What I posted last night is a little extreme for me. Part of me can't believe I actually put it online, and I don't know if I'd ever want my friends to read it, but truth is, I'm glad I did. What happened to me was a perfect example of OCD. According to the OCD Foundation, obsessions are unwanted thoughts, images, and impulses that are out of your control, i.e. being unable to stop yourself from thinking about suicide, even though you have a bright future and you love your life.
I don't usually record these episodes, and I've never shared them with anyone, but it happens from time to time. Luckily for me, suicide doesn't come up very often anymore, otherwise I would have a lot more trouble dealing with it. Because the more it shows up, the harder it is to say "no". I held on for years during my hair obsession, trying to convince myself that my hair actually was harmless and pretty, instead of a disgusting, revolting monster with a mind of its own, determined to make me look horrible and make my face itch because it wouldn't behave and stay where it was supposed to. When it started reoccurring daily, I gave in and cut it off, but thankfully not all of it. Now I ignore it as best as I can, choosing to avoid even touching it if possible, and I refuse to even trim it until it at least reaches my shoulders. I even went a month or two, pinning it out of my face every day, so I wouldn't have to think about it.
That's just one example of one of my obsessions, and it's the only one I can think of that I've caved on. I get plenty of other random, unwanted thoughts in my head, but they're not as drastic. For instance, I cuss a lot in my head. And I hate it. There are so many better, less vulgar ways to express myself, and when I'm speaking out loud, I would never, ever swear. But it keeps happening in my head, and it makes me really upset. And then when I'm upset, I'm prone to even more cussing, so it just feeds on itself.
Another reoccurring unwanted, uncontrollable thought is one that certain mistakes feel like the end of the world. The first time I remember this happening, I was probably eleven or twelve. I accidentally broke a plastic pitcher of water while my mom was out. When she came home, she found me apologizing and sobbing hysterically.
I don't know if this is specifically OCD or not, but this kind of thing happens to me every few years, to every few months, depending on how stressful my life is at the time. Surprisingly enough, it only happened once during my first semester away from home, as far as I can remember, and it even kind of makes sense (at least, more than breaking a $20 Brita filter). I was about to leave the apartment for my English midterm, when I realized I didn't have the "blue book" I needed to take the test, so I went back inside to look for it (I had bought it well in advance, so I wouldn't forget). I couldn't find it. As the minutes ticked on, I got more and more hysterical, crying so hard I couldn't see anymore, searching everything in my room over and over again. Thankfully, my sister was living with me at the time, and she got me to stop crying long enough to explain the situation, and break the loop I was stuck in. (In case you were wondering, I missed the midterm, but it wasn't too late to drop the class.)
Another time, it happened because I had lost my driver's license. I don't know why I thought it was the end of the world, since my mom could drive me to work or school or whatever I needed until I got a replacement, but when I couldn't find it in my room, or in the car, I started crying so hard I couldn't even breath.
Now, before you think that I'm just a whiny, teary-eyed, little emo girl, I want to explain to you some more of my personality. Growing up, it always felt inherently wrong to express any emotion, except for happiness. It's not surprising: in our society, it's frowned upon to have angry fits, or to cry in public, and I'm sure that many people feel that way. I just took it a step farther. I couldn't even let my family see that side of me. It would have felt like I was walking around naked in front of everybody, and it's just something you don't do. I don't cry when I stub my toe or get a splinter. I don't cry if someone insults me, even if it's in front of a lot of people. I didn't cry at my Grandma's funeral (although, I did cry at my Grandpa's. I was really proud of myself for behaving like a normal human being). I don't cry in public. I just don't. On the rare occasions I needed to cry, I would lock myself in my room, and cover my mouth and nose, so no one could hear me. I'm not allowed to complain. I'm not allowed show weakness. So, if people see me cry, then that's because there is something horribly, horribly wrong.
Like a broken plastic pitcher.
Thanks to the stresses of adulthood, I've been doing a lot more crying over the last few months, and it seems to be the most appropriate time to start seeing a therapist. Either he'll help me to stop having mental breakdowns, or he'll help me be okay with letting other people see my problems. I'm okay with either one, as long as I'm not stuck where I am now.
Penny
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