OCD: Comfort and Anxiety

When I was little, I thought it was normal to count the number of letters in a word and divide it equally in half, cutting the middle letter into two if the number of letters were odd.
I thought it was normal to make sure I stepped an equal amount of times in between each crack in the sidewalk and that if I stepped on a crack, my other foot had to step on the next crack with the exact same footing and pressure as the previous foot had.
I thought it was normal to have fears of body parts---for me, feet. I've been afraid of feet ever since I can remember.

I never spent much time thinking about these little obsessions because they were just little. They didn't hold my life back and they didn't slow me down. They have always been a part of me.

In high school, I realized how much I obsessed over eating things in even numbers and I would spend a lot of time eating my cereal, making sure each bite contained an even number of pieces. Then I would chew an equal amount on each side of my mouth.

I still didn't care though. By this point, I had recognized this was Obsessive Compulsive Disorder but it was just a part of me and everyone in my family had it to some degree. We would laugh about it often and I never told anyone about the anxiety I would feel that seemed to be associated with my OCD.

Peter noticed my OCD right off the bat. I mean, you can't have a fear of feet without your spouse finding out. It just doesn't work that way. Peter knew touching me with his feet would cause me to freak out, often times needing an extra shower or to change my clothes if it happened in certain areas of my body. Close to my hands and face were the biggest trigger areas for me.

Peter knew I had to eat even numbers of things and that I seemed to walk like a drunk person because of my obsession with the cracks in the sidewalk. He knew I counted the dashes and light poles along each street and matched them in pairs so they would stay even. He knew I would often rewrite words on a piece of paper because I didn't use equal amounts of pressure with the pen.

And he hated it.

I think he may have hated it more than I did.

Sure, it was annoying a few times but it was just my quirky way of doing things. I liked the way my OCD felt because it was safe.

During times of trauma, it becomes worse. When things are feeling stable, it seems to just lurk in the background and only controls my life to a certain degree.

Only controls my life to a certain degree... That phrase just feels so weird. And if you don't have OCD, you might not understand what that feels like to me.

A few years ago, when we had just started marriage counseling, Pan had brought up my OCD to our counselor---most likely in an effort to get the attention off of him for a second. I was really frustrated with him for doing so because I AM FINE! And although I still think his reasonings are stupid for why he did that, I am kinda sorta grateful he brought it up. Because I just don't know if I would've ever told my counselor about it.

Because honestly, I don't always notice it.

It's just the way I am.

But we began a discussion in counseling on how OCD can get worse after traumatic events. I actually looked up episodes of Obsessed on Netflix and watched them, shaking my head at these crazy people who did these crazy things for really crazy reasons. I couldn't be grouped in that same category, could I?

The answer is yes, I could. I am. To an extent, that is.

I don't recount the number of tiles in my kitchen to see if the number has changed from the last time. I don't have fears that the floor underneath me will break. I don't keep my kids inside all day every day in fear of the germs in our society. My house isn't obsessively cleaned each and every day.

But I do wash my hands a lot all of a sudden. And I freak out if they start to feel dirty almost instantly. And yesterday, my son licked my daughter's foot and I was in the fetal position on the couch, trying not to vomit from the sheer terror I felt. And if I itch my face on one side, I cannot focus on anything else until I itch the other side an equal number of times with an equal amount of pressure.

And I cannot, CANNOT handle the radio/tv volume being on an odd number. I don't care if I'm at my own house or if I'm at yours. I will make you change it up or down a notch. I will panic until you do so. And the second it is changed, my anxiety will release and I will feel safe again.

This is real life. This is my life. I'm starting to hate it. I'm still really loving it.

It is comfort and anxiety---a package deal that seems so very similiar to my eating disorder.

Comfort and anxiety. You didn't think those two things could coexist, did you?

Well, they can. And for me, they do.

I just don't want help because I fear it. I fear every second I let myself speak of the vulnerable things in my life. I fear the insecurities about how psychotic I am and how unstable this all makes me feel. My OCD is hard to talk about because it really does make me seem bat shit crazy. I'd think that about me if I were you.

This stuff seems ridiculous. But sadly, it's real. And it's my life.

I haven't even fully covered all of my OCD triggers and tendencies. Sadly, this isn't where it ends. This is just a peek into my crazy mind.

