OCD

Lukewarm Heart

Over the past few years of being single and living alone, I have developed a lot of strange, unhealthy habits. Last night as I was falling asleep, I tried to imagine what it would be like to allow someone to be close to me or to live with me again. It was bizarre to think about, honestly. For the majority of my life, finding a loving partner to spend my life with was my only desire. I really didn’t put much emphasis on anything else in life. Spending my life alone was my greatest fear and there were so many nights as a teenager that I cried myself to sleep at just the thought of it.

I never imagined I could feel so different. Not only do I not particularly care whether or not I fall in love again, I’m honestly skittish about the whole idea. It’s almost like I don’t even remember what it feels like to be in love. Well, apart from the lingering, dull ache it leaves behind years later. That doesn’t seem to fully explain this change in me either though. After all when I first became obsessed with the idea of finding love, I had never even experienced it before. Yet I was still so certain it was the one thing that would make me happy, that would make life worth living. I would have risked anything for it. There is always risk involved when you allow yourself to be vulnerable with someone you love. Now I’m not sure if I even believe it’s worth that risk.

You’d think this lack of interest would be a comfort to me, considering how much I use to agonize over my loneliness. Yet, even though this new state doesn’t necessarily cause me pain, it’s still a cause for concern. How can it be that in the span of just a few years I can feel so completely different about something that was once so vitally important to me? If I could be certain these were an accurate reflection of inner growth and independence, I might not mind. However, there is part of me that wonders if this isn’t somehow a result of so many years on anti-depressants. Paxil has helped me in a lot of ways, and I am grateful for that. But now I’m beginning to question if I’m even still the same person I was before. Which version of myself would I ultimately prefer? Can I even trust the way I think and feel now?

I used to put the concerns about my abnormal behaviors on the back burner. Telling myself that I would easily be able to stop them once I have someone new in my life. Now I’m starting to question that logic. Perhaps I’ll just end up choosing my behaviors over love in the end. And whether or not that is still important to me is irrelevant. Whatever my decision ends up being, I want to know that it was my decision, not something that I chose out of fear and mental illness. I don’t want to be alone just because I am too afraid to change or to get hurt again.

I guess I will try to just look at this new, unfamiliar perspective as somewhat of a super power. I don’t have to feel nervous or pressured on first dates, I can just relax and have fun. The value of my life no longer hinges on the love and approval of someone else. Rejection or abandonment don’t seem that scary when you know that you are perfectly capable and fine with being on your own. My only fear now is about whether or not I still even have the drive and motivation it takes to make a relationship work. Can love even blossom in such a lukewarm heart?

Doing Things Differently

I follow very strict daily routines. There was never any real reason that I began doing things in this particular order. It just kind of fell together that way. Now it’s become a pattern that, although has its variations depending on what I may have to do that day, has become very domineering. It has started to concern me as it’s begun to strongly resemble OCD. This all day ritual that I must perform or else I won’t be able to feel okay. Not that I feel no anxiety even when I’ve completed everything perfectly.

I know that the obvious solution is to stop letting myself do things in this order every day. Then I will see that everything is still fine when I divert from my normal routine. But like any form of addiction, I usually tell myself, “But I don’t want to stop.” This feels like only a half-truth at best. Regardless I need to stop so that it doesn’t continue to escalate and become an even more overpowering compulsion. I’ve already seen it slowly expanding to consume every waking hour. Once upon a time, it was merely my mornings that were off limits. I’ve left lovers in bed so that I could start my reading and study Spanish. At that point it still just felt like being efficient and productive. Come afternoon I would be free once again to do anything I’d like.

But now that morning routine has bled out into the afternoon, the evening. It sounds crazy even to me, but yesterday it was a great internal struggle to allow my best friend to come over and hangout for a few hours. I dearly love her and don’t get to see her often enough, partly due to this madness of mine. Still I was so tempted to make up an excuse not to see her so I could make sure my day was an exact photocopy of the day before. I’m not sure if anyone in my life right now is even aware of this issue to be honest. If anything they just admire my “commitment” and “productivity.” Little do they know it’s more like an illness than a virtue.

Nevertheless, I am going to try to change, if even just a little bit. Yesterday I had my friend over. This morning I accidentally slept in, so since things were already going to be slightly off, I managed to do my yoga and meditation first thing. It was very interesting. I want to encourage myself to make small changes to my rigid routine every day. Just to prove to myself that I can. Maybe eventually I’ll even set aside a day to make totally different.

