We live in a strange world where having a mental illness is taboo, if the mechanics of your mind aren't considered "normal" then your frowned upon, stepped around, treated like you are a child. I know this first hand. In my early 20s I was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, looking back those behaviours were always present just the woman who birthed me didn't particularly feel the need to have me diagnosed.
Over the years the level of intensity has varied. I've been medicated and not, some medications work some make the symptoms worse. When the OCD is in full swing I'm incredibly anxious, I clean to the extreme (we're not talking the whole house we're talking one room, just one room that I get stuck in and cannot leave), I scrub my hands constantly and use super hot water til my paws are red and sore, I write list upon list and I cannot function unless I'm doing specifically what is on that list - for instance I read the entire Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix within days amid an OCD meltdown. That particular list went something like this:
1am - Sit on the lounge, put the blanket on and read HP.
2am - Clean the toilet: Full clean including scrub the toilet floor.
2:30am - Sit on the lounge (opposite end), put the blanket on and read HP.
In these moments I cannot leave the house, if someone comes to the door they are ignored because I panic. My heart starts to pound faster and I can barely breathe.
This is only the physical. The mental is so much more exhausting. What happens inside my head is dark and scary. Thankfully the extreme hasn't taken place in some time because my medication is working well. In situations of high stress some of the obsessions can lurk and the compulsions can take over but it's so bad that I stop functioning in the 'world'.
For me a pet peeve is when someone refers to themselves or someone else as OCD when in fact they are simply referring to being anal with their housework. It isn't funny, it's not something to be happy/boastful about.
There are absolutely 'quirks' that I have that remain with or without medications and these I do not consider to be terribly bad. Around the time I was diagnosed I worked in the city. I'd catch 3 trains to get to work and 3 back spending roughly 4 hours a day, 5 days a week commuting. I'm an avid reader and would read books and magazines by the truckload, anything and everything from Dan Brown to my Nan's cheesy romances. When I finished a book I'd grab a new one from the bookshop across from my work, just whatever looked good from the cheap table. (Something else, as far as my books are concerned I cannot throw them away, I have piles and piles and bookcases full. They're in handbags, beside the bed, in the toilet.) One afternoon I grabbed a book called The Secret Life of Laszlo, Count Dracula. This started my obsession with finding as many books as I could about Dracula written by different people from all kinds of perspectives, I had a mountain of books.
The next biggest book obsession (which since the rise of the internet has become not just books but news articles, youtube clips, websites etc) is with Scientology. It fascinates me. It started with me reading a book that was banned in Australia about Tom Cruise. An unauthorised biography by Andrew Morton, the banning of the book was what drew me to it. I bought a copy from overseas and then became intrigued by this 'religion'. I've since read all kinds of books about it including one by David Miscavige's niece (he's the Grand Poohbah of the whole Scientology Shebang) who grew up within the church. Recently my chap gave me a book called Going Clear which is also a documentary. I've just started reading and watching both but it excited me to discover that because of my quirks I was able to easily understand different things. Back when I heard the song, Mr Crowley, by Ozzy Osbourne I was wanting to know who this person was. I then read a book about Aleister Crowley, a poet who was also a Satanist that created his own religion. Turns out that the creator of Scientology, L Ron Hubbard, has links back to our friend, Mr Crowley.
If you've read my other blogs you know that I'm far from being unintelligent and yet whenever someone learns that I have a mental illness they immediately assume I'm simple and I'm talked to differently. I don't understand why it is so shameful to have a brain that is wired differently. My exhusband was quite clever in that he was able to work out what would trigger an episode and he would use that to his advantage bringing me to my knees often.
The amount of people I know who suffer with anxiety out number the amount of people I know who don't have it.
When I had my second baby I was brought down by Post Natal Depression, it was quite bad. At the time I was lucky that I had a doctor who knew me and was able to diagnose it before things went too far. I was embarrassed by having this illness, so ashamed. I was a new mum, I should be able to do this easily. It's what I was built to do and yet I couldn't do it. I couldn't be sure I liked my little boy let alone love him. His crying didn't penetrate the bubble I lived in. That bubble was a dark room with only the tv for company. My eldest son would curl up with me in my bed and the only reason I had any interaction with the baby was because I was breast feeding. I left that room only to go to the toilet and I even found that I was showering maybe once a week. I didn't tell people what was happening, I just ignored the world for months and months. Eventually when I started seeing a psychiatrist he told me that PND is one of the scariest illnesses he treats. It scares him because women take on so much expectation when they are pregnant they are too ashamed to ask for help. They think that they should be able to cope and so they won't admit when they aren't coping.
