Old, Cranky Douche (OCD)

A central theme to my writing has been discussion of my anxiety disorder, specifically my diagnosis with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). As I explore my anxiety disorder more and see just how far it reaches all aspects of my life, I am reminded that my OCD traits have actually impacted my personality. There is a mental health diagnosis called Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder and while I do not meet the criteria for that, I can see where my OCD traits impact my sense of self, my relationships, and my daily life.

I cannot recall a time in my life when I didn't feel anxious, obsessive, compulsive, or generally worried at all times. That being said, my childhood was fairly typical. A child of the 80's and 90's, I enjoyed technology-free play including Barbies, bike riding and swimming in our above ground pool. I enjoyed reading and journaling and I remember from very early on that self-soothing and "creature comforts" have always been key in decreasing my anxiety. As a child, things were comforting. I had to have "my things" in order to feel safe, secure, and comfortable. At 37-years-old, I rely on these things the same way and often get teased about how much stuff I pack when on vacation.

My answer typically revolves around my need to feel comfortable. Knowing I have options and potential back up items for when I don't feel comfortable. These items may include certain articles of clothing, a stuffed animal, a book or journal, music or podcasts that I've listened to before. Repetitive and binging on things has always been a comfort to me. I binge watched TV before that was actually a phrase. I would rewatch TV shows and movies repeatedly because they were familiar and comforting. At a particularly low and lonely time in my life, the cast of the TV show How I Met Your Mother felt like my friends. I counted on them everyday to help me through the pain and obsessions I was enduring at that time.

I was officially diagnosed with OCD in September 2012. I had watched a disturbing horror movie, V/H/S, and had dealt with a 3 day long panic attack that resulted in me seeking medical attention from my primary care doctor, because I was certain there was something physically wrong with me. I had had anxiety and panic attacks before and had been medicated with Paxil, Wellbutrin, and Klonopin. But, this was different. My doctor promptly told me I was experiencing a panic attack and increased my dose of Wellbutrin as well as my Klonopin. However, after two weeks I began to develop strange mental obsessions and even stranger compulsions. I was so preoccupied with forgetting to lock the door before leaving the house that I would often turn around 3-4 times to check the door before heading out to work, only to still feel uneasy and "not right" about the door. My obsessive train of thought was as follows: "The lock isn't latched, the dogs and cat could get out, we live on a busy street, they will be killed, my girlfriend will never forgive AND IT WILL BE ALL MY FAULT." And it will be all my fault is the end conclusion for every obsessive/compulsive ritual, even to this day.

What eventually led to my diagnosis of OCD and being put on medication specifically for OCD was an obsession I developed about dying tragically in a car accident. My compulsion to, in theory, calm my obsession was to picture myself dying in a tragic car accident my entire 90 minute roundtrip commute to work. Every. Single. Day. My "OCD logic" being people who die tragically in a car accident never see it coming, so if I am thinking about it, it won't happen. Needless to say, the mental torture my OCD was forcing me to endure was terrible enough and after a few weeks of that I returned to my doctor who informed me the increased dose of Wellbutrin likely exacerbated my OCD symptoms and I was then treated with Prozac. Over the next 2 years, my dose of Prozac would increase to 80mg a day and left me feeling empty, unable to emote, and dead inside. (Stay tuned for an upcoming post about how horribly THAT went...)

Looking back, I realize I had OCD long before I was diagnosed at the age of 30. As a child, I had rituals that I performed that "made me feel better." I often said goodnight to every single stuffed animal and doll before I went to bed. Most kids do. For me, it was a compulsion aimed to quiet the obsession which was: If I don't say goodnight to every single one, they will come to life and kill me in my sleep. Pretty heavy for a small child, but that obsession is two-fold. 1) OCD can oftentimes be graphic, violent, and sexual for no apparent reason and 2) my tv viewing was generally unsupervised and I exposed myself to edited-for-tv horror movies at a young age. Other rituals included washing my body in the same order and pattern every time I showered (one I keep up with to this day), eating certain foods a certain way, and even playing in a certain way.

For example, every Saturday morning, I dragged my huge bag full of Barbies and clothes out to the living room and played while my brother and I watched Saturday morning cartoons. I did this every Saturday morning for years. Starting at age 11 (until I moved out at age 22), I spent just about every Friday night cleaning and rearranging the furniture in my room in an attempt to maximize the size of my room. My favorite thing was to stay up as late as possible on Friday night, cleaning, organizing, and arranging, so when I woke up the next morning I could "spend the entire weekend in my new, clean, fresh room."

My OCD symptoms and traits haven't always been negative. Because my OCD also manifests a compulsive need to please people, my organizational skills coupled with my need to be seen as useful and helpful makes me an amazing employee. I came to learn I would be an amazing employee to the detriment of every other relationship in my life because I was so mentally drained from "being on" all day at work, I had nothing to give to my significant other, family, or friends. This inspired research into self-care before self-care was the hashtag phenomenon it is now. The more my anxiety about being the "perfect employee" increased, the more time I felt compelled to spend caring for myself to avoid burn out. That left little time for anything else and I often felt stretched too thin.

I'm currently attempting to balance all the things I like about having OCD (the organization, I always know where everything is, I'm rarely late or miss an important day, I'm efficient and productive at work) with all the things I hate (the news scroll of looping thoughts, the random violent images that seem uncontrollable, the inner turmoil of feeling contaminated just by hearing the word "lice" [even typing it just now gave me pause], the mental exhaustion of not forgetting to do something important at work that could directly [or indirectly] impact a patient). It's not easy and it takes effort every single day. I don't ever get a break from my OCD, but sometimes I can filter out the loudest noise and manage what is left. Sometimes, I have no choice but to give in and allow it to consume me (within reason) because I don't have an energy left to fight.