Please try to believe me when I tell you I'm not this unstable all of the time. As anxious as I get, I am still a functioning adult and you probably wouldn't know that I had OCD if you met me on the street.

Unless you touch me with your feet. You sure as hell would see my OCD if you ever touch me with your feet. And please oh please oh please, if you know me and are reading this, don't touch me with your feet to be funny. I might laugh---but inside I'll be screaming. And I'm serious about that.

Our Flawed Love Story: Part 5

To read from the beginning, click here.

When our graduation from marriage counseling was complete, and by that I mean when we decided we didn't need to go back together so we told her we were done, I couldn't shake the feelings of anxiety and panic. I didn't want things to go back to the way they were and I was so scared.

I voiced these feelings during our last visit and Peter Pan and our counselor suggested I keep seeing her on my own. I was unsure. I was afraid to stop seeing her and I was afraid of the recent things I was feeling.

The littlest of things would make me panic. I couldn't pray kneeling next to my bed because I had thoughts of someone jumping out of my closet and killing me. I couldn't handle being alone because I was sure I'd be raped or killed. My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder was taking over my life and I would often get stuck in an aisle at the store, not sure which brand of food to get or how many to buy. Simple decisions became really hard and scary because I didn't want to make the wrong choice and mess everything up.

Fear controlled me.

I felt like someone going through Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and yet, the most stressful thing in my life was the fact that my husband didn't go to church which I had learned to cope with. I felt crazy and unstable and I couldn't figure out why. What was I fearing? Why was I fearing?

Counseling helped me so much. I started taking anxiety medication to stabilize my thoughts so I could better decipher the good from the bad. I was more logical. My OCD wasn't as obsessive. It took 4 months of counseling to help me cope with the nothing that I was freaking out about. We never did quite figure out what was making me feel that way at the time but it would make sense soon enough. (Read about it "making sense" in this post)

I confided in my counselor in those months about some struggles that had controlled my life and made me live in fear. They were addictions that weren't addictions. But I was sure they were addictions and I had made myself believe that I was making decisions worse than adultery. I was certain I would go to hell if I didn't repent.

I could hardly look her in the eye that day. I couldn't even get the words out of my mouth so she had to guess them instead. I had this view of how she would see me when we were done and it didn't look pretty.

But there was no judgement that day. There was love and a sadness for how I was making myself feel over something that was a common struggle. I had no idea.

That day, I felt a little bit more free than I ever had before.

I stopped going to counseling the very last week of July 2013 and I couldn't believe it had been almost a year since I had met this lady who had changed our lives.

School started. Things seemed ok, although distant as usualy between myself and Peter Pan. I was used to leaving him alone because when I didn't, his emotional abuse was too much for me. I still had faith that he would figure things out and I was ok with waiting.

Three weeks after school started, Peter Pan would make a decision that would change our lives forever.

 

To read Part 6, click here.

Our Flawed Love Story: Part 4

To read from the beginning, click here.

I was nervous about marriage counseling. I wasn't sure anyone or anything could fix where we were.
But I had this vision of our LDS marriage counselor telling Peter Pan he needed to go back to church and support his family and his wife. I had the visions of the things she would say to him and tell him to do to fix our marriage.

You can probably guess that none of those visions came true. Marriage counseling was nothing like what I expected. Although I was emotionally closed off in the beginning, the hurt would sometimes seep through and I would tell her all of the ways my heart was breaking for the marriage I thought I had and the marriage that really was. She listened and validated my feelings and helped me learn how to be ok with the changes that were taking place. We made plans for what I could and couldn't handle and how our marriage was going to be affected by raising our children with an LDS mother and an atheist father. It was 9 months of learning for me. It was 9 months of work for the both of us.

She taught Peter that he needed to be a more involved father and husband. She told him that every day after work, he should come home and think of one thing he could do for me before settling in for the night. Some days, he would do it and some days, he wouldn't but I felt like he was trying.

She asked Peter what standards were going to change with him not wanting to be LDS and also, she asked me what standards I could handle changing. He said things wouldn't change, other than the fact that he wouldn't be going to church with us. She asked about drinking, having sex with other women, doing drugs, etc. and he denied wanting to do any of that. I was relieved. I knew I could handle this and I prayed so hard for him to come back to church with us someday.

