Cans - Another One Bites The Dust

Hello Friends:

It's been ages ... again ... since I posted.  This year has been a slow one for the blog, but that's okay.  Maybe I'll just put ten posts up in December.  :)  I've been away from the blog both because of good times and bad.  Usually the down times make me write, but for some reason this year I've been away no matter how I felt.  Weird.

Anyway, what I really wanted to write about today was a continuing triumph.  I have once again triumphed over can.  If you want the gory details about my OCD issues with cans, you can check up on two previous posts, "Cans are Scary" and "Triumph Over Can."  That's the starting point for me tackling yet another can.

Pumpkin seems to be the motivator.  It is pumpkin which calls to me so strongly that I just have to go to it.  I do not eat canned beans.  No, I will go through the trouble of buying them dry and soaking them overnight and then cooking them forever.  I do not eat canned tomatoes.  Again, I will buy them fresh and go through the process of removing the skins and saucing them myself.  Both of these endeavors are time consuming, and although they make for a good end product, they are a enough of a pain that I do not have either beans or tomato dishes nearly as much as I would like.  It really would be so much easier if I just could eat the canned versions.

But I can't.  Yet.  Big emphasis on yet.  There was a time I would have said never.  Absolutely never would I willingly open and eat from a can.  But once again, pumpkin has called to me, and another can has, as they say, bitten the dust.

It is pie that is doing it.  Why doesn't my grocery store consistently carry pumpkin pie?  Even this time of year you can't be certain there will be pumpkin pies in the bakery.  This is madness.  I love pumpkin pie, and will happily eat the stuff year round.  Now, I understand if it is unrealistic of me to want my bakery to produce pumpkin pies all year.  Fine.  But where is my pumpkin pie now?  It is practically Thanksgiving.  And I certainly will have pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving.

So, yes, I bought cans of pumpkin.  I could have gone through the cooking-pumpkin-from-scratch process, but even I find that tedious.  Two cans of pumpkin.  And I even have a can opener from a previous need to crack into a can of pumpkin.  Took a while to find it.

It was all strangely easy.  It sort of had a dreamy feel to it.  I opened a can of pumpkin.  It looked fine.  I used it.  The pie smelled heavenly while it was cooking because I over-spice my pies with my entire spice cabinet.  Especially cloves, allspice, and ginger.  The place really smelled like Thanksgiving.  Wow.  Pie came out and cooled a bit.  And then I ate a piece.  Just like that.  I felt a twinge or two.  Ate it anyway.  Had a twinge or two when I was going to bed, but I always have trouble at bedtime, so I ignored it.

And here I am.  One day post pie.  Not quite.  I just had a tiny sliver with breakfast.  It is pretty @&$% good.  Have I mentioned how much I love pumpkin pie?  And now I can make my own, whenever I want.  Wow, I feel empowered - empowered to make pie, and empowered in another triumph over OCDs.  

Your Hostess With Neuroses
 
Image credit/info:  Picture taken by me of a pie that certainly won't last long.

So What is My Civic Duty When Sick, Anyway?

Woman pretending to
contemplate mask.

Hello Friends:

So okay, after my last post I kinda feel like the universe is having a bit of a joke with me.  I am now the sicky.  And I'm back on the train.  Yep.  No, I'm not wearing a mask, but I swear I know how to use a tissue, and I also use handiwipes constantly.  Still, I would not be offended at all if you chose to sit next to someone else.

In fact, I sort of wish the woman who would not get off her cell phone had done just that, instead of smiling, sitting next to me in the quiet car, and then proceeding to chatter away.

Anyway, in my last post I was talking about how everyone on the train was sick but me, and now there is some turn around for that.  I am sick, and feeling guilty that I am out in the world.  But for the moment, it seems to be a mild cold, and I can't justify not getting on the train and getting back home, as scheduled.  Nobody wants to sit around hundreds of miles from home in a different city.  That's what I'm telling myself, anyway.

So the ride is this strange combination of good and bad.  On one hand, I don't feel that same fear of all the other sick passengers, because, well, now I am one of them.  I caught a bug and now it is sort of like there is nothing to fear.  But on the other hand, I'm feeling guilty that I'm here at all, and not in fact wearing a mask.  I guarantee I'm not coughing or sneezing all over, really, but is that an excuse?

This obsessive thinking about this ... well, I know it is just another aspect of the OCD and anxiety disorders.  I ended last week saying I needed to learn to be more compassionate.  I know I need to learn that compassion for myself.  It seems to be the hardest person to feel compassionate towards.

Okay, except for the ladies on the cell phones in the quiet car.  I'm having serious trouble with compassion for that.  But I'm even making a go at it, because, well, people are people and we are all in this together.  (I mean, who isn't doing their civic duty, here, me or them?  What is the more anti-social thing, no mask or constant chatter in a quiet space?  Why sit in the quiet car if ... wait, I'm ranting again.)

So I'm not sure what the point of this post was.  First, I guess, to express that strange feeling of being sick, and so not having to be afraid of getting sick anymore.  And then to talk about that guilty feeling and sense of social duty.  Am I making the people around me as anxious as they were making me last week?  I'd feel rotten about that.  And where is the line of civic responsibility, anyway?  Masks aren't common in the US, but aren't a bad idea.  Of course OCD wants a definitive answer.  A final ruling about exactly how I should act when I'm sick.  There is no such thing.

How about I just keep up with the good use of tissues and handiwipes?  And maybe try some more compassion for myself, and for the others on the train.  Even ... ahem ... cell phone users in the freaking quiet car.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: Woman with Mask, Photoxpress.

Please Use Tissues, Thank You

Stock photo of perfectly well
person pretending to be sick.
Note proper use of tissue.

Hello Friends:

So everyone on my train is sick but me.  Okay, that's not literally true.  This is just that OCD feeling one gets when one travels.  Every sniffle, sneeze, and cough is a sign of impending plague.  I don't want the plague.

To back up a little - I'm on a train because I hate flying.  I still fly, as you know, but when traveling up and down the east coast corridor, I make use of the much less terrifying train system.  I also make use of trains if my ears are being finicky, since if they are the least bit stuffed they will not pop on flights.  I imagine that a lot of people feel that way, and so they will take the train not just because they don't want to fly, but because they are congested and can't fly.

Thus we have the present situation.  Constant coughing, sneezing, hacking, etc.  People who need to travel but can't fly.  People who shouldn't be traveling but think the train is easier so it will be okay.  Plus the usual random people who have non-flu related coughs from smoking or asthma or whatever.

Sigh.

It not only brings on feelings of fear, but also of another OCD kind of guilt.

Since I have needle trauma from the past, as well as contamination fears, I have yet to be able to make myself get a flu shot, ever.  This is one of those OCD quandries we are all too familiar with.  Do the scary thing to avoid the scary thing, maybe?  Or just deal with that first scary thing head on?  Neither sounds good.  Sometimes we choose to do the one, sometimes the other.

I look on vaccination, for example, as a civic duty, and so feel somewhat similarly about the flu shot.  Which means I feel like my OCDs are keeping me from doing my social duty.  I hate that.  But as you know, OCD is a powerful beast.  No matter how hard I try, I can't make myself get that flu shot.

So here on am on the train, feeling scared and wondering why people who are that sick are on this train after all.  I am a firm believer that sick people should not work or travel.  They should rest and get better.  But I'm also a realist, so I understand that this isn't always, or even often, possible.  Real life is what it is, and sometimes that means not being able to take a break even when we are ill.

Given my lack of flu shot I sort of feel like I don't have a right to gripe about sick travelers, anyway.  Then I feel the other way about it, and figure that is a whole 'nuther animal.  Maybe they could at least wear those mask things so they don't cough their germs all over amtrak?

Perhaps I just need to learn more compassion and acceptance, for them and for myself.  We are all doing the best we can, and my (possibly) getting sick or not is not a comment on them or me, and/or if we are following our civic duty.  Sometimes sick just happens.

It would be nice if it happened later ... much later.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info:  Girl Health Frame, Photoexpress.

Book Review: I Hardly Ever Wash My Hands - The Other Side of OCD by J.J. Keeler

Hello Friends:

Yes, I too am on the book-tour wagon-train for "I Hardly Ever Wash My Hands - The Other Side of OCD" by J.J. Keeler!

This book gets 3.8 out of a possible 5 "wings" from Your Adventure Hostess.  I know, I said I wouldn't split wings on book reviews, but I really had to for this one.  Three was way too low, and four was a touch too high.  So 3.8 it is.

Full disclosure - I was asked to review this book, and then I was sent a copy.  I haven't read any other reviews of this book (yet), either on websites or other blogs.  Everything in this review is only my opinion.  I am not a medical professional (that is actually a fact, not just opinion :)

Some of What's in the Book

"Other Side" (as I shall call this book) is 173 pages long, with 11 interesting chapters having such names as "When AIDS Came Out" and "The Bomb In My Teddy Bear."  It is not an informational book per se, but a memoir of one person's experience with OCD.  As the title suggests, it presents lesser known aspects of the illness.  Hand washing is often connected with OCD, but straight obsessions and intrusive thoughts are just as much a part.  No one has all the possible symptoms and manifestations of OCD - how it can present in any individual can be very surprising, even to another sufferer.
 
What I Liked

Given my own use of humor as a coping mechanism, it does not surprise me that I enjoyed the humor in this book.  Keeler's humor ranges from silly to ironic to emotional, and it almost always serves to enhance whatever is being discussed.  The humor starts on the first page of the prologue, and had me chuckling right away.  "Why am I telling you all this?  You're not my therapist.  Unless my therapist is reading this.  In that case, hello."   

The tone is friendly and approachable.  Keeler writes sincerely about her experiences, and does not leave out the painful or difficult moments.  She does not pull punches, "Still, no mental illness is a picnic - unless you tend to picnic in the depths of Hell."

There were several sentences and phrases that sounded like the voice in my head - the experiences were so similar to those I have, myself.  "I became obsessed with getting AIDS by merely walking." For me, just hearing the word ... wow, I can hardly write it ... 'rabies' ... makes me catch it (as I've noted in the blog here on more than one occasion).

"Other Side" goes into excruciating, agonizing detail about how an intrusive thought pops up, and then all the machinations a person goes through to try to deal with it.  The fear alone is horrifically disabling, and the behaviors can utterly consume your life.  It is one of the aspects of OCD that is so hard to explain - that it completely overwhelms and completely controls - and that it causes terrible pain in the process.

I give props to the publisher for taking this manuscript.  I think honest, even-handed books about mental illness from a sufferer's perspective remain too few.  It's nice to see one like this.  Also, I simply like this publisher in general because of some of their more unusual, even experimental, titles.
 
What I Didn't Like

The "Random OCD Facts" that show up needed to highlight more important points about OCD.  I found them superfluous, and even distracting, i.e., "Random OCD Fact Number 4:  OCD can interfere with the ability to sleep."

The short intermission chapter "It's Not Always OCD" seemed out of place, and even misleading.  The chapter provides a list of topics/issues that ostensibly "have nothing to do with mental illness or really anything else."  The first on the list is Keeler's fear of spiders.  Given that I have an acute Specific Phobia of spiders that plays directly into my General Anxiety Disorder, I disagree that it does not relate to mental illness, at least for me personally.  I say this even stronger for number seven on the list where the author states "I am very afraid of getting rabies."  The "R" even comes up again in number nine.  Given my own terror of the big "R" I was unhappy both to see it listed as "having nothing to do with mental illness" as well as the author's apparent denial that this may be another aspect of her own OCD.  The whole list is so tinged with anxiety disorder issues I'm wondering if I missed a key bit of irony about the entire chapter.  Still, I found it alienating and wished the intermission had not been in the book.

The tone of the book is a bit too chatty for me.  I found I had to force myself to read some of the lengthy setups and exposition for certain scenarios, instead of jumping ahead to find out "the point."  Sometimes "the point" was not enough of a payoff to feel as though reading through the background was justified. 

I simply did not find enough scholarly references to back up some of the main points.  I don't mean to imply that a memoir needs to be written by a psychologist.  It is that when statements are made without scientific data or scholarly reference, then they are entirely subjective to the writer.  It was disconcerting for me to read statements directed towards OCD in general that were not grounded in data (remember, I'm a scientist, so my own bias is freely noted.)  I might simply be too jaded after decades of dealing with my OCD's, but I think this book will be of most help to those just beginning to deal with their own OCDs.  Many of us who have been in the trenches of therapy for decades might find less meat (data, new ideas, innovative approaches to coping) here to chew on. 

Overall, the text felt somewhat unpolished, as if it needed one more edit to remove some extra verbiage, smooth the flow from one idea or section to the next, and to ensure a consistent voice.

Summary and Final Comments

There are many people who have OCD symptoms like those discussed in this memoir (me included) and who have not found many sources of validation.  "Other Side" helps those sufferers validate their experience in an accessible, often humorous, and always sincere way.  The book is particularly powerful when discussing harming obsessions.  I personally thought "Other Side" would have been improved by a more scholarly treatment, as well as a more informed tone of voice, but others will prefer it exactly as it is.

Side note - Sometimes I do not understand publishers.  Book covers are really very important.  This cover is not appropriate for the book.  It attempts to make literal the figurative language in the title, but does so by sacrificing readability and any coherent link between the design elements.  I also thought it wasn't a good idea to put hands being washed on the cover, when that is exactly what the book is not about.  So many other designs, symbols, and even fonts would have had greater impact, and helped convey the true themes and emotion of the book.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info:  Front cover of "I Hardly Ever Wash My Hands" from Paragon House

Feeling Better, Getting my Butt Kicked, Still Going

Hello Friends:

So my anxieties kicked my butt royally this fourth of July.  I'm still upset about it.  I had really been doing pretty well.  Camping, going to the store, travel ... it was all looking pretty good.  I figured attending a fourth of July party wouldn't be too much to ask.

Wrong.

It doesn't seem like it should matter that much, but I was really upset.  I had been planning to go for two weeks.  I sent back a very enthusiastic 'yes' to the invitation.  I was even thinking about what I wanted to chat about with the hostess, what to bring, and that I would certainly have fun.  Their house isn't too far from the DC fireworks, so that was going to be an added bonus.

But it didn't happen.  For three nights leading up to the fourth, I didn't sleep.  I didn't know what was bothering me, which is crazy in retrospect.  I was obviously totally stressed out about this party.  Going into DC on the fourth is a bit nutso, anyway, what with the crowds, the Metro breaking down, no parking, hours in stop and go traffic, etc. etc.  That is on top of the usual party stresses, like not knowing anyone and not being able to eat any of the food because of OCD issues.  Still, I didn't realize I was totally freaking out until that morning.

I got up on the fourth and was terrified.  I couldn't beat the feeling.  I tried a bunch of my different coping mechanisms, but kept finding myself back up in bed, shivering.  Scared.  Feeling very trapped.  Took me a few hours to admit the situation and leave a message that I wouldn't be coming to the party after all.  It really, really hurt.  I spent the afternoon in tears.  It is so different from that depression thing, where you don't want to go anywhere.  My depression is under control right now.  I wanted to go.  It was all of the anxiety disorders that stopped me this time.  So frustrating.  I don't know how to describe it, but I'll bet you understand.

My spouse was very supportive, as always.  He was disappointed that we didn't go to the party, but he went out and got us some beer, hot dogs, chips, and ice cream so we could have our own little party.  Then we watched the fireworks online.  I love fireworks.  I hope I can see them in person next year.  Seeing them online when you'd rather be out is a little pathetic.

Still, I don't want to end on a downer, because a few days later I had a much more positive experience.  My spouse is a huge baseball fan, and does not get to go to as many games as he'd like because I have anxiety issues with the crowds, the food, the dirt and grime, and all the rest.  But a friend had invited us along with a small group to a box suite.  Wow.  Never been in one of those boxes before.  Wow.  The idea of being able to see a game in a sort of nice, isolated situation had a lot of appeal.

