Obsessing

I’m slowly learning more about anxiety. There are a number of specific anxiety disorders (I’ve been labelled with two of them), but in reality symptoms overlap and it seems that anyone with severe anxiety can have a number of symptoms from a variety of categories.

People who live with Bipolar Disorder tend to have accompanying anxiety disorders. For me, my diagnosis of bipolar came with an accompanying diagnosis of Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) and Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD). But really, those categories don’t tell the whole picture.

For years my wife has told me she thinks I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. That is also an anxiety disorder, characterized by obsessive thoughts and compulsions to act on certain behaviours.

Now I don’t have most of the symptoms of this disorder, but it turns out that it is common for people with anxiety to have some of them. A common one is obsessing over intrusive thoughts.

Everyone has intrusive thoughts. But for someone who is anxious, intrusive thoughts can become obsessions.

I obsess over intrusive thoughts, but much less than I used to. When I’m depressed and anxious, a thought might pop into my head like “What if I stepped in front of a bus?” I will feel guilt for even having that idea, and think about it over and over and over, unable to stop, until the it becomes a compulsion. There are techniques I can use now to prevent that. Focusing on something else that requires great effort and total concentration (like who will win “Dancing with the Stars”) is the best one for me.

For as long as I can remember, I have used tiny rituals to prevent bad things from happening. This is also a symptom of anxiety, but is not true OCD. I’ve managed to rid myself of most of these over the years, through self-talk and willpower. But I’ve kept some. I bet you have one or two as well – everyone gets anxious sometimes, and everyone has some sort of superstition.

Here are a few that I still have, but aren’t too bothersome:

-        I cannot have cutlery pointing in my direction.

-        Plates on the table need to have their designs all aligned the same way (plain plates are nice, but we own ones with a pattern).

-        Instead of “knocking on wood” I have to knock on my own bald head three times.

-        If I turn my body completely around one way (say, to the left), the next time I have to turn it the opposite direction, so that I don’t get “wound up.” (Good thing I’m not Zoolander and can turn both ways).

Anxiety is okay sometimes – it’s normal, and doesn’t mean you’re sick. However, when it starts to impair your day-to-day ability to function, then you need some help.

(This website is a great place to start – I just found it, and it looks amazing).

Now I’m going to go and pet the cat twenty times, and make a cup of coffee that fills the cup to exactly two centimetres below the brim.

Don't Be Like Joe!

 

Marjorie, Builder of the Great Pyramid

A lot of people think they have OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). Sometimes they do. If keeping things in order and strictly following routines to the point that it's damaging their relationships and health, then they  should talk to a doctor.

I've met a lot of people, though, who say "I'm totally OCD. I'm obsessed with keeping my refrigerator organized a certain way, and get upset when anyone changes it." That is probably not OCD - it's just a trait. It's like saying, "When's dinner - I'm starving." Being hungry is a trait of starvation, but you're not really starving.

Marjorie was one of my friends in the hospital. She was probably in her late fifties, and really had OCD - badly. When I got my clothing priviledges back, I could have only a couple of changes of things because storage space was limited. There was a washer and dryer in a little room where we could do our laundry.

Marjorie monopolized those machines. Sometimes I would sneak in at night to try and launder my other pair of pants, and she would be there. She would wash the hospital sheets, the curtains, the gowns, anything she might come into contact with.

Every day she would wash her room. Floors, walls, every surface, even under her bed. She would use facecloths and hand soap. And when I say "under the bed," I don't mean the floor. She would lie on her back, working on it like a mechanic on a ferrari. Being so depressed and unmotivated myself, I was astounded by her seemingly endless energy. I wanted to take her home with me for a day and let her clean up my place.

What really bothered her, though, was her ceiling. She told me it was tormenting her - lying on her bed at night, staring up at a place she couldn't reach to clean.

Then one day when I was pacing down the hall she motioned at me to come into her room. "Come in here and help me for a minute! I've figured it out!"

I looked into her room. She had built a precarious looking pyramid out of furniture she had snuck from different parts of the ward.

"I need one more piece of furniture - can you go get one and help me put it on top? I can't reach. Then I can clean my ceiling."

I looked at the wobbly pile of certain injury.

"Sure thing, Marj. I'll find something and be right back."

I walked briskly to the nursing station.

"Excuse me - Marjorie is trying to clean her ceiling."

"She's always trying to clean her ceiling," replied Joy, a nurse I really liked.

"She built a pyramid, and wants my help to finish it," I said.

I've never really seen someone's eyes bulge, but Joy's did. "Shit!" She ran down the hall.

I took Joy's chair and followed her, pushing it in front of me..

"Here's the last piece, Marj - oh, sorry, I'll put this back since you're talking to Joy." I didn't want Marjorie to think that I had betrayed her.

On one hand, I feel good that I helped save her from injury. On the other, I would have loved to help her stabilize that pile of furniture and help her clean the ceiling. That would have been fun.