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.

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

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

Continuing Improvements in Sanity

Hello Friends:

When you don't know what to blog about, time to head on over to The Sanity Score and see what your latest numbers are. As I've mentioned before (see post in April, Apparently I'm Getting More Sane) I occasionally take the sanity test at PsychCentral just for jollies. Okay, not just for jollies. I take it because even though it isn't a terribly scientific instrument, it does provide something of a benchmark for changes over time. And because I love online quizzes.

And because now that I've taken the quiz three times over the last year, I now have enough data to make a graph. God I love data.

So I took the test the first time in December of last year, then about 4 months later, and then another seven months after that. The data is pretty interesting to me. It would suggest I feel better overall since December '09. And I do feel better - maybe not quite as much as this shows here, but still, it is consistent. (Remember, low numbers are good. And again, not all the subscores are on my graph, just the ones that I thought were most interesting.)

So my Depression score didn't move much, not a surprise, since it dropped a lot in April. But my Anxiety score plummeted from 48 (reflecting a major problem) to 27 (reflecting a moderate to minor problem). I don't think this is really shows how I feel. I feel less anxious, but not quite this much. So I predict the next time I take the test it won't move, or maybe will even be higher. Still, it is an improvement.

I left the Dissociation score in to bring up another point about the test. Just like the Phobia questions, the Dissociation questions don't seem to be written very well. I definitely suffer dissociation whenever I have a flashback triggered, and it is bizarre and uncomfortable. But that symptom does not seem to be captured here very well. I'll note my PTSD score hasn't moved, and still indicates one of my major issues. So perhaps some of the dissociation is represented there. Hard to say.

So my average overall score is now 55.  Fifty-five is definitely a sane person (a person with issues, but still a sane person).  As I said before, this is starting to look like I have the "resilience, skills, and resources to cope and manage." Odd. But I do almost feel like that. Almost. I do feel more capable, more in control, and less overwhelmed. I hate myself a little less, as reflected by the Self Esteem score, yet self esteem is still one of my major problems. And it is one of the areas which there as been the least amount of change. I will hazard to say that many of the other areas for sub-scores relate to symptoms, and that Self Esteem is more of a core issue. If I can see some improvement there, I might actually believe this isn't just an interim period between major depressions, but instead a real change in my worldview.

As I said in my previous post, "I continue to bemoan the fact that I did not take the test when I was at my worst." Naturally, I hope I never feel that way again. But if I do, I will try to see the bright side of it - that'll be some really good data.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image credit/info:  Wishing by pinksherbert on Flikr via Creative Commons, CC2.0

Flying, Phobias, and Fears - Oh, My

Hello Friends:

Thanks for sticking with me through this little blogging dry spell. I'm going through another rough spot, here, with anxiety and depression making computer use a challenge. But as always, this blog, and the knowledge that there are people out there actually reading (wow, and thanks again) brings me back in spite of it. Good therapy.

And I'm in the middle of an anxious scenario that was perfectly ripe for posting. I'm at the airport, awaiting the arrival of a family member who is now 3.5 hours late. Airplanes make our lives easier (snort).

I really, really do not like flying. In fact, it scares the f#@k!ng$h!% out of me. It has for more than twenty years. And airports, by way of association, now feel like hospitals. These are creepy places where painful things happen. In spite of this, I fly a lot. An average of seven round trips a year, down from nine or ten five years ago. I do this by using Ativan to get my anxiety to a level I can manage. It is almost the only time I use the Ativan, since I want it to remain potent. When I fly, the stuff has to work. It has to. So I try not to use it for any other purpose. That way I don't run the risk of developing a tolerance.

I have been working on this flying phobia for a long, long time. I've tried all the usual methods to deal with it - like gradually increasing exposures, booze, meditation, and all the rest. Booze does not work at all, by the way. You can be drunk and still terrified, so I gave up on that. Now, I have had some success over the years in with the before-trip anxiety, and the after-trip triage.  I've been able to reduce my overall fear so that I start getting worked up only about a day before a trip. Used to be I was hanging from the ceiling by my nails for a full week. And I can calm myself at an airport with deep breathing and meditation. But when I am actually on an airplane that is in the air, only the Ativan can beat the anxiety to the point that I don't spend every waking second thinking "I'm going to die right now. Wait. Still alive. I'm going to die right now."  Over and over. I mean it. I am not exaggerating. Every single second.