Church was hard with a 4 and 3 year old. It was hard feeling so alone. I held back tears often those first few months. Some people noticed I was husband-less at church, others would awkwardly ask where he was and when I'd tell them the truth, they would have nothing to say about it. It was a really hard time for me.

Christmas came and I begged Peter to join us for church because I would be singing in the program. He decided to come just for sacrament meeting and I was elated. I prayed so hard that he would feel something. For an emotionally closed off person, I cried through each song and felt the Spirit so strong. I asked him about it after the meeting and he seemed cold and distant, telling me he felt nothing. He gave me the children and walked out to drive home. I was heartbroken. I was trying so hard to help him find happiness and nothing was working.

On New Years that year, we got in one of the biggest fights to date. I was sure I was done. I couldn't handle the emotional abuse and I couldn't handle feeling so alone. Marriage is supposed to feel supportive, not lonely. Peter refused to spend the week with my family at our cabin so at 6am, I drove myself and our children through what felt like a blizzard up north to be with my family. Peter said he needed to work anyway. It was an emotional holiday because I felt like things were over. Things seemed to be getting worse than they were before we started marriage counseling and I was confused.

I stuck it out and we made it back to counseling the next week, where we talked through the holidays. Peter seemed attentive to what was being said and was in a good mood. He was a charmer. He told our counselor what she needed to hear and when we would get home, he would find ways to make me feel like this was all my fault so I was guilted into working hard by myself for our marriage. Peter is a manipulator. Often times, I would need him by my side while I cried and he would end up making me feel selfish for even having a broken heart over infertility or friendship problems.

It took me a while to realize I would need to do this on my own---and by that, I don't mean get a divorce. I had faith that Peter would eventually recognize his depression and come around so I decided I would give him what he needed from me and try my hardest to make life easier on him.

He would come home from work and I would allow him to go lay in bed while I fed the kids dinner and put them to bed. It was emotionally hard to feel like I was alone in my marriage once again but over time, I grew to love my life again.

I had faith that this was a phase. I knew I could help Peter become the man he had once been. I would see small glimpses of the man I married and that kept me going.

We "graduated" from marriage counseling in April of 2013 and I felt like things were going really well and that we would make it through this.

To continue on to Part 5, click here.

Our Flawed Love Story: Part 3

To read from the beginning, click here.

I was feisty. I knew I was quick to anger but I was also quick to forgive. Peter Pan was an addictive liar and would often tell me little white lies about where he was and what he was doing. I would check his phone often because I knew of his ability to lie on a whim. I think it would be safe to say that 75% of the time I'd check his phone, there was some lie that I'd find out from that day or week. And another 10% of the time, all of his messages would be erased when I'd check.

Every time I'd confront him, he would become irate and yell at me about how I shouldn't be going through his stuff. He would tell me that everyone lies and that he's sure I lied to him too. I handed him my phone during one of those arguments and told him I had nothing to hide.

All of the lies were little. None of them were lies about anything that would be extremely detrimental to our marriage. But they were still lies.

For the first 5 years of our marriage, I never assumed there was anything worse that my pathological lying husband wasn't telling me. That may make me sound pretty stupid but I never had a reason to believe he was doing anything big that he shouldn't be doing.

I'd go back in time and give myself this look if I could.

I should've been more in tune with what was going on in my marriage but because we fought so much, I had learned not to rock the boat as much---because when I did rock the boat, there was fire and fury on both sides.

We were both hurting and I had learned not to trust anything Peter did or said...or so I thought. Let's come back to that later...

There was one morning that Peter was still in bed when we were getting ready for church. I kept asking him to get up and get ready and I was getting impatient. This had been happening more frequently and I wasn't "dealing" well with taking the kids to church on my own while he made up new excuses. I got angry with him. I yelled. He got angry right back. He told me he didn't believe in God and that he wouldn't be attending church with us ever again.

I wished I could go back in time to 30 minutes prior and ignore him staying in bed. I blamed myself for getting mad and pushing him over the edge.

But the hurt we were going through was too much. I told him I was done. I told him that him being the spiritual leader in our home was the last thing I had held onto and that I was leaving.

That day, I met with our bishop and surprisingly, Peter joined me. Our bishop was not helpful that day. I felt like it was 2 men against 1 woman. I felt like I was being blamed because of my emotions over our inability to conceive a third child. I felt like I was being told that was the reason my husband was struggling. It was all my fault. We agreed to meