Walking in the Shoes of OCD

In April, 2016, I wrote, “My theory returns that ultimately we are all alone. It's not reasonable to expect someone to save you. Everyone is already trying to save themselves. No one is coming to my rescue. That's just how it works. What does it take to have someone cradle you in their arms for hours and let you sob because nothing makes sense? There's no formula to achieve this. We all want to be loved. But it won't happen because people help when it's convenient for them. It won't happen because it's not realistic to expect that from someone.” I can see where I was coming from. But my mindset is so different now. I can see what a difference we can make for someone else, whether in the moment or years later.  Looking back, I think I must have had some level of depression. I was functional enough to work but I counted down the days. I remember longing to be able to just sleep. I remember the split second of forgetting my mental state when I’d wake up, only f...

This morning I felt completely defeated. This evening I drove alone for the first time in over 6 months.  Nice little juxtaposition to wrap up the day.  The intention to drive was there pre-trigger. After all, the faceless passenger had just been created. And, notably, this morning's trigger had nothing to do with driving.  I used the morning's heartache to ensure I committed to getting behind that wheel.  If I was going to be sobbing and checking and hiding and ruminating, I would get behind that wheel.  I'm reminded that driving is not the enemy. OCD is the enemy.  And while I've learned the content of obsessions doesn't matter, right now, I need to externalize the subtypes I experience. With monsters.  I snapped this photo of my homemade monster after arriving at my destination. Then I upped her evil factor.   Shout out to  Catherine . Meeting Olivia has been helpful.

If I'm going to drive, I'm driving with a monster. I will create a monster. I need a monster if I'm going to start driving again. The monster is with me anyway. She's been my faceless passenger for years, breathing fear into the steering wheel, dread onto the dashboard. Today I have chosen to give her form. Just not a face. She doesn't need a face. Her presence speaks volumes, doubt and dread on overdrive. Her dialogue, relentless: Watch out. There's a person on the sidewalk. What if you hit them? Check and make sure they're still on the sidewalk. Was that them? Was that someone else? What if it was someone running to get help? What if you just hit the pedestrian? You're getting closer to that a car parked on the side of the road. A child could dart out. What if a child darts out and you kill the child? Be careful. Drive slow. Check to make sure you didn't hit a child. Can you be sure? What if you just hit a child? There's an...

Have you tested your OCD radar lately? People are announcing that they are 100% OCD because, according to the quiz instructions, " OCD free people" will look at the below shapes and see them all as identical. The quiz tempts you to discover whether your "OCD radar" can spot the difference.  Sure, there's a disclaimer, a disclaimer that it was "created for amusement and is not diagnostic in any way." There are many things wrong with that statement, the most glaring being that doing a doing a test for a serious medical condition is fun . People don't appreciate how it's akin to that same quiz claiming to test one's cancer radar. People don't make the connection because they say things like "I'm sooo OCD" or "I can be a bit OCD when it comes to cleaning." People. Don't. Get. It. OCD used to be known as the doubting disease but do people know this? Doubtful. Why on earth would it be called the ...

I considered skipping the International OCD Foundation's annual conference this year. Initially, I thought I learned what I needed from the previous two conferences I had under my belt. My confidence was short-lived after a driving trigger that left me feeling like I had started over from scratch. I felt resentment towards the treatment for OCD, resentment towards the professionals treating OCD, resentment towards the creation of vehicles. A professional told me that I had to work on the hit-and-run OCD as it would just morph into another form. I didn't like the answer. I asked another professional: same answer. I asked a third professional: same answer. It wasn't until a friend posed the question to me, "but couldn't OCD impact you just walking from point A to B?" "Of course not!"  But then a light bulb went off. My mind took me back to a few years ago when walking down a sidewalk was stressful, back to a time when peripheral vision felt l...

OCD is not a meme. It's 3 letters that should be seen, for the reality of what can feel like tragedy. "I'm so OCD." Self-proclamations knock me to my knees. An injustice to the torment, the terrorizing dread. You don’t recognize its breadth. "I'm so OCD." Said with such glee, thrown on like an accessory. While there's me, an uninterrupted factory, custom orders of fear and guilt, stitched together like a quilt. That's my accessory. Let’s make a trade. Maybe then you’ll be swayed, and realize the adjective needs to be slayed. Try it on for size, think of all that dies. Try on being a pawn, think of everything that could go wrong. Wrap my quilt around you, let it concoct its brew. Breathe in the suffocation, exhale the damnation. The castration of hope. A slippery slope. Am I out of your scope? “I’m so OCD.” Is it still your choice accessory?

A brief tutorial before the fictional short story that follows: Harm OCD takes various forms. An example is a person with OCD who feels it is their responsibility to protect people from items they think might cause others harm.  No, I'm not talking about seeing a used syringe and taking the appropriate safety precautions to dispose of it. I'm talking about something like a small rock. Seeing a small rock on the pavement could lead to catastrophic thinking for someone with this form of OCD. Their mind might race to thoughts like, "Is that rock sharp? What if it has jagged edges? What if someone kicks it and it hits them in the eye? What if they go blind? I have to move the rock. It will be my fault if I don't move the rock." OCD doesn't care about logic. It wants you to worry and take action to keep it satisfied.  Waves and the stereotypical surfer are home to Venice Beach. Before you hit the boardwalk, I promise you'll spot the blonde locks and accompa...

