating and not just for me but for Dean, too. I have a thing with food that has him tasting and smelling things in my fridge constantly as I am terrified that something has spoiled even if it was just bought this morning. Everything is questionable, especially milk. If there is only four inches of milk left in the carton, I will not drink it. I make Dean taste everything to make sure that it’s okay to eat or drink and then don’t believe him anyways. I feel bad for him but he has gotten quite used to certain compulsive routines like rotating my bed every night before I can go to sleep and he has learned the fine art of positioning my pillows and he knows that if wooden grains in my coffee table are not facing the right way I’ll hyperventilate and he makes sure that things are just so before I see them. He drives quickly across bridges speaking calmly as I sit there with my hands over my eyes either counting or repeating, “no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” or “ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod” over and over again, something that the recent events in Minneapolis did nothing to help.The poor guy knows better than to cook two foods of the same color for dinner. Macaroni and cheese and corn will never grace a plate at the same time in this house much to my relief.
I hate it. Sometimes, Dean will giggle and I am known to defensively fly off the handle at him or burst into tears out of frustration. I have emotional breakdowns when things are chaotic and messy and run away and hide rather than deal with them. It ruins your life somehow, but the medicine does help to make it less severe. It doesn’t take it away but it does help the panic behind it.
I have an irrational fear that the medicine lowers my standards and as a result of this, I stop taking it sometimes. Please kick my ass for this. LOL.