Introduction

Hello world!  Penny here.
In case you hadn't noticed the title, I think I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  If you don't know what that is, and you don't want to watch the show "Monk", basically, my brain tells me I'm in danger, but it doesn't know why, so it makes up reasons.  For instance:

Brain: You're in danger!
Me: Why?
Brain: Because... you... are about to eat bread with nuts in it...
Me: But, I'm not allergic to nuts.
Brain: But nuts in bread is icky!
Me: Oh my gosh!  How could this happen?  I'm obviously going to die!

I don't think I'm going to die.  In fact, I know I'm not going to die.  But my brain is telling me that doing "that thing", whatever it is, is very, very bad.  And how can you ignore your brain?

The reason why I've created this blog, is that recent events have forced me to get a therapist.  I haven't met him or her yet, and I don't know what to expect.  But I do know that something has to change.  I've talked to a total of two people (count 'em, two) about what I've been through in the past, and some of the compulsions that I have.  But that's it.  My whole life, I've had anxiety haunting me, and compulsions controlling me, but I could never talk about it, to anyone.  Why?  Well, the first reason is that I was afraid.  Surprise!  Apparently, my anxiety doesn't want me to tell people that I need help.  Go figure.

But as I've gone along, I've realized that if I pretend as though I'm not scared, pretend that nothing's wrong, then if someone asks me why I won't do something, I have no excuse, and I have to do it.  And then when I do it, I find out that it wasn't so bad, and it isn't so hard to do it the next time.  Example:

Teacher: Penelope, could you sing a solo in front of the class, please?
Me: No...
Teacher: Why?
Me: I... Uh... Okay... I'd totally love to do this terrifying and potentially embarrassing thing for you!
Two minutes later
Me: Hey, I'm not dead!  Maybe it wasn't so bad, after all!

This isn't exactly an exaggeration.  I'm a singer, and this kind of thing actually does happen to me.  Over the past year I've been studying opera and performance.  As in, I get up, on stage, in front of actual people, and sing stuff.  In Italian.  You may ask, how do I do this, with an at-times paralyzing fear as a constant companion?  See the above paragraph.  Conquering fear is a process, that takes step after agonizing step.  There is no magic cure for stage fright, there just isn't.  You just have to get up there, sing your lungs out, try not to throw up, and then do it again the next day, and the next, and the next.  By the end of the year, I was almost completely comfortable up on stage, (which is a miracle in and of itself) because I went and did it every single day.  Unfortunately, it's been two months since I finished up school, and I fear that it'll be back to day one, when I finally get back up there.

Mini-tangent over.  My point is, if I didn't allow myself to talk about it, then I got over it, temporarily.  Ever since I started telling my family about this part of me, I feel like I've got a pass.

Lil sis: I'm not feeling good, could you go to the store and get me some bread?
Me: Sorry, that would involve me leaving the house, alone, talking to strangers, and spending money, all of which are scary.

Mom: Could you clean the toilet for me? I'll pay you a dollar.
Me: Germs?  Um, no...

Big sis: I'm so full, could you finish this nutty bread for me?
Me: AGH!

(These are hypothetical situations.  My mom doesn't usually pay me for chores, and I can't see a situation in which Big sis would share her food with me)  If I just sucked it up, I would have helped out my sister, earned a dollar, and save time making lunch.  But I don't, because they know that I'm OCD.  Like I said: if I let people know if I'm weak or scared or sick, then I'll never know how strong I am.  Nobody knows what challenges I've had to face doing "normal", "everyday" things, because I don't tell them it's a challenge.  For my first job, I worked in a restaurant.  Nobody knew this, but every single day, for seven months, I prayed in the bathroom before I clocked in.  I was terrified.  I didn't even know for sure what I was afraid of, but I knew that I was.  This is what it's like to live with anxiety.  But I did it, I saw myself get stronger and braver than I ever had, because I didn't tell people that I wanted to pee my pants over the job I had already been doing for seven months.

I don't want to tell my family and friends that I'm scared.  That I have to have things a certain way, or else I'll freeze up in fear.  But I have to tell someone.  So, I'll tell you, complete stranger.  I guarantee you don't know me.  Penelope is just a pen name (get it?  Pen name?), born from punniness and my fear of being found on the internet.  I hope other people out there find it, those who have OCD, or other anxiety disorders, or those who know someone with this burden.  I'll share with you the discoveries I make, about myself, about my disorder, about life, as I work with my new therapist, with my family, and myself.  I'd like to hear from you, and your experiences.  It helps to know we're not alone.

Until next time,
PENny