My name is Annie, and I have OCD.

Sometime last spring (2011) I started seeing a therapist.  I had/have some issues.  (I hate using that word to try to describe what is going on while trying to be vague at the same time, but I haven't found a better word to use, so "issues" it is.)  I'm not embarrassed to say that I see a therapist because I think most people should.  I think it would be beneficial to the entire population if people got their stuff figured out.  I am a strong advocate for therapy.  I'm in therapy for a lot of different reasons, but I don't really want tot talk about them in detail.  At least not now.

Anyway, among the many enlightening moments I've had whilst talking with my therapist, the one that literally changed my entire world was when I asked her what it was about me that caused these behaviors/thoughts/etc and she simply said, "You're compulsive and obsessive."

Now, you aren't going to see me wash my hands a thousand times or toggle the light switches over and over or flip out if my books on my bookshelf are not lined up exactly.  That's not my bag.  What you will see me do (if you're paying attention) is spend 45 minutes agonizing over if the shower curtain I think I like is the Right one (do I like it?  does it reflect who i am?  is it cute?  will other people think it's cute?  will other people think I'm a bad person if they don't like it?), then put the shower curtain back because I just can't decide if it feels like it's the Right one, leave the store, come back a month later, agonize another 20 minutes about it and (if I am determined enough) decide that I will at least see how it looks, take it home, hang it up and then wonder what all the anxiety over it was for.

Ok, that is a silly example, but it really did happen and the anxiety and agony I felt over that decision was pretty intense.  My brain wants things to be done the Right Way from the very beginning and when I can't figure out how to accomplish that (which is most of the time) I either get anxious or I give up.  I couldn't write papers in high school without a major anxiety attack because I had a hard time figuring out how to organize the paper the right way, or research the right way, or see beginning to end the right way.  Emptying the dishwasher, editing photos, cleaning the bathroom, sticking to a schedule, setting routines, organizing tasks, deciding what to eat for dinner, it's all likely to give me anxiety.

It sounds stupid.  I should be able to do those things without having to take a Xanax first.  I should be able to function better than I am.  I shouldn't be sitting here having anxiety over what to have for dinner tonight (is it healthy?  will my kids eat it?  can i make this?  will my husband like it?  will i like it?  can i afford all of these ingredients?  will it help my children learn good eating habits?  will they grow up and be obese and have diabetes because I didn't teach them right?), my anxiety growing minute by minute as my time runs out before I have to have this figured out.

I feel lazy because of it.  Unproductive.  Slothful.  Weak.  Failure.  (These are all words my therapist would be mad at me for saying about myself.)  I do know better, that it's not entirely true.  My therapist would tell me that I get credit for just showing up for the day, that I do have more good qualities then bad, that I'm not expected to be perfect 100% of the time (51% is good enough).

I'm just having a day.  A lot has been changing and happening lately and I'm feeling overwhelmed trying to adjust to it all.   A new house with a to-do list that keeps growing day by day, moving into a new ward and being the new kid again, quitting my job and trying to figure out how to be a full time mom/wife again, a summer that has completely disappeared on me without accomplishing a fourth of what I wanted to, children who are growing up way too fast.  Its a lot and I feel out of control of it all.

So often throughout my life I wished someone would have just taken me by the hand and shown me the way to get through it, to put their arm around me and say "I know this is hard for you, let me help." The problem is that nobody knew there was really a problem until just this last year.  I'm not blaming anyone.  I did a pretty good job of acting like there wasn't anything wrong (I didn't know there really was), but it's been 30 years, friends.  I'm glad to finally understand and have clarity about why things happened the way they did, but the future is overwhelming now because this will always be a part of me and who knows if it will get worse?

Anyway, sorry to be a downer today.  I don't post forever and when I do, it's this.  Ha.  Well.  There you have it.

I did finish up a couple of books recently.  "A Hero for WondLa" (#2 in "The Search for WondLa" series) and "Kenny & the Dragon" (which I read with my kids) both by Tony DiTerlizzi.  Loved them. Especially "Kenny & the Dragon".  Go pick them up.

Peace out.