A little bit of who I am is because of the OCD.
Over the years the level of intensity has varied. I've been medicated and not, some medications work some make the symptoms worse. When the OCD is in full swing I'm incredibly anxious, I clean to the extreme (we're not talking the whole house we're talking one room, just one room that I get stuck in and cannot leave), I scrub my hands constantly and use super hot water til my paws are red and sore, I write list upon list and I cannot function unless I'm doing specifically what is on that list - for instance I read the entire Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix within days amid an OCD meltdown. That particular list went something like this:
1am - Sit on the lounge, put the blanket on and read HP.
2am - Clean the toilet: Full clean including scrub the toilet floor.
2:30am - Sit on the lounge (opposite end), put the blanket on and read HP.
In these moments I cannot leave the house, if someone comes to the door they are ignored because I panic. My heart starts to pound faster and I can barely breathe.
This is only the physical. The mental is so much more exhausting. What happens inside my head is dark and scary. Thankfully the extreme hasn't taken place in some time because my medication is working well. In situations of high stress some of the obsessions can lurk and the compulsions can take over but it's so bad that I stop functioning in the 'world'.
For me a pet peeve is when someone refers to themselves or someone else as OCD when in fact they are simply referring to being anal with their housework. It isn't funny, it's not something to be happy/boastful about.
There are absolutely 'quirks' that I have that remain with or without medications and these I do not consider to be terribly bad. Around the time I was diagnosed I worked in the city. I'd catch 3 trains to get to work and 3 back spending roughly 4 hours a day, 5 days a week commuting. I'm an avid reader and would read books and magazines by the truckload, anything and everything from Dan Brown to my Nan's cheesy romances. When I finished a book I'd grab a new one from the bookshop across from my work, just whatever looked good from the cheap table. (Something else, as far as my books are concerned I cannot throw them away, I have piles and piles and bookcases full. They're in handbags, beside the bed, in the toilet.) One afternoon I grabbed a book called The Secret Life of Laszlo, Count Dracula. This started my obsession with finding as many books as I could about Dracula written by different people from all kinds of perspectives, I had a mountain of books.
The next biggest book obsession (which since the rise of the internet has become not just books but news articles, youtube clips, websites etc) is with Scientology. It fascinates me. It started with me reading a book that was banned in Australia about Tom Cruise. An unauthorised biography by Andrew Morton, the banning of the book was what drew me to it. I bought a copy from overseas and then became intrigued by this 'religion'. I've since read all kinds of books about it including one by David Miscavige's niece (he's the Grand Poohbah of the whole Scientology Shebang) who grew up within the church. Recently my chap gave me a book called Going Clear which is also a documentary. I've just started reading and watching both but it excited me to discover that because of my quirks I was able to easily understand different things. Back when I heard the song, Mr Crowley, by Ozzy Osbourne I was wanting to know who this person was. I then read a book about Aleister Crowley, a poet who was also a Satanist that created his own religion. Turns out that the creator of Scientology, L Ron Hubbard, has links back to our friend, Mr Crowley.
If you've read my other blogs you know that I'm far from being unintelligent and yet whenever someone learns that I have a mental illness they immediately assume I'm simple and I'm talked to differently. I don't understand why it is so shameful to have a brain that is wired differently. My exhusband was quite clever in that he was able to work out what would trigger an episode and he would use that to his advantage bringing me to my knees often.
The amount of people I know who suffer with anxiety out number the amount of people I know who don't have it.
When I had my second baby I was brought down by Post Natal Depression, it was quite bad. At the time I was lucky that I had a doctor who knew me and was able to diagnose it before things went too far. I was embarrassed by having this illness, so ashamed. I was a new mum, I should be able to do this easily. It's what I was built to do and yet I couldn't do it. I couldn't be sure I liked my little boy let alone love him. His crying didn't penetrate the bubble I lived in. That bubble was a dark room with only the tv for company. My eldest son would curl up with me in my bed and the only reason I had any interaction with the baby was because I was breast feeding. I left that room only to go to the toilet and I even found that I was showering maybe once a week. I didn't tell people what was happening, I just ignored the world for months and months. Eventually when I started seeing a psychiatrist he told me that PND is one of the scariest illnesses he treats. It scares him because women take on so much expectation when they are pregnant they are too ashamed to ask for help. They think that they should be able to cope and so they won't admit when they aren't coping.
A little bit of who I am is because of the OCD.