So we went out to the game.  Still had to deal with the crowds getting in, but once we were in the box.  Well.  Wow.  Air conditioning.  Our own area for concessions.  The place is carpeted.  Our own set of seats outside, with a railing to set them off.  Right behind home plate.  Our own bathroom!!  I'll say that again ... our own bathroom!!  It was truly awesome.

I am now spoiled for life.  I'll probably not get the chance again, and any other game I attend will just not compare.  I'd never imagined that going to a baseball game could be so low-anxiety.  It felt so good to be able to get out and see some friends after my disappointment two days earlier.  I wonder if I'll ever be able to make myself deal with being one of the normals again.  Wow.

Anyway, I hope your fourth, and this first part of July have been treating you well!

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: Fireworks, bayassa, Flikr via Creative Commons CC 2.0

Normal People Go Camping, Right?

Yeah, looks like a nice horse, doesn't it?  Don't be fooled ...

Hello Friends: 

So this is a sort of rhetorical question, because I've already done a lot of camping, myself.  So I know that there are plenty of people who consider camping to be a normal, wholesome activity.  It was something I really enjoyed as a kid, and I still want to be able to camp as an adult.  I want to do what the normals do.

Of course, when I was a kid, the water didn't have Giardia, the mosquitoes didn't have West Nile, and the ticks didn't have Lyme.  Ah, those heady by-gone days ...

Continuing my overall plan and lifestyle of Doing Things Even If I Think They Are Going To Kill Me, I went camping with a group of friends last week.  Problem number one is the need to protect oneself from the previously mentioned mosquitoes and ticks.  The best way to do this is to spray oneself all over with DEET.  Which is, ahem, poisonous.  This is really part of my problem with a lot of things - I am afraid of condition A, but condition B, required to fix condition A, also scares the crap out of me.

So, I weighed my fear of bug diseases against my fear of spray poison - ended up deciding I'd rather be covered in DEET than in ticks, if only from the aesthetic perspective.  The problem (as if there is just the one) is that there is no guarantee.  Never a guarantee, and as you know, if there is one thing OCD really, really wants it is a guarantee.  If you use the DEET, then you don't get Lyme disease - but it is just not that easy.

Still, I sprayed down my shoes, socks, pants and a bit of other territory, and made sure I was wearing light colored clothing and a white hat.  That's supposed to be so that you can find the ticks easier, but I have to say I was trying really hard at first not to see any bugs at all.  Not productive, I know, but it is what it is.

Things went generally okay, with us doing some nice hikes, lunch, side stop at a brewery, etc.  I was struggling a little, but hanging in there.  And then we made our way to the campsite.

We were camping in a place I'd only heard about, but never seen.  I'd always wanted to go there, ever since I was a little kid and all my friends were reading "Misty of Chincoteague" and "Misty of Assateague."  I was amazed to realize that there were wild horses really living on an island on the East Coast.  At that age I'd hardly even learned about mustangs in the West.

It has always been an evocative image ... wild horses roaming about the beach sands.  We arrived, pitched our tents amidst about a bazillion other campers, and I wondered if we'd be lucky enough to see a horse.  We'd only be there one night.  I imagined these majestic ponies, shy, timid, startling at the least sound, running in small groups in the distance, backlit by the sun as they passed by the sea grasses.

OMG.  Have you been there?  Wrong.  Wrong wrong wrong.

The horses travel in gangs.  They travel in gangs of five to ten, right up the road of the camp, plodding away, $h!ting and pissing as they go.  They have utterly no fear of humans, and waltz right up to tents and cars, looking for goodies.  They have learned how to open coolers, and tear open bags of chips.  I know this because one of our group was forced to fend off an invasion as the rest of us went to see the sun over the ocean.  Fortunately she had actually helped raise horses as a child, and had some idea of how to get them out of the camp.  In the end, she actually had to push one out of the food.

That was the point at which the rest of us came back, and saw horse poop all over the place, torn bags, and the ruins of blue corn chips all over the ground.  And my friend there, telling us the story and PICKING TICKS OFF OF HER SHIRT.  Yes.  She wasn't even surprised.  She said, "Oh, yeah.  The horses are covered with ticks.  I had to put my hand on one and the ticks jumped on me, instead."

I sort of lost it at this point.  I was capable of dealing (marginally) with relatively known risks.  The ground has bugs, so use a tarp under the tent.  Mosquitoes fly, so use some bug spray.  The outside world is gross and dirty, so use lots of handiwipes.  Whatever.  But the horses added a dimension I was not prepared to cope with - a moving, changing dimension.  So, you've checked to make sure there is no horse poop behind you?  Well, that's going to change.  Was that a good place to put the tent?  Not anymore, because there is a horse standing on the tarp.  That kind of thing.

So I had the choice of taking some Ativan, drinking a bunch of wine, or leaping into the car and not coming out.  I chose the wine.  I steadied myself with about 2/3 of a bottle while making dinner and also making sure I had someone watching my back.  It was getting dark and the %@*&% horses can actually SNEAK up on you.  I mean it. 

For the rest of the night, gangs of horses would make circuits around the campsites.  Morons (i.e. people who had just shown up, i.e. my group two hours previously) would gush and take pictures until they realized the horses were in their coolers and pulling food right out of their children's hands.  Then they started swearing like us and trying to put up moats and other defensive fortifications.  Eventually, we were in our tent, and yes, every few hours you could hear the gangs go by.  One of them came right up to the tent, farted loudly, and whinnied in what I can only assume was appreciation.  All I could think was, "Please don't piss on the tent."

That morning I couldn't get out of the place fast enough.  I felt badly about it.  After all, these were indeed the 'wild' horses of the islands, and there is something pretty cool about it.  The coast was lovely and sunrise and sunset over the beach was glorious.  But my general appreciation for the place could not stand up to the need to LEAVE.

The trip was capped, in a way, by me really spotting my first tick up close - on the inside of the car, hanging from the ceiling, right over my head.  I fought a brief battle with myself, since normally touching one would be out of the question, but I could hardly just let the sucker roam around.  So I managed to corral it into an extra ziploc bag.  So I got a really good look at it.  Deer tick.  Yep.  No question. 

Needless to say, I am really @#&*% nervous.  Really nervous.  Sometimes this whole "doing what the normals do" is really ... well.  Hard.  Stupid.  Scary.  But, well, makes for a good story, anyway.

Your Hostess With Neuroses
 
Image credit/info:  From our trip to Assateague State Park.

Trying to Keep the Past in the Past

Hello Friends:

So did you ever experience a time when you did something that should have come back to bite you, but it didn't?  (This really does have to do with the title, honestly.)

The time I'm thinking about is when I was in college.  I'd burn candles in my bedroom now and then.  I'd leave them for a few moments while I was in the kitchen or whatever, and then come back.  My favorite candle holder was a heavy, sturdy, thick glass votive holder that gave me a safe sort of feeling.  My OCDs were much worse back then, and so I was very, very careful about the sort of candle holder I used and where I put it.  It was on my dresser with nothing flammable anywhere near it.

You can see where this is going.  One day I forgot.  I just forgot - an OCD kind of nightmare.  I walked out with the candle burning in my bedroom, and didn't come back all day.  Makes me nauseous just typing those words.

Fortunately I had that nice thick candle holder, right?  Wrong.  While I was out, it apparently got so hot that it shattered.  Exploded, really, given that when my boyfriend and I got back there were pieces all over the dresser, all over the carpet, and splashes of dried wax everywhere.  I had two immediate reactions at the time.  The first was "OMG (except in those days we spelled it out like this - "Oh My God") I can't believe I left that candle burning!  The whole place could have burned down!"

The second reaction was "There is glass everywhere!"  So while boyfriend tried to get me to calm down, he had to clean up all the glass.  (He still has the job of cleaning up all the glass almost twenty years later.)   I sat and thought about how in spite of the fact that my room was now contaminated with bits of glass, I still had a room.  I'd done something dumb and hadn't had to pay for it.