I find this fear really irritating for a whole host of reasons. First and foremost, I am a scientist who does a lot of statistics. I know perfectly well how it is planes take off, fly, stay in the air, and land. And I know how much safer it is, mile for mile, than driving. Does not matter. When I am in a plane my education becomes useless and I wonder how it is the whole thing doesn't drop like a brick out of the sky. I certainly feel like dropping a brick.

And I love travel.  Well - I love being new places, I just don't like getting there. And my job (when I'm actually well enough to work) requires plenty of travel. So this fear is a real pain.

So to the point, sort of.  Here I am, sitting in the airport observation deck, typing away, having thought ahead and brought my computer. I've never really just sat in one of these places and watched the planes do what it is they do. The place is freaky. I am watching planes take off and land, over and over. Hour after hour. It is businesslike and appears as precise as clockwork. Which it patently isn't since I wouldn't be sitting around for an extra 3.5 hours watching it, if it were. The planes take off, which has my mind spinning with the cognitive dissonance of thinking both "that's impossible" and "that's perfectly explainable" at the same time. Then they land. And I'm holding my breath for each one. The lack of air is no doubt contributing to that head-spinning feeling.

I thought that would be the sum of my 3.5 hour experience here. But, interestingly, even though I've spent hours and hours in airports waiting for flights and stuck on layovers, just sitting here watching is sort of ... interesting. Different. Still scary and creepy. Yet after all this time I am actually starting to look up at the planes less and less. It is just what is happening in the background while I finish a post. Then I look up, see a plane land, and inhale suddenly. I've forgotten for a moment to worry about them, and yet they went ahead and landed without me.

Very interesting. What is flying like for you? Does watching it calm you down?

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image "Blue Sky" from flikr via Creative Commons by Ack Ook, CC Share Alike 2.0

Send In or Send Away - What to do with the Clowns

Hello Friends:

Another survey has come and gone, and once again has given me the opportunity to make broad and sweeping statements based on statistically insignificant data. This, however, sounds much like my career in research science, so I'm going to plow ahead undaunted.

My Opinion of Clowns:
(0) Clowns are great!
(1) Some are funny, some aren't.
(0) No real opinion about clowns.
(3) Clowns are sort of creepy.
(1) Clowns are terrifying!

Who knew that clowns could be a source of controversy? But indeed, they are. Now I knew when I did my bit about being afraid of bats that bats were loved by some (and justly so, given the trillions of bugs they devour each year). However, it never actually occurred to me that anyone loves clowns, which shows you just how out of touch I am. Turns out that the scary/funny debate about clowns is alive and well. Although my 'data' here seems to point to most people thinking clowns are creepy, there are apparently plenty of people who think they are amusing.

I'm not going to go into exhaustive detail, since if you do a google search on this stuff you'll be inundated with the "I hate clowns" posts, the "serial killer who was a clown" reports, and articles on how many people are now afraid of clowns because of Stephen King or The Simpsons (really). Instead I'm going to provide my digest of what I found most interesting, and then my usual spin off into what seems to be going on psychologically.

Some Clown History

There have been clowns, or versions of clowns, around for as much as 5000 years. What we would now think of as circus performers of various types have existed in societies as old as that of the ancient Greeks, and even Egypt. The gamut includes tricksters, magicians, stilt-walkers, hypnotists, jesters, mimes and more. Apparently comics and 'simple minded' people were kept by wealthy families in some ancient cultures as a kind of good luck charm. In the middle ages, court jesters were commonly kept or hired for performances, and traditionally were the only people who could openly poke fun at the members of court, including the King. Modern clowns as we know them came about in the 1800's, and then were modified in America in the early 1900's and during the depression. It was at that time that the idea of the hobo or tramp clown became commonplace.