All of this sounds completely insane to me as I write it. I can’t imagine what it sounds like to someone who’s never experienced anything like this. I wouldn’t even know what a normal person’s days look like at this point. It seems like most people just sit around all day. Whereas I feel compelled to fill every single moment with something, even if it’s something silly. Now that I think of it, although I always have something playing on YouTube or Netflix, I can’t remember the last time simply watching it was all I was doing. It is usually just on for background noise as I work on something else.

It may sound like this isn’t a huge issue and that I must be accomplishing a lot, but sadly that isn’t always the case. A lot of the time, there are other things I actually need to be working on, but I never get around to doing them because I’ve already filled up every second of my day with other projects. It is becoming impossible for me to shift my priorities and focus on the things that need my attention, but aren’t every day activities. I feel like this leads to me appearing lazy or letting people down. It’s something I’m unable to explain or even justify to anyone else. So far I’ve been able to manage it, barely. But I fear that if I don’t actively work on dismantling this toxic, overbearing routine I won’t be able to manage it forever.

Nothing to Fear

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I find myself wondering about my anxiety a lot. It seems like it never leaves me. But at the same time, aren’t I always looking for it? Checking around my inner corners even in calm moments, hoping not to find it lurking there. Sometimes I wonder if me and my anxiety have become somewhat codependent. Who would I even be without this constant nervous, fearful energy inside? It feels like a core part of my existence. To be alive is to be anxious. At least that’s what it feels like for me.

Anxiety has started to feel like just another part of my rigid routine. Wake up, make coffee, start worrying about everything and nothing at the same time. I’m so used to feeling this way that often it helps to just try to pinpoint exactly what I’m anxious about. Normally it’s nothing specific, just a vague cloud shaped ball of static inside me, flashing at intervals that seem to spell out in morse code: DANGER. But when I search my heart and mind for the monsters and find none are really there, for a moment that cloud dissipates.

It’s exhausting and time consuming to keep going through that check list in my head though. That list of what I’m worried about and why it’s actually okay. It’s almost like OCD actually. I feel like I need to keep checking that I’m not forgetting anything, that my life is in order, before I can relax for even a moment. It’s starting to feel more and more like the reason I’m anxious a lot of the time is simply because I was anxious at this time yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. My brain no longer searches for something to trigger anxiety, it just has itself set that way by default.

It always comes back down to trust. Can I trust myself? That I’m doing everything I need to do? Can I trust the universe when some things are out of my hands? I’m wary of that trust. I’m always afraid that if I allow myself to just trust, I will have been foolish to do so. I’m worried that when things fall apart again one day, I will blame myself. I’ll say if only I had paid more attention. If only I hadn’t let myself relax, and trust that I was doing enough.

I guess that’s just an excuse though. I’ll always find a way to blame myself when things go wrong. I think in some ways it helps to blame ourselves. It gives us the illusion that we are in control, that we have complete power over every situation. But in the end we know that isn’t true. That’s why we need to be able to trust. So that we can find the strength, the courage to keep going despite that uncertainty, that lack of control.

Anxiety is a signal. It tells us that something is wrong. It promises to go away once we are safe again, once we fix whatever problem there is. The issue is that anxiety never tells us what the problem actually is. In nature, it would be obvious, whatever is threatening your very life at that moment. But in modern society, it is much harder to tell where the danger is. If it’s even there at all. It makes me feel like a wild animal. On edge, looking around wildly, searching for the threat, searching for a way to escape. There is nothing more difficult that overriding your bodies natural impulses. But that’s what I’m asking myself to do every day. I have to keep telling this frightened animal inside not to run, when everything it knows is pleading, begging it to run. It’s a constant wrestling match between my body’s wisdom and the thinking mind. It’s no wonder I am always so tired. Sometimes it seems like all I can do is keep telling myself: It’s okay to feel anxious.

It’s okay to feel anxious.

It’s okay to feel anxious…

Routines

Last night I had a dream that I was a child again. I was in my old rec room at my parents’ house. There I sat behind the couch with my Hamtaros, playing. I hadn’t a care in the world. For what reason did I decide to go back there and play? What signaled me to stop eventually? Why, my own desire, my intuitive self, that thing I was once so in tune with without even knowing. There is such a gentle flush of comfort and peace when I imagine being that carefree child again. I was able to do whatever my little heart desired.

It is not as if I don’t have the time or the freedom to do as I please now. Sadly, I just don’t know how to do that anymore. I could do whatever I like today, but what would I like? I have lost that precious connection with my own heart, my own desire. My intuition has gone silent. When did that happen? When did I change? Now each day is so rigid and unrelenting.