Except ...

Right, first thing is what you'd expect from OCD.  It is a challenge for me to burn candles.  For years I couldn't do it at all.  And you can bet when I do light them, I check them like crazy.  Checking.  Checking.  It isn't worth it sometimes ... but sometimes it is, and I'll light them for dinner, but blow them right out afterwards.  My husband, who does not want to clean up more glass, is happy to help me keep tabs :)

At least with OCD I know how to push my limits - when I have the emotional resources to burn a candle and when I don't - how to insert positive cognitions, you know the drill.  I hate it and it hurts, but I feel like OCD is a beast I am in the process of taming.

The issue is the second thing, I suppose.  A beast I have not tamed - I have flashbacks about this candle thing.  It is so bizarre.  Nothing happened.  I flashback to a sort of mush of images all at once, all on top of each other - lighting the candle, not blowing it out, the candle holder shattering, seeing the pieces all over, and knowing I just dodged a bullet.  I didn't even see the actual moment of shattering, of course, and yet that is still part of the melange of pictures and feelings.  My flashbacks can be intense and instantaneous, one moment I'm making tea, and then next I'm reliving every image I just described, with all the associated feelings, all at once.  It is jarring, painful, and upsetting in a manner totally different from a panic attack, say.  I confused my flashbacks with anxiety and panic attacks for years, but I can often spot the differences, now.  That's assuming I'm not so thrown by having a flashback that I can think rationally at all.

If you don't suffer from CPTSD, it is hard to describe how time can bend.  I don't really experience time in a line, ever.  Time for me is fluid.  It wraps back on itself in a way that allows past events to unfold as if they were happening right now.  Sometimes multiple events start playing all at once, with all the associated sounds, smells, and emotions, but no visual.  That's my usual - and it is really scary.  So you can believe I'm trying hard to make sense of it.  Why is it that the past won't stay there?

I don't mean this strictly biologically.  I understand about the amygdala, how memories and emotions get stored, why trauma seems to be associated with certain memories in some people and not others, blah blah.  I mean this from the position of my daily life.  It is almost a spiritual question - why isn't the past, past?

So I think about this candle incident a lot.  I have plenty of flashbacks to nasty things that really did happen.  Why has this experience, of all things, become one of the experiences I flash back to again and again?  How did this non-trauma become a trauma?  I wonder if figuring this out might help me figure out other bizarre parts of my psychology.

Wait, wait.  I ... just got an idea.  I wonder if it isn't really so different after all, the OCDs and the flashbacks.  I was thinking of OCDs as a problem with "now" and the flashbacks as a problem with "then" but that's not true, is it?  They are both problems with bringing the past into the present.  Not the same way ... but every time I light a candle, it's like I'm lighting that same candle from back then.  The one that exploded.  Hmmm.

This needs more thought.  What are yours?

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: Candles by Fotodawg on Flickr via Creative Commons, CC 2.0

Traveling when the Props and Flexibility Theory Don't Work

Headphones - Not A Perfect Solution

Hello Friends:

Gearing up for more travel, I found some writing I had intended to post a few months ago.  I had cruised through two flights using my Fun, Flexibility, and Props.  And in one moment, panic.  Oh yeah.

----------

I think this is sort of the sink or swim aspect of travel.  Sometimes you can't make a situation feel better.  Sometimes you can't adapt, adjust, block it with headphones, or wipe it with a handiwipe.  Sometimes it just sucks.

I got my first real "hit" for the trip.  It's amazing it took that long, and I ought to be patting myself on the back.  Third flight of the day.  Third.  Airplane is filling up, and we are getting ready to go.

And the person behind me coughs.  Very loudly.

Before I can "insert a contrary and positive cognition" I am seized with a jolt of fear.  I am contaminated, and will spend a five hour flight sitting three feet away from this person.  I am doomed.

That all goes through my head in a flash.  I can feel the heat in my skin like a burn, and my hands are clammy.  I try not to show my reaction on my face, but by the time I realize what I'm doing, I have my head bowed and am rocking in my seat.  Spouse notices, of course.  And since he knows me, he also knows exactly why his 'normal' wife has just gone semi-catatonic.  Terror is a good one word answer.

He leans in and says, "There are lots of reasons for someone to have a cough and not have something communicable."

I almost smile, as I see him trying to put in the positive cognitions that I am failing to generate.  Instead I think - pandemic.  Here I am right at the start.  I should be honored.  There are a ton of international people on this flight, and it's going start right here.  Some SARS spread kinda thing.  I am f#ck*d.

I have the presence of mind to realize as I think this just how incredibly self-centered fear can be.  How cold it can make you.  A cough does not bring up feelings of compassion, it brings up a desire to get away from the person as fast as possible.  A strange war of nonsense and actual good reason.  Cognitive dissonance, my good friend, nice to see you again.

As it turns out, the plane is not full.  The entire row across from us is empty.  My husband points, "We can move over."

I think hard, then look at him, "If you say it is rational to remain here, if you say that it is a perfectly reasonable thing to do, then let's stay.  There are too many times when you can't get away.  And if this isn't actually something you are worried about, let's stay."

And we did.  Are.  I'm typing this still sitting in the row in front of coughing lady.  I've been working on lots of cognitions that say she has some kind of chronic cough or allergy, and isn't sick at all.  And then I turned to the travel props.  Bose headphones, with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers cranked up.  Can't hear a d@mn thing, now. 

----------------

Well, nothing like a dose of real life.  Prepare and then just deal.  Guess you can't do any better than that when traveling.  I'll note that I did not get sick on that trip.  Not that I expect logic to work on me next time ...

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: Kevin Lawver, My Headphones, on Flikr via Creative Commons, CC 2.0

Taking on Travel Anxiety With Some Props

Let's see, got the toiletries, pants, shirts, trashy novel, the cat ... um, wait a minute.

Hello Friends:

I've just come out of a long spate of travel, and soon will be headed into another one.  Now, that's good.  I love being in new places, but I'm not terribly keen on getting to those places.  Back in September I blogged about using both Fun and Flexibility to ease travel anxiety, this time it's about props.

Props for me are any physical items one uses on a trip to make the experience less freaky.  I have a few key props that I never travel without.  Well, I *almost* never travel without.  I am absent minded by nature, and often suffer Celexa-head on top of that, so one never knows (note previous post on flexibility).

#1 Ativan.  Holy, holy cow.  This stuff has changed my life.  I am terrified to fly.  I used to drink alcohol to deal, which does not work well as a fear-remover, and then leaves you feeling absolutely wretched the day after.  Since I'm often traveling for work, the option of being hung over the day after a flight is not a good one.  Enter Ativan (Lorezepam).  I am very sensitive to the stuff, and so have some side effects where I get groggy and cranky the next day.  But that's usually how I am in the morning, anyway.  During the flights, if I get the dose right, I actually can SLEEP.  Sleep on a plane.  Wow.  Wow.   The best is when I am not so drowsy that I have to sleep, but instead can actually do some work or have some fun.  Fun.  On an airplane.  Mind blowing.

#2 Bose Noise Canceling Head Phones.  Absolutely critical.  If you are sensitive to noise, crowds, or just want to create some personal space in the middle of the airport terminal, these headphones are a must.

#3 Earplugs.  When head phones are too bulky or obvious, earplugs can be such a blessing.  I carry them now mostly so that I can still go into bars.  I enjoy getting a drink now and then and listening to whatever live music is going.  But the crowds and the chaos are hard for me to deal with.  Add the noise on top, and I can't do it.  With good earplugs, I can often handle the bar and not leave feeling like I've been beaten about the head and neck with a sack of limes.  I'll admit, sometimes when I'm really freaked out, like in a mobbed train station, I'll use both the earplugs and the headphones.  Yep.

#4 Eye Mask.  See a theme, here?  Yes, sensory overload is something I try to avoid when traveling.  I have enough to think about without worrying over each and every piece of sense data, and wondering if it carries some threat.  I find it a lot easier to fall asleep on planes with one, and even just to relax sitting on a bench in some terminal.  When life is just too much, cutting off half the sense information makes processing the rest a lot easier.