The theme that seems to go through all of 'clowning' is that these people stood outside of normal social rules and behavior. They could get away with saying and doing things that others could not. Sometimes clowns acted as a voice for the people in satirizing politicians and making fun of the government. Clowns also were used as a sort of societal scapegoat, with the clown's performances having the clown doing menial or even humiliating tasks, and being subjected to taunts and ridicule. Then, of course, there were the comic clowns whose job it was to make sure people were entertained, but they could do so by playing practical jokes, making fun of others, and surprising people with tricks.

On to Clown Fear

Coulrophobia is the fear of clowns. Apparently, and not surprisingly from my perspective, as many as 8 to 15 percent of adults have a fear of clowns to some degree. This isn't a 'hey, I don't like clowns' thing, but a real 'clowns bother me and I'll go out of my way to avoid them' thing. Or up to as bad as the real phobics, who will limit life activities to make certain they never run into clowns, which means avoiding parades, amusement parks, state fairs, and for some, yes ... McDonalds. That aspect of the fear might actually end up extending your life, but of course as with all phobias, it is very painful, causes suffering, and would be nice to banish.

A little over a year ago, a story went around the internet about a hospital in Britain that did some research about how to decorate the pediatric ward. They collected opinions from 250 children ages 4 to 16 - and every single one of them said they did not want clowns decorating the ward (reported in The Telegraph). Now, this wasn't all fear based. Some of the older children said that clowns were babyish and so didn't want the place to be covered in them. But apparently many of the kids at all ages expressed disquiet and even fear about clowns.

Many adults who express a fear of clowns have a particular incident that happened to them as a child that served as a trigger. Usually this incident involved an encounter with a clown, or perhaps a mime, a moving animatronic figure, a costumed figure like a mascot, or some such. A very small number of people seem to have acquired the fear from movies like "It", but getting a real phobia from a movie is very rare. However, the media's portrayal of clowns in the last thirty years has been pretty negative overall. Clowns are a fixture in Halloween scary towns and 'fun' houses, and I for one won't go into one of those things because if a scary clown jumped out at me I'd either pass out, pee myself, or curl up in a ball on the floor. And I don't have a clown phobia, I just think they are creepy. But creepy+Halloween+clown+jumpingoutatyou = dropped brick.

Yes, there is Clown Love

I read through several websites of active, professional clowns. Most of the websites claim that fear of clowns is 'very rare' and something they encounter only occasionally. And yet, all the websites listed the strategies that the clown would go through when dealing with children who were anxious around them. The sites for professional clowns seem to portray the issue as largely a 'fear of clowns' fad with teens, and then an exaggerated sense of clowns as threatening from the media. They try hard to downplay any negative issues with clowns, saying it is all hype and blown out of proportion, as one might expect given that their livelihood and 'clown craft' are dependent on people seeing them in a good light. I expect the truth is probably somewhere in between. (That said, I did find some sites with a more even handed and non-judgmental treatment of the subject, like that on Coulrophobia by Charlie the Juggling Clown).

Regardless of what people might say or post on the internet, the truth is that clowns are a sought after form of entertainment. There are several societies dedicated to the profession, and it is alive and well. In particular, clowns continue to be used in settings where children want or need to be entertained, or even healed. In spite of the research as reported in the Telegraph, above, clowns are a fixture in many children's hospitals and wards. In fact, it has become common enough that studies are being done as to how hospital clowns can be the most effective in helping sick children (Note an article from 2007 in the journal Evidence-Based Complementary and Alternative Medicine).

And for completeness, I'll note that there is a very well known and highly successful 'clown' show that includes heavy makeup, odd behavior, in-your-face antics, and very unpredictable outcomes. This show has been running for a decade, and is adored by many. It also comes with warnings so that people who might be anxious or afraid of getting drawn into the performance, as well as small children, do not attend. Most would not immediately think of it as a clown show, but it has 90% of the hallmarks. Blue Man Group.