There is a certain comfort in routine. In the beginning that structure feels satisfying, productive. I seem to always notice a “sweet spot” where I am enjoying a routine to its fullest. It feels like I’ve found the perfect flow. However, nothing lasts forever.

Eventually that same routine that gave me so much joy, become suffocating. I feel caged by it. Unable to escape my rigid schedule for any reason even though it no longer make me happy like it once did. I don’t know if other people experience this, but it is very frustrating. Everything in life is a cycle. I know that. I see it everywhere I look. It can be a beautiful and awe inspiring thing. Yet I can never seem to find my way through my own cycles.

When I try to imagine how I would move through my day without following these ingrained routines, I am at a complete loss. I have no idea what I would do. Therefore it is always so much easier to just give in and do things the way that I did the day before. It seems like only a huge change that is out of my control is ever able to shake me from my pattern. Like with any big change, especially when it isn’t a choice, I am petrified at first. But there is a sort of aliveness in that terror, in that uncertainty. For a moment I almost feel free. Free to start again. That is when I am able to form new routines and thoroughly enjoy them for awhile. Unfortunately that period of peace never lasts long.

I am constantly clinging to my old habits and resisting change. Perhaps OCD is partially to blame. I get fixated on doing things a certain way, in a certain order and then can’t bear the idea of things being any other way. Even when the way things are now is no longer serving me. I am afraid to change. But I am also afraid to stay the way I am.

As neurotic as it may sound, maybe I could attempt to plan change. I could schedule my own cycles. Perhaps that would give my brain the structure it craves while also providing it with novelty and freshness. Or maybe I could regularly phase things in and out of my already established routine. Maybe I’ll start reading some books about connecting to your intuition. Even though it seems like that little voice of passion that once pushed me towards certain things has gone completely silent, I know it is still there somewhere. I hope one day I am able to find it again.

Sleepwalking

Everyday I follow the same pattern. And the more days that go buy that way, the harder it is to deviate from that pattern. I tell myself I just like doing things this way and I can stop whenever I decide to. But then there is a softer voice in my head that wonders can I? I have been sleepwalking through life for so long now, years actually. I haven’t even tried to stop. Now I’m afraid I may not be able to.

One of the things I’ve always been grateful for is my ability to kick addictions. I’ve stopped smoking cigarettes for years at a time quite easily, cold turkey. I’ve abruptly been able to halt a rapid descent into alcoholism. No desire to drink lingering for even a moment. No hesitation. I’m one of the few able to successfully and easily become vegan. It’s been nearly a decade without animal products now. I have been able to stop smoking weed at times when I felt it was no longer serving me. No hassle at all.

I don’t know how other people end addictions, but for me I just start to get sick of it. I guess it’s like hitting rock bottom. The fear of continuing on this way becomes greater than the fear of changing. I’ve also heard that some people are just genetically predisposed to struggle more with addiction. I’m not sure how true that is scientifically, but it does seem to be a lot harder for some people, impossible even.

But maybe it’s not the chemicals or substances that I can’t let go of. Maybe it is harder for me to sacrifice my routine. If I am able to replace a component, whether it be an addictive substance or not, I am easily able to carry on. I’m less confident about being able to change my routine in general. To break away from even having a rigid routine. I am getting tired of it though. Being a prisoner of my own habits. I’m tired of sleepwalking through my days. Not thinking, mindlessly going through the motions, mimicking the day before. Even when it wasn’t a good day.

I can hardly remember what it was like to be a kid, waking up to endless possibilities, no structure, perfect summer days, doing exactly as I pleased. I’ve all but forgotten how to exist in that way. I don’t know how to listen to my own desires anymore. I’ve boxed myself in. And I’ve become afraid to leave that box. But I want to learn how to be mindful in each moment again. To really live again. Or at least try to. And even though here I am again, just planning to make plans, I still have faith in myself. At least it’s something.

Learning to Ignore that Little Voice

Obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) is an anxiety disorder. People with OCD perform rituals in order to keep their anxiety at bay. Many people with other anxiety disorders also do this, but to a lesser extent. I believe I am somewhere teetering on that edge. There is always that little anxious voice in my head whispering, rambling on. Telling me that I’m forgetting something. Saying there is something I should be worried about.