#5 Ichiro.  No, not the baseball player.  This is a small stuffed armadillo.  You may recall that I use a stuffed animal as a source of comfort when visiting the doctor.  Well now my spouse and I travel with an armadillo I found several years ago in the Dallas airport.  Ichiro is a travel freak.  He's already been to Italy, Spain, Japan, multiple cruises and a plethora of US states.

#6 Sun Props.  I am very fair and have had several suspicious moles removed.  I lived in the desert southwest for 14 years.  So I have some reasons to be concerned about sun exposure.  Well, my OCD's have made it more than a 'concern.'  So to feel comfortable, I have to be sun protected.  My favorite prop is a "Sunbrella" that is basically a high-tech parasol.  Then there is my one and only sunscreen that I can stand the feel of and does not make my eyes sting.  Throw in a hat, and I'm feeling a lot better about things.

#6 Gloves.  Even if it isn't cold, I usually have a pair of tight cotton stretchy gloves with me.  When the OCD's get tough, and that's often on public transportation, I have my gloves so I don't have to touch the papers left behind, the chrome bars, or ubiquitous elevator buttons.  I see this as a concession, since I'm trying to live life without needing gloves, but I keep them along since sometimes it makes the difference between being able to participate, or not.

#7 Handiwipes.  Gobs and gobs of handiwipes in single packages.  I have them everywhere.  This is definitely an OCD concession but I have never gotten a strange comment from someone when they watch me wipe down the armrests on the train, or the tray tables on an airplane.  If anyone says anything, they usually ask for one so they can do the same.  I try to use them sparingly, but again, when travel gets tough, these can really help me feel more secure.

So what are your favorite travel-happy props?  What gets you through the tough spots and on to the fun stuff?

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: Neta in suitcase by Shockingly Tasty, on Flikr, via Creative Commons CC 2.0

Even More Sane Than Ever

Hello Friends:

As you know by now I love online quizzes, and I love talking about the crazies.  So pretty much nothing can beat an online quiz about the crazies.  My favorite for the last two years has been The Sanity Score at PsychCentral.  I've mentioned before that I don't think it is terribly diagnostic, but given that I've taken this exact same test five times now over the last two years, it has proven an interesting way to track my perception of my own mental health.

And has given me data.  Which I also love.  'Cause you can graph it.  Like so.

I left off some of the points I had on the last time because now there are five lines, and the whole thing can get to be a little difficult to read.  Many points haven't changed at all, and as I mentioned before, the scores for things like Mania and Dissociation do not seem to really work well.

To recap, lower scores mean better mental health.  Overall Score is from 0 to 288, while all the other subscores are from 0 to 100.  For the Overall Score, I think anything below 50 is probably pretty normal, assuming nobody is perfect.  For subscores, anything below ten or so is probably just 'normal life' and not something most people would seek treatment for.  An issue at 25 needs help, and something at 50 needs lots of help.  Over that, the situation is probably pretty dire.

So my analysis of myself.  The general good news is that almost everything has improved, if only a very little bit, since the last time I took the test six months ago (I hadn't blogged about that.  My last blog post on this topic was a year ago.)  This heartening to see.  I'm especially happy to see that General Coping continues its slow improving trend, including amazingly (if more subtly) Self Esteem. 

About 3.5 years ago, I went into a bad depressive episode.  Too depressed to even do online quizzes.  It wasn't until I had started getting additional help to get out of it that I found The Sanity Score and started tracking.  By that time, my depression was down to simply 'bad' with a score of about 50.  The next six months saw it drop markedly, and it has been slowly improving since then.  My depression is now at a level where it still bothers me, but isn't ruling my life. 

PTSD also went down in severity the first six months, but then didn't move for a year.  Now finally after 1.5 years, it has moved down a tiny bit.  It is still too high, probably because of questions that ask about recurrent nightmares and intrusive thoughts about past events.  These still bother me a great deal, but perhaps not to the extent the score would suggest.

Anxiety took an extra six months to make a steep drop, and then has held steady for a whole year at about 25.  OCD also dropped a lot in that first year, but now isn't going anywhere, and is up around 35.

So what does it all mean?  Overall good, but there are indications that I'm not making much progress in some areas that really need to improve.  I think this might be an indication of a need to bump up the meds, but I'm not sure.  I know my pdoc is thinking we might go up a little, but I've been hoping that my other techniques like yoga, meditation, exercise, and better food would close the gap for me, here. 

Of course, I'm not doing those things like I should.  I talk a good talk, but I need to actually get into real habits before I'm going to see if they will be enough, or not.  Stay tuned ...

Have you tried the Sanity Score? 
 
Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: Happy Flowers by rkrichardson from Flikr via Creative Commons, CC 2.0

Varmint Warfare

Hello Friends:

I was far, far too optimistic to hope I had managed to rid my abode of mice.  A week after we returned from our trip, my spouse spotted yet another varmint.  This time in the LIVING ROOM and the little sucker ran into the KITCHEN and went into the cupboard where my COOKING PANS are.

Of course you know, this means war.

At this point, there is no food they can get to, at all.  Everything in my pantry is now in glass.  All bread is in the microwave.  Everything else is fridge or freezer.  There is nothing here to tempt them.  There never really was, given I didn't see any signs of chew marks on anything, ever.  But for some reason they have moved into my townhouse.  I have now heard them scratching at the walls between us and the neighbors.

And all I can really think is, now what?  Seems like those sonic repellers, of which I now have six in my home, do pretty much nothing.  Well, that was always a possibility.

The land lady has been notified.  No response yet.

MY PANS.

Where is my kitchen stuff possibly safe?  Do I have to find a way to pull everything out of the cupboards on the ground and only use the ones over the sink?  That's gonna put a dent into my dish holding capacity for certain.  Otherwise, I'm going to have to wash my pans all the time.  And I don't even like that idea because if the mice are ... are ON MY PANS then I don't think I even want to touch them.

Trap was empty this morning.

MY PANS.  Not to mention my KITCHEN and my LIVING ROOM.

Calm. Yes.  Calm.  We are eating out every meal today as I try to figure out how to deal with this.  Just not sure.  This is nuts.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info:  Promo photo for the Movie Caddyshack.  Character Carl Spackler plans his attack on the gopher that has been tearing up the golf course.

Accommodating Mental Illness in the Workplace - A Little Goes a Long Way

Basic Office - No Touchy My Chair

Hello Friends:

The theme for World Mental Health Day this year is "Investing in Mental Health." With the wide variety of options for interpreting this theme, I finally chose to highlight the need for accommodations, particularly in the workplace. A little investment in time and energy, and much less investment in actual money, would improve the workplace conditions for many people who suffer with mental illnesses. In the process, conditions could be improved for everyone in the workplace.

In the US, certain mental illnesses fall under the Americans With Disabilities Act. This act requires that reasonable accommodations are made for otherwise qualified employees. You have a right to ask for changes to your workplace environment that will make you a happier and more productive employee. Of course, the kinds of accommodations needed by those with mental illness can differ radically from those with physical disability. We don't necessarily need ramps, elevators, or water fountains placed within easy reach. Instead, we might need a dedicated 'quiet' space to cool off, feel safe, or meditate, for example.

I first learned about possible accommodations by reading the materials at the Job Accommodation Network. Since the kind of accommodations we need can be seen as strange to others, you can't just go into your boss or HR department and say, "Make my life better." They might want to help, but have no idea how. You need to think of the concrete changes that you want, and consider how they can be implemented.

I started by making a list of everything in my work-day life that triggered my OCDs, GAD, phobias, and the rest. I tried to be as specific as possible.  I thought of ways to mitigate these situations, then went and discussed some specific ideas with my boss. He thought some of my request were odd, but did his best to grant what I asked.