Causes of Clown Fears

In ye olden days (like ten years ago) the most common explanation for a fear of clowns (which includes people in unusual costumes and makeup) was that the person in question experienced a traumatic event as a child. However, a significant percentage of phobics reported no childhood trauma they could associate with their fear. The end result was that the phobic's report was often brushed off as the phobic having blocked the event or being too young to remember. As mentioned, some people's fears do stem from a bad encounter with a clown or from a movie, and yet there are many other scary movies and creepy people that do not incite their own phobia after a single viewing or a single event. Given these two factors, it is likely that there and additional, more potent issue in play.

General thinking seems to be coming around to the idea that there is an inherent suspicion or difficulty surrounding masks, makeup, and wildly out of place or exaggerated costuming. Our brains are wired, especially when young, to interpret the signs and signals of others to ensure our social place in the group. Heavy makeup in particular is disturbing because it gives the illusion you can still see the face (not a mask) but it distorts and confuses the facial expressions of the wearer. Young children cannot interpret the expressions of clowns in any way that makes sense, given their previous experience. In addition to this, clowns also act in ways outside of the social norms. They can push physical as well as mental and emotional boundaries, forcing people to get involved in acts or skits, spraying them with water or silly string, and even poking, prodding and grabbing.

With all this fodder it seems likely that a previous traumatized child would certainly be at a risk to develop a clown fear. Add on a scary movie or a bad encounter with a clown, and it becomes even more likely. But it also seems that these primal issues with trying to sort out expressions and social behavior are more than enough to give a certain percentage of otherwise untraumatized people a clown phobia.

It is interesting to note just how professional clowns go about making anxious kids feel more comfortable. They all of their own method, but they often include things like: making sure they are not heavily made up, putting on their makeup and costuming right in front of the children, breaking character to talk to a scared child, acting afraid of the scared child, and letting the scared child order them to do things. These methods for mitigating clown fear seem split into 'costume' related strategies, and 'control' related strategies.

Many clowns note that they are aware their makeup and costume can be daunting, and say right out that if the children can 'see there is a human under there' they are more likely to be comfortable. Clowns also note that a child has to believe they are in control, not the clown. This was especially noted in hospital settings, where so much of a child's control has already been taken from them. If a child sees that a clown is anxious of them, or has the chance to get the clown to take orders from them, they are more calm around the clown.

Okay, I've really beaten this topic into the ground, but after I got into it I just found it so fascinating. I am not a fan of clowns, but now I have a better appreciation for what they are trying to accomplish, and how they do it. I loved Blue Man Group, but was certainly uncomfortable since there is no seeing that show without being a participant. With some things, like clowns, you can't stand back and be on the sidelines.

I know there is something profound in that, but I'm going to quit while I'm ahead.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Phobias: Just One More Thing To Deal With

Hello Friends:

It is not uncommon for phobias of all kinds to be accompanied by (comorbid with) other stress and trauma related disorders, including depression. So if you end up with one, your odds are good that you’ll be dealing with another.

Because dealing with just one disorder is too easy … or something.

Phobias are at least one sort of diagnosis that gets a lot of press. Everyone knows someone who is afraid of something, so having a phobia doesn't have to make a person feel 'abnormal' anymore. My own little survey was hardly scientific, but once again I will extrapolate from no data to broad and sweeping conclusions. Three brave folks completed the poll with the following results:

Phobias! Which of the following make you freak? Pick all that apply.

(1) Spiders/Insects
(1) Needles/Blood
(1) Talking to people
(2) High or small spaces
(0) Leaving the house
(0) Nope – No phobias

This does support the idea that phobias are reasonably commonplace. Of course, many people are uncomfortable with spiders or needles, but if you find yourself panicked around them and avoiding them to the point that you would prefer to inhibit a major life activity, then you probably have a phobia. And naturally phobias come in several different flavors, with different triggers and treatments. Again, because it would be too easy, otherwise.

Specific Phobias - Also called 'simple' phobias, which none of them really are. These are the sorts of fears most people think about when they imagine phobias. And they are, in turn, also split into categories.

- Natural Environment Phobias - Triggered by objects or events in nature such as fear of storms, fear of lightning, fear of water, fear of the dark, fear of heights, and fear of flowers. Yes, flowers. It happens (anthrophobia). I've recently started developing both a fear of storms and a fear of snow - I think it's related to a general fear of being trapped, but whatever it is it is getting really irritating.