Most days I have a vague fear that there is something very important I am overlooking. One way of combating this momentarily is to make lists. Lists upon lists. It provides a few moments of relief. It feels like I have finally grabbed ahold of the thoughts swirling around inside my head driving me crazy. It is calming to know that they are somewhere tangible now. Somewhere they won’t be lost in a soup of psychosis. It affords me a certain sense of control. But it doesn’t last. No matter how many lists I make. Something always feels undone, forgotten.

One of the scariest things about mental illness is not knowing whether or not you can trust yourself. Most people follow their instincts, their intuition, with faith and conviction. But what if your intuition is misleading you? What if these instincts can’t be trusted? Now you are adrift. The only tools you have to gauge reality are faulty. Where can you go from here?

It is only natural for me to want to trust that sense of panic as it builds in my chest, telling me that something is wrong. Normally that feeling would be the difference between life and death. But in this strange new world we all live in, this feeling is misplaced. It is time I practice ignoring it instead. Rather than trusting my instincts, I’ve got to learn to trust my higher self. I need to stop letting these bodily sensations of panic keep making me doubt myself constantly.

Instead of letting myself run over all the reasons everything has been taken care of and accounted for again and again in an effort to dismiss my nerves, I am going to breathe deep. I am going to trust that I am okay, that I am capable of facing and overcoming any problems that may arise. I don’t have to be in control. I just have to be present. I just have to do my best. The feeling may never go away, but I can learn to live with it. I can teach myself that it’s okay to feel anxious. I am not required to respond to those feelings. It isn’t my job to make them go away. To “fix” whatever is causing the anxiety. Because this is a disorder. There is no “cause.” My anxiety is a part of me. A part that I can learn to live with rather than run from.

Anxiety is a cue. But I think I can decide what it is a cue for. Maybe instead of looking outside of myself for a way to alleviate that feeling, I can start going within. To “ignore” my anxiety sounds a little harsh. It is just a primal part of me, trying to do it’s best. Trying to protect me. But when I know I’m not in danger, when I know there is nothing to be done, perhaps I can use these feelings as a cue for some self-love instead. As a reminder to be gentle with myself. As a signal that says “check in with yourself.” My anxiety is the scared child inside of me. Rather than responding with frantic irritation or trying to brush it under the rug, I should try just being there with it, holding it’s hand. Taking a moment to tell myself, “I’m okay. Everything is okay.”

You Don’t Have to Feel This Way

There are a number of habits that I’ve accumulated over the last few years that really cause me a lot of stress. I find myself consistently getting more and more anxious as I think about performing these unhealthy habits. Every now and then, I’ll manage to see through the fog of this anxiety and realize, I don’t even have to feel this way. I don’t have to do any of those things if they are causing me distress. I’m the only one making myself do them. It’s a strange realization to have, but it gives me so much relief.

I don’t know if this type of thing is common with other people, if it has to do with anxiety, or autism, or OCD, but it could also just be me. Either way I’ve been trying to remind myself when I notice I’m getting all wound up inside, that there isn’t anything wrong. I am only upset because I’m having to meet my own unreasonable demands and expectations. And I’m the one I have to answer to in the end. I don’t have to put this pressure on myself at all.

What a weight off my shoulders! I feel I’m able to breathe more deeply just thinking about it. It’s bizarre to think that I can so easily forget that I am the one in charge of my life. There are so many things that I get to choose each day, each moment, that I take for granted. I’ve let my past self continue choosing for me. Even when those choices no longer serve me.

I often find myself taking things too seriously. Taking this life too seriously. It is easy to lose sight of the true purpose I’ve chosen for this life. In the end, all the really matters to me is to be as good of a person as I can, and to enjoy myself in the process. That’s it. Easy enough. Nothing else matters. I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t even have to achieve anything necessarily. I just have to live my life in a way that makes me and those around me happy. Everything else is just extra.

So at the end of the day, there is no need to stress. All I have to do is do my best with what I have every day. Nothing more, nothing less. And we are all capable of that much. I want to practice listening to my inner wisdom, my intuition, my body, my breath, my heart. It seems I’ve lost touch with them all long ago. There is a silence inside of me. Important voices that have withered after not being heard for so many years. I want to remember that I don’t have to be afraid. I can trust myself. I can trust in this universe to guide me, to always place me exactly where I need to be. Everything is as it should be. Always. And I am lucky enough to be a witness to it all. To be a part of it.

It has been a revelation to realize just how important our focus is in this life. Something so seemingly small compared to the vastness of this existence. Yet it has the potential to change absolutely everything. What an amazing power we have all been given. The power to choose where we place our focus. Even though it can be hard, we always have that choice. And we can practice this power. We can learn to strengthen that ability to choose, our ability to focus on what we want to focus on.