Some things were easy.  I wanted a chair no one else would use. My OCD's make it difficult to use items that are 'public.' When we had big meetings, chairs would be pulled randomly out of peoples offices and dragged around the table. Even if you were not present, your chair might be appropriated. When I would come to my office and find my chair moved, I wouldn't be able to sit in it until it had been 'decontaminated' which can be a lengthy procedure. The same was true for other items, like my desktop computer.  He agreed that I alone had access to my chair and computer, unless IT had to do maintenance.

Some were more difficult.  The commute was very hard on me, over 1:15 minutes, and most of that on public transportation.  I have a very difficult time dealing with the GAD and OCD issues that come up on public transport.  Since I could see no way to change that situation, I asked to be able to work from home two days a week, so I could have a break from the stress.  He couldn't do more than one day a week, given the schedule of meetings.  But even that was a big help for me.

Mental illness, like any invisible illness, is very difficult for others to perceive and understand. The stigma remains - if you don't *look* like you need an accommodation, then you are taking up resources unfairly.  When I asked to have a chair of my own, some of my co-workers acted poorly.  Even though it was a small change, it was a noted change in office culture.  A few times people used my chair for meetings even knowing they were not supposed to.  I knew they were confused and some people interpreted any change as me trying to get attention or be 'special.'  They have no idea how badly I wanted to be 'normal.'  Some people were actually offended, wondering what was wrong with them that I wouldn't share my chair with them.

So the resources that have to be applied are mostly the time and energy to educate ourselves, and have our workplaces educate themselves, on what mental illness is, and what appropriate accommodation means.  Money is not usually the issue.  If we want people to be productive at work, we need to make the workplace as non-threatening as possible, and management needs to ensure and enforce accommodations and provisions so the requester does not feel like they are being outcast as other worker try to adjust.  Everyone needs to be educated.

Offices that begin to make accommodations or provisions for those with mental illness often find that it improves working conditions for everyone. Morale as well as physical wellness go up in environments where people are treated as whole people, not just workers.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: My workplace, CC 2.0, Flickr via Creative Commons

Bitch Slapped by the Universe, Again - Part II

Hello Friends:

I apologize for the cliff hanger, especially since the story might not have the earth shaking climax expected in this modern world of high energy entertainment.  I can say I certainly didn't find the whole experience to be entertaining.  Other words come to mind, but not the sort I can write out online without a lot of $*#!% in them.

So, ah, okay.  There I was wondering how my kitchen would ever be tenable again, and feeling really rotten.  We ditched all the food, took out all the trash, and then I went back upstairs to try to get a few hours of sleep.  It was rough, knowing there was a mouse running around down there and knowing I couldn't do anything until my spouse went to work, came back, and then we went out to Home Depot to get some accoutrements for varmint warfare.

I tossed and turned, managed a few hours of sleep, and then got dressed.  I couldn't eat anything, not that there was much left.  But I couldn't bring myself to eat.  It was a strange feeling, though.  It didn't seem just a simple "this place is contaminated and I'm scared."  It felt more like it just wasn't right to eat.  It didn't feel right.  I couldn't figure it out.  Finally spouse came home and we went out, got some materials for fighting varmints, and then returned.

I bought two voltage traps, feeling bad about it all the while.  Ideally, I'd use catch and release traps, but there is no way I'd be able to handle a live mouse, thinking all the time I'd make a mistake and it would bite me.  And where could I release it around here?  Still, I felt as though this was another case of OCD making my choices for me, and I didn't like it.  Felt guilty.

In spite of all this, I got the batteries in the traps, got them baited, and put into place on the kitchen floor.  My plan was to try to catch the mouse over night, and then either way, to plug in the set of sonic rodent repellers all over the house the next morning, and hope that would discourage future visitors.  Not the best plan, and it sort of hinged on catching said mouse (since there is no concrete evidence that the sonic things work) but it was the best I could do.  I'd spent plenty of time figuring out what I could and couldn't use, like no poison obviously, and this was the best plan I could come up with.  We were going to be flying out the next day, after all.

And somehow at that point I started to feel better.  I sat down on the couch and tried to figure out why.  Mouse had not been caught, and I had no idea what would or would not work.  My husband suggested we go get dinner, and suddenly I felt like I could eat.  It took a while, but eventually it hit me that part of my problem was merely feeling totally out of control.  Once I had made a plan and put it in motion, I felt a lot better.  Even if it wasn't a great plan, I was clearly happy to be doing something, or at least doing the best I could.

My T doc is always reminding me that I don't always have to be doing something, or anything.  Sometimes the best or most functional response in a situation is to acknowledge it and then do nothing.  This really goes against my grain.  I always, always want to do something.  Sitting and abiding is the hardest.  And at least in this case, with a mouse in the house, one really did have to do something about it.  Maybe that's why I felt better, I'm not sure.  I'm not even sure that analyzing it is going to help, but you can't take the science out of the scientist.

Next morning ... there was a former mouse in one of the traps.  I was happy and sad.  Cognitive dissonance overload.  I had my spouse dispose of the entire trap, mouse included.  It's supposed to be good for 50 zaps, but I can't imagine reusing something that has had a dead mouse in it.  Ewww.

I plugged in the sonic repellers, and spouse and I left the house.  I'll have to put an update in sometime about if more of the critters show up or not.  For the moment, anyway, we seem to have success.

As for the kitchen, a good cleaning, and then putting food in glass jars, and the place is tenable again.  I have this strong sense of certainty that the place is okay.  I can't believe it.  I was expecting to be unable to use the kitchen for weeks, but I don't feel that way anymore.  Maybe this is a sign of general increasing mental health.  That'd be pretty nice. 

Your Hostess With Neuroses


Image credit/info:  Mindy Mouse by Wednesday Elf - Mountainside Crochet, on flikr via Creative Commons, CC 2.0

Bitch Slapped by the Universe, Again - Part I

Hello Friends:

You know how it feels when you are cruising along, and things seem ok (or at least meta-stable) and you think you are handling it ... and then suddenly from out of nowhere ... POW - bitch slap.  You are on the ropes, hoping you don't pass out and end up TKO'd.  You don't just get a jolt, or any kind of new manageable challenge.  Instead, you get handed something about three orders of magnitude above whatever it was you were just coping with.

I've been doing a lot of travel.  A lot.  When possible, I've been posting some of my so called insights here to share with y'all.  It's been rough, but I've been having some good times, and am grateful for the chance to have these experiences.  But we are running ragged around here, not even bothering to put suitcases away before the next trip.  They just sit out on the floor and clothes cycle through them as we come and go.

So two days before having to get on a plane for an international flight ... I'm in the kitchen at 3:00am, 'cause of course I can't sleep, and figure I might as well try to get something useful accomplished.  I stop a moment, standing by the trash, and gaze out the dark, foggy window.  It is in fact trash day, which is why the bag is there, so it can be taken out in the morning.

It seems it did not get taken out quite quickly enough.

Rustle.  Crinkle.  Munch.  Scratch.

I back up and stare at the bag, my mind simply refusing to process this.  We've lived in this townhouse for six years, and although the centipedes are big enough to cart off small children, we've never had to deal with uninvited mammals.  Yet somehow the rustling is unmistakable.  I grew up in an old colonial house that was often visited by small grey mice.  The cats (and the dog, actually) kept the population at bay.  I didn't like them, but was used to the fact that they would occasionally pop up.

That was before my contamination OCD's hit, of course.

Anyway, I knew immediately what it had to be in that bag, there.  I stood for a moment, trying to talk myself out of it, when the perpetrator suddenly emerged and scampered at high speed to disappear under my sink.

I squealed in an octave I didn't know I could reach.  Probably would have jumped on a chair if there had been one handy.  Instead I tore up the stairs and woke my poor spouse, who was trying to get some much needed sleep.

It took a while to get the story out, since he was groggy and I was panicking.  A mouse (or a small rat, possibly, for God's sake) was in our house.  The KITCHEN.  As if the kitchen wasn't hard enough, fraught as it is with all my food OCD issues.  Now there's a mouse.  In the kitchen.  Holy f*#k.  I had no idea what to do, what with it being 3am and all that.  All I could think about was plague and rabies and fleas and worms and ticks and all sorts of things that somehow I never worried about as a kid.  This ... this furry thing ... was in my kitchen and spreading its whatever all over whatever.

And the floor had just been mopped, too.

Spouse got up and took the trash out, of course, and we resigned ourselves to just dealing with the fact that it was down there until morning, when we could actually be proactive in getting rid of the sucker.  I couldn't sleep.  (What a shock.)  I was still up at 6am, and went down to make tea.

And heard ... heard ... munch.  Chew.  Rustle.

From MY PANTRY.

OMFG.  My pantry.  All the FOOD IS IN THERE.

This was finally a bit too much for me, and I sort of looned.  I didn't have a panic attack, and I didn't run around screaming, but I decided that all the food that was not in the fridge, freezer, or in metal/glass containers was no longer viable.  All of it.

Poor, poor spouse.  I woke him up and said, basically, that he had to empty the pantry.  All of it.  And haul it out with the rest of the trash.  Fortunately for us, all this travel meant we didn't have too much food on hand.  Still, the guy dragged himself downstairs, tore out everything, bagged it, and took it all away.  There was no sign of the mouse, and so I was wondering if my spouse thought I'd imagined all of this.  But I certainly had not.

I spent most of the time he was doing this trying to hide the fact that I was crying.  What had me most upset was that I had to get him to help me.  I knew he was beat, that he had to have some sleep, but I couldn't do this myself.  It was all contaminated beyond reprieve, and beyond the point I could even touch it.  I sat on the stairs, and watched him a while, wondering how, HOW, my kitchen would ever be a place I could eat again.

And I'm sorry to leave the story there (cliff hangers suck), but I am so tired, I just gotta go to bed.  To be continued!

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info:  Mindy Mouse by Wednesday Elf - Mountainside Crochet, on flikr via Creative Commons, CC 2.0

Taking on Travel Anxiety with some Fun

Hello Friends:

So last time I talked about flexibility.  This time I want to talk about fun.  Turning a strange circumstance into a party is definitely a skill worth learning.  Wish I could do it more often.

Anyway, after being at home a week, we were pounded by another storm.  Three days of rain, and the Susquehanna valley up to the north suffered the kinds of floods it hasn't seen since '72.  For the first time in years, we lost power ourselves.  That's odd for us since all our power lines are buried.  But, never say never.

Certainly not the night before another trip.

So there I was, packing, doing laundry, getting some things folded, then with the small, wailing blip of a surge protector, all the lights are gone.  I stand a few seconds, feeling totally disoriented, and then bravely start calling out for my spouse.  We are on different levels of the house, and are both fine.

I calm down and my mind starts to move again.  No flashlights, since they all got bought out during Hurricane Irene and ours are old and dead.  But I have more candles than you can probably light in one home and still meet the fire codes.  I wait a few minutes for my eyes to adjust, and find there is plenty of weak, filtered moonlight to be had.  I start lighting candles and distributing them around the house.

It's fun.  Like a spooky party, and I am such a fan of Halloween.  It's actually fun.

I start thinking we should find some ghost stories to read to each other.

Then I reconsider, since tomorrow (it was tomorrow at the time I wrote this, anyway ... my verb tenses are all over the place) I will be doing one of the most terrifying things I can think of - flying.  No horror for me tonight.  It does not, however, take the shine off of the novelty of packing suitcases by candlelight.  I can't even be sure if the clothes all match.  Normally this would be the sort of thing that would have me freaking out.  But somehow knowing there is absolutely nothing I can do about it has absolved me of the responsibility of matching my colors.  Packing actually took me less time than usual.

Then taking a shower by candlelight.  Very fun.  Really.  I think about all those people out of power for weeks and weeks from Irene and other storms.  No doubt this post would seem utterly silly to them.  How many showers have they had in the dark?  I can't help it, it is still fun.  I have candles on the sink, flickering away, and it's kind of romantic.

So another entry into the book of travel: Don't assume you are going to be able to pack with adequate light.  Be prepared to shower in the dark.  (Or skip it if the water is cold.  No one will notice, since by the time you get to the airport you will be drenched by the torrential rains, anyway.)

I realize that having things shaken up like this has actually made things better.  I always do the same things before I travel, all the same way.  Just doing them makes me jumpy, because it means *travel.*  The power going out made me alter the pattern, and it felt like a party.  I could have allowed myself to get even more worked up than usual, but instead I let it become something fun.  Not sure this will work again, this idea of 'altering the pattern,' but I'm going to see if there are other ways I can make travel surprises fun, instead of frightful.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: Floating lights by ToastyKen on flikr via Creative Commons, CC 2.0

Hanging With the Normals at the Car Shop

Hello Friends:

Right now I am waiting for my car, which is in for routine servicing.  I have a great shop, which is where we bought the car.  (Pic is not my car - I have a Honda.  One can dream.)  They have a nice waiting area at the shop with tables, free internet, and plenty of light.  And lots of people who have no idea that you are terrified.

I call them 'normals' sometimes.  This is so unfair to them, and to me.  I know perfectly well there are no normal people, only people pretending to be normal, or people who don't even realize that 'normal' is an issue.  Still, I can't help it, looking around and watching how they touch things without thinking, use water fountains with impunity, and eat their lunches on tables that have vague grease stains.  How do they do this?

It's been an hour and a half, so far, and nearby is a dad and his little girl.  I heard him say, "You've been so good!  It's been more than three hours, and you've been so patient."  He has a computer for her to play games, and she's been playing and listening to music.  He's been a great dad, watching her and commenting and giving her praise.  Bored or not, she obviously loves the attention.  It is so very cute, and I should be filled with thoughts about how d@mn cute she is.

And yet.  She is sick.  With something respiratory.  She has been coughing the entire time I've been here.  Every cough makes me jump inside.  I have to mentally try to calm down, and fight the urge to run away.  If she was at the same table, I would have moved - making some excuse about giving her and her dad more space.  But they are a dozen feet away in a large, well ventilated room.  She's sitting and playing happily, if getting a bit tired.  She isn't running around coughing on everyone and touching all the doorknobs and flat surfaces.  But I am still half stuck to the ceiling.  And I feel so bad about it, trapped between (1) wanting to feel sorry for her being sick and bored and/or smile at her cuteness, and (2) running away from her in fear.

More coughing.  Lots of coughing.  It has been two solid hours, now.  They must have been here for four.  I am still fighting the urge to run.  To find another table.  I don't want to.  I'm reading blogs and working on my writing and am in a nice, quiet spot without a lot of foot traffic.  I want to stay.  I know perfectly well there is no "safe" table.  No matter where I go, there will be something that will make me cringe.

My car is finished - two hours and fifteen minutes of cognitive dissonance.  I'm sure you know exactly what I mean.  I am so relieved to go.  I stand, collect my things, and my courage.  I walk over to the little girl and her dad and I say, "Wow, you are so patient!"  She's surprised, and sort of blinks and half-smiles at the stranger.  Her dad smiles broadly and replies, "A lot more patient than I am.  She's a good girl."  He is pleased with what I said.

So this is my win for the day.  Going home and wondering if I am going to get sick isn't anything new. That's every day.  But making someone smile in spite of terror, that was bonus.  So what's your latest win?  How'd you make it happen?

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: cool car from donaldmctim on flikr via Creative Commons, CC 2.0

Public Transportation and What Coping Means

Hello Friends:

I've been thinking about the differences between dysfunctional-enabling behavior and supporting-coping behavior. These thoughts have been coming to me as I've been taking public transportation more than usual this week.  And public transport gives me the willies (in other words it's chock full of OCD fodder.) So there have been plenty of moments where I could consider if what I was doing was helping me in a positive way, or just allowing me to avoid dealing with the tough realities of a gritty world.

Look at that nice piece of art. All the nice people being nice. A nice, uncrowded car. Nice and calm. Yeah, right. I've never seen a metro car like that unless it was the middle of the night. But this is idealized americana folk art, here. Check out how clean that floor is. No one is coughing or spitting.  And I'll bet there aren't any rats in the station, either. Oh, what a fantasy.

Anyway, I can't touch the bars or rails in a subway car unless I am wearing gloves. I wonder, do the gloves allow me to go about my day in relative peace, or do they enable my mental illness by allowing me to avoid the natural exposure of touching things other people touch? Or both? How about people sneezing on a subway car? I stop breathing for as long as possible. I don't look at anything dirty, since when I'm worked up, looking at something dirty can actually make me think that I am dirty. Let's not talk about what is on the floor. I do not look there or I'd have to throw my shoes out when I got home.  (I take them off right at the door as it is.) So forget about setting a heavy bag down on that tacky surface of dread, I'd rather pull my back out.

Then as soon as I get off of the train, I pull out one of those handi-wipes and scrub my hands. Which have been in gloves, remember? I also wipe off the handles of anything I'm carrying. And then I try really hard to say 'enough' and go about my day. But any day I've been on the subway or metro or T or whatever you call it, isn't going to be one of the days I feel at my best.

This all reminds me of my first therapist telling me that I didn't have to do things that gave me panic attacks. I was having severe attacks after eating canned food. He said I should stop eating it. I was appalled, since I thought that was 'giving in'. I was afraid that if I stopped I'd never start again. I was afraid I'd end up cutting out anything that bothered me, and end up stuck in bed all day in fear of leaving.

It took him a long, long time to get it through my head that I was re-traumatizing myself every time I opened a can. I had to stop. I'm sure you know this stuff yourself - but I had to stop doing the thing that was causing me to panic, give it a rest for a while, and then approach it slowly and methodically. That's the idea of increasing exposures that we've all heard about with regards to phobias and such.  And some OCDs.  Of course, if you have some CPTSD issues on top of it all, it isn't quite so straightforward, but you get the idea.

I don't know if he would have given the same advice to everyone, or if it was just me. But I ended up stopping a lot of activities that caused me high anxiety. I stopped eating anything that made me nervous. I stopped touching things that scared me. I stopped going places that triggered panic attacks. At the same time I started doing really intense CBT, added a lot of walking to my day, continued talk therapy, and against my therapist's advice I refused meds. Looking back, that might not have been the best plan, since I am on them now and am very glad about that. Whatever.

As I felt better, I started trying new things or adding them back into my life. He had been right. I didn't take his words as carte blanche to just drop everything and stop fighting. I kept struggling to do things. Kept challenging myself. I just got smarter about what I could handle on a given day and what I couldn't. For many years I could tell how well I was doing if I had the nerve to eat shrimp or any meat that wasn't cooked to the state of a hockey puck. And now I can touch door handles in almost any place but a hospital or doctor's office. I don't like it, but I can do it.

Life is easier, but still, OCD is disabling. I'm not likely to be able to take a job in a city where riding public transportation is required. The idea of doing that twice a day, and being forced to do it on days when my resources are low, is horrifying. I wish it wasn't. I don't like having my options curtailed by OCD, but I've come to more of an understanding of what I can handle and what I can't. So maybe it just isn't in the cards right now. Maybe in the future, as all my mental illnesses get more and more under control, as my meds stabilize, as I do more exercise, eat better, do my meditation and get good sleep, maybe public transportation will become as simple as eating frozen food. Which I had given up for two years, and now can do without a problem.

BTW, you probably know I still don't open cans. I haven't missed that at all.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: Subway, Smithsonian American Art Museum

Apparently, Fear is Excitement Deprived of Oxygen

Hello Friends:

I'll explain the title of this post in a minute, but I need to wander off (potentially way off) topic and then back again. The subject of this post actually starts much earlier in the month.

I've been feeling better. I've noticed it mostly in my social anxiety. I've been able to go to group functions with less trepidation, have more fun at them, feel less mortified, and ruminate about them much less afterward. Sometime in the first week of October, I seem to have turned a small corner, and this ability to deal with social situations much more easily is the result. And of course, since it is now easier to talk to people, life has improved all around. Stores are not as intimidating. Going places by myself is an actual possibility. My email is getting read and answered in the same week for a change.

The ultimate marker? I joined Facebook. Still not sure that I'll stick with it, but if I don't, it probably won't be out of fear or anxiety. It will be because my excuse was right all along and Facebook is actually kind of useless. And I'll be able to say that from an informed position, rather than irresponsibly making it up because I am too scared to try it out. But I don't actually know yet since it has only been a few days, and I'm still figuring out this 'wall' thingy.

So of course the question buzzing in my head is "Why do I feel better?" And I answered myself pretty fast on that one. I think all the work is paying off a little. A small gain in one area is leveraged, and makes it easier for a small gain in another area, and on and on. It starts so slow you don't see it - gains take a long time in the beginning. Each is painful and hard won, and it takes time to adjust to the change and be ready for the next. But then there are more and more gains, and they start feeding off of each other. Here are a few of these 'gains' in more concrete terms.

I am more med compliant.  I have always known staying on the meds is important for me, but I allowed myself to forget them here and there. My OCDs make it so hard to take any kind of pills, that I cut myself some slack on difficult days. Then for some reason I started to pay attention to 'here and there' and realized I was "forgetting" two or three times a week. So my pdoc thought I was on 40 mg per day, but in essence I was really on about 28 to 30 mg per day, averaged over a week. I cracked down on myself, and am now missing one a week, max.

Messages from my body make more sense. The physical-mental-integrated therapies I've been doing have slowly made it easier to understand what my body is saying. For example, it wasn't that long ago that I first really learned what hunger pains felt like, and what their purpose was. I mean it, I didn't understand hunger pains, and did not perceive them as anything other than generalized discomfort that had no purpose and no solution. Why listen to your body when you were told "You are not in pain, you are just uncomfortable" or "You don't know what it really means to hurt" or "You are just making that up" all the time? Reconnecting with my body has been a painful but interesting and empowering experience. It is easier to be mindful about my eating, and not just eat because I'm having a sugar crash or because I'm feeling down. It is more obvious when I actually need to use my inhaler, instead of just ignoring that "not enough air" sensation that never made any sense. Etc.

More reactions have become choices. My first reaction to anything negative is an over-reaction of some kind. Then it usually becomes something dark and prickly living under my skin, like a thorn, that stabs you anew any time you give it the slightest brush. Yet recently things have felt a little different. After my first day of over-reaction, I can take one more step back than I used to. For some things, it is enough to say, "I don't want to care about this anymore. It is over. It is not important. I'm not going to keep thinking about this all the time. I'm not going to stay bent out of shape."And then, amazingly, I am not bent anymore. Never has it seemed like I could choose not to feel that way. Ironically, I think this came from giving myself permission to feel any way at all, to just say "My feelings are my feelings" and let them be. I still have my normal reaction/over-reaction, of course. It is simply that sometimes I can then say, "Enough of that," stop ruminating, and move on. Wow.

All this even lead me to try a combination physical therapy/acupuncture treatment today. Being OCD scared of contamination means needles are really nasty beasties. But I was feeling tough, and I knew it my gut it would help. I'd had a few, very controlled, exposures to acupuncture before, but never like this, with needles sticking out of me and someone bending my limbs and rotating my joints at the same time. It was weird. Scary. The needle-lady said something like, "Naturally with your background you'd find this scary. But remember that fear can be converted to excitement with proper oxygen. So when you feel fear, breathe, and let it become the fuel to do important things."

I laughed out loud. If if were that easy to convert fear, say by hyperventilating, I'd have figured that out a long, long time ago. But my new mindset means that I don't dismiss anything out of hand. I let it percolate a little, then take what seems useful and dump the rest. Scientifically and blood-chemistry wise, I do not thing fear is excitement deprived of oxygen.

But, the line stuck with me. I thought about how I've been breathing a little new air into my life. How there is less fear, and more excitement for the future. Even hope. So there you have it. I'd be interested to hear what it is that you think are your recent gains, and if they seem to help you make more ground in other areas that seemed, at first, unrelated.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info: Hot air balloon by ronnie44052 on flickr, via Creative Commons, CC2.0