- Animal/Insect Phobias - All the classics are here; fear of mice, fear of cats/dogs, fear of spiders, fear of snakes, and -heh- fear of bats (chiroptophobia). I am phobic about spiders - terrified of them with no reason needed or given. Of course I wrote about being afraid of bats, but it's not the same. I find spiders disgusting and loathesome. I'm just afraid of bats, and squirrels and dogs and most other furry things because of my OCD fear of rabies. Makes perfect sense ...

- Situational Phobias - Triggered, as one might expect, by specific situations, like fear of flying, fear of elevators, fear of small spaces, fear of dentists, fear of driving, fear of tunnels, and on and on. Holy cow do I have a fear of flying. Bad bad fear that has never gotten better, even though I fly at least a half a dozen times a year, sometimes as much as once a month. The only thing that works is drugs - Ativan, actually. I'm still terrified, but in a sort of fogged out way. I've even fallen asleep on planes when I've had enough of the stuff, and that's a gift I only fantasized about before the meds.

- Blood/Injection/Injury Phobias - This is something of a more loose association of fears, but they all include issues like fear of blood, fear of being harmed, fear of needles, fear of medical procedures and such. I am terrified of needles. Again, just looking at them makes me sweat. I have both a standard phobia here, as well as an OCD phobia. And then you can add on the traumatic reactions related to violation and contamination. Needles = bad, and there's no getting around it.

Social Anxiety/Social Phobia - This category is split into two subdivisions.

- Generalized Social Anxiety - This is anxiety generated in any sort of social or 'performance' situation. Basically needing to be around people or talk in almost any way can scare a person with this fear. Yep. And I'm even an extrovert. I've got this one pretty bad.

- Specific Social Phobias - For people with specific social phobias, they are fine in almost any situation, except for something in particular; examples are fear of public speaking, fear of eating or drinking in front of people, using public restrooms, making phone calls, or answering a question in class.

Agoraphobia - Has it's own separate category. People used to think this was a fear of wide open spaces, but more likely it is a conditioned pattern of avoidance to situations where the person feels they might lose control or have a panic attack and be unable to get help. It is not entirely clear if agoraphobia, which usually ends up trapping people in their homes, is a kind of offshoot of Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Some people think that panic attacks are an extreme expression of GAD. And so having many panic attacks, leading to Agoraphobia, could mean that Agoraphobia is really bad GAD. Heh. I buy into that particular idea, myself, although my Agoraphobia isn't really Agoraphobia at all. I thought it was GAD related, but it seems to be severe generalized social anxiety, instead. I'm so afraid of having to deal with people, and afraid of their expectations, that I end up unable to leave the house, unable answer the phone, or even read my email, let alone respond to it.

And then, apparently, there are phobias that don't really fit into any category. Fear of illness and disease is tricky. It can sometimes be a type of injury phobia, but can also be an OCD related issue. Hypochondria in the classic sense is listed as a somatoform disorder; a type of disorder where people feel real pain, but the causes are most likely due to psychological factors. It is a severe bummer to have that disorder, since it is the one where people say "It's all in your head, so just get over it." But the pain is quite real, and needs to be dealt with. Many anxiety disorders have physical symptoms that can make a person feel physically very ill. Panic attacks routinely have people calling the ambulance thinking they are having heart failure. In any case, fear of illnesses and experiences of physical symptoms without cause is a very complex issue.

Oh yeah, as for the pic at the top:

Fear of stairs and steep slopes – Bathmophobia
Fear of climbing or falling down stairs – Climacophobia

And so what's the difference? Apparently Bathmophobia is a specific phobia, your basic fear and loathing of stairs. Climacophobia is a kind of social phobia, related to a fear of doing something embarrassing or humiliating when trying to climb stairs, or by accidentally falling down them.

When I started this I was thinking I'd just do a one-post job on phobias. Now I see it is going to provide fodder for a long, long time to come.

Your Hostess With Neuroses

Image is "look downstairs into stairwell whirl" by quapan on flickr via Creative Commons