I will continue to use my meditation as exercise. An exercise for the engine that creates my reality. Because in the short time that I have on this earth, I want to be able to choose. I won’t waste anymore time stirring up my own self-inflicted suffering. What a silly thing to do! When there is so much beauty, so much love, so much to be grateful for with that energy inside of me instead.

Mental Illness & Culpability

Earlier this week, I did something awful at work which I immediately felt sick with regret and remorse over. Despite, by the grace of God, managing to get away with it, I have spent a lot of time thinking it over. I keep asking myself why did I do it?

Part of me says I did it because I am selfish and callous, cruel even. I didn’t want to have to stay late. I didn’t care about anyone but myself in that moment. Not the client that I could have helped, not my friends and coworkers, not the organization that I’ve come to love. It was more important that I got home on time and maintained my meticulous schedule. Me, me, me. I am just an despicable person.

But another part of me challenges that explanation. If I don’t care, why do I feel so wretched about my actions? Do I only feel guilty because I was worried I’d get caught? I didn’t get caught though. And I still feel terribly ashamed. I also know that logically my actions weren’t even in my best interest. While taking a different path may have still caused me anxiety it wouldn’t have been anywhere near the amount I inflicted on myself by making the choices I did.

Part of me wants to say it isn’t my fault. That I am mentally ill. That I am simply unable to control myself sometimes because of this. I have severe anxiety. I have intense OCD behaviors. These things are manifested in poor decisions and inexplicable actions. I am unwell. This feels more true to me than the idea that I’m just a shitty person who doesn’t care about anyone. But is that only because I’d rather it be true?

I want to take responsibility for my actions though. I don’t want to make up excuses for myself. But I also want people to understand why I sometimes behave in these unforgivable ways. I don’t want it to be a justification, but an acknowledgement that I need help. I guess the culpability comes in when you consider that I know I need help, yet I haven’t made an effort to go ask for it.

After all this thinking though, I started to wonder about other people. Are there even any truly bad people? Or are they just displaying symptoms of mental illness like me? It’s impossible to really know what they are experiencing inside themselves. Many may not even understand what they are experiencing. I don’t think there are evil people in the end. Just sick people that need help. Whether they understand that or not.

I hope I can keep this lesson close to my heart. I hope it can help me do better in the future. Help me be more forgiving, more understanding, less angry, not as quick to pass judgement. Likewise I can only hope others will be able to understand and forgive me for my shortcomings, for my mistakes. And ultimately, I hope I will be able to forgive myself too.

OCD

Today I have a fun excursion planned with my very best friend whom I’ve known since we were in third grade. We’re both 26 now and despite how we’ve both changed, we’ve miraculously managed to stay dear to one another for all of these years. I am constantly humbled by her friendship. I am filled with gratitude knowing that I have such a wonderful, loving person in my life who I share so many poignant memories with.

Given this background, you’d think I would be quite happy and calm this morning, looking forward to our day together. However, I have been on edge since she asked me to hangout today. This flare up of anxiety at the idea of spending time with someone has become a real worry for me. What am I worried about? Well I’m worried because now my rigidly structured day won’t be the same as usual. Ridiculous right?

I woke up extra early today so I could make sure I had enough time to check off all the little boxes that I normally do. Workout, draw, write, read, study Spanish, yoga, meditation, etc. All wonderfully productive and positive things. However, my obsession over making sure that each and every one is accomplished every day no matter what is unhealthy.

I don’t know why it’s always got to be all or nothing with me. It doesn’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things if I skip a day of doing yoga or drawing something. I recognize that this anxiety over not performing these tasks is a symptom of OCD. I don’t know if I’d be diagnosable, but I certainly feel confident saying that I have a lot of obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

I’ve only come to really accept this recently. It is a scary realization. As a psychology student I learned a lot about OCD, and I know if ignored it only continues to escalate. The best way to combat this is to intentionally do (or in my case, not do) the things that your brain is telling you will be negative. This inevitable results in pretty much nothing significant happening and the brain can be reassured that its fears were unfounded.

The problem with OCD is, even though I know all of this, I’m too afraid to implement this plan of action. It seems far easier to just continue on the way I have been, avoiding my anxiety while simultaneously being enslaved by it. Once again, a great reason for me to seek out a therapist that can help me. I hope something comes of me coming back to that idea again and again. Maybe if I think about it enough I’ll eventually build up the courage to make an appointment with someone. For now thinking about it seems like all I’m able to do.