I was recently triggered by my hit-and-run OCD. No. That doesn't begin to describe it. OCD recently crushed my soul. It's incredibly isolating and depressing. I feel like a murderer who got away with a heinous crime. I have the urge to turn myself in but over what? A "feeling" of hitting someone, a "sense" that I ran someone over. Cop: where did it happen? It didn't. Cop: what did you do? I didn't do anything. Arrest me just in case? The feelings are so intense that they make me doubt myself. Maybe the feelings are right. Maybe they're on to something. Maybe something did happen. Maybe I don't remember. Then the urge to figure it out saunters in: Just think, Melanie. Just replay the situation over in your mind so you can know for sure that you're not a murderer. Then logic pipes in its two cents: Don't do it. It's a compulsion. You know it. Don't give in. So I surrender to feelings of indescribable heartache...

Her emotions riot as her words run scared, recoiling at the weight of her fear. Emotions, like thieves of her native tongue, dotting I's and crossing T's with gasoline. Emotions, her matchstick. Taunting, ready to strike. Emotions ignite the blaze that renders words useless, absent. Language burning in the flames. Emotions, her exhibition.

Today I decided to document my stream of consciousness for the morning (from 6:30am-8:30am), with a brief snippet from last night. Here's all the fun : Laying in bed before falling asleep: I'm not tired.  I'm never going to sleep again. My body has its own rhythm but gotta do the 9 to 5 thing. Why does my mind keep flashing to scary images? Why do I feel so out of it? Why does it feel like my mind is controlling me? Am I developing schizophrenia? Laying in bed before waking up: Gotta relax my tense legs. I should get up and exercise. I eat enough junk that exercise will balance it out. But I'm so tired. I'll only have enough energy to get through the work day and then I'll be exhausted all evening. *thinking back to last nights debate* I'm glad Rob Ford isn't the laughing stock of Canada anymore. It's good Canada is maintaining a perfect image. What is perfect? There's probably many awful things I don't know about. How am I going to have ...

She will nourish them, but do not nourish her. The trend of invalidation engulfs the masses. It's a blowout sale and all emotions must go. So she became an alchemist, Cultivating empathy to heal the epidemic. Offering sips of silence to honour experiences. Leaving problems unsolved. Letting feelings simmer. For them. Not when she needs a sip. Not when empathy's a blowout sale. Not when everything must go. The deal of the day is time limited support, Running low on validation, Albeit an inventory of good intentions. So she will nourish them, but do not nourish her.

Almost a year ago, when I texted my mom that my husband and I chose Mexico as our second Caribbean destination, she replied: where in Mexico? Me: Mayan Riviera. No response. I waited. And waited. I wasn't even dot watching. Then in came her reply: you're 1200 miles away from the drug lords. Wait. Was 1200 miles an acceptable barrier when it came to drug lords? I checked the Canadian Travel Advisory website which greeted me with a "high degree of caution" warning for the overall country. Our destination was less bold as it had not been "significantly affected by violence or insecurity." So, moderately affected? And then there was El Chapo. But he wasn't spring break bound. Or was he? Regardless, I was willing to take the risk. I wasn't travelling to the Middle East. Sure, Mexico might have felt scarier than our first love, Saint Lucia, but, unless the advisory changed to "avoid all non-essential travel," I was going. My yo...

My husband and I created a little something in honour of OCD awareness and inspired from the Christmas season for Dr. Baer's website. Check it out  here

Below is the response I posted on a local radio's Facebook page regarding the Target sweater controversy. I have OCD.   I wholeheartedly embrace humour. Heck, I make jokes about my OCD. I make jokes to bring some lightness to a disease that can be so debilitating. People often say "I'm soooo OCD" because they enjoy a clean house or they enjoy having things in order. OCD is not about enjoying having things in order. If there's enjoyment involved, it's not OCD. OCD involves intense emotions like fear, guilt, regret and anxiety. People do compulsions in attempt to find relief from the torment they are experiencing. In reference to the Target sweater, I've noticed a lot of people saying things like "get over it," or " i t's the Internet. Everyone is going to be offended by something." To me it's not about being offended. It's about feeling passionately about raising awareness regarding a mental illness that has many stereo...

It was a typical morning, feeding the cats and eating my oatmeal.  Typical, until I read a text from a friend reporting on her journey. I've witnessed the overwhelming doubt that has thrown her off balance. I've witnessed her adjust to situations, adapt to the cruel yoga poses assigned by OCD. Her text that morning was an example of her maneuvering into a new pose, a pose that worked for her.  So I grabbed a pen and notepad and scribbled this out:  Doubt was known to topple her, the unsteady territory of courage revealing cracks in her armor.  She feared the Richter Scale as fragments of hope shattered around her.  With the dulled glimmer that remained, she mapped out blueprints to board up her soul.  But she never let it become an earthquake.  Beside the dictatorship of doubt lay a fighter. She didn't need the armor.  She was the armor.  I later realized I also wrote it for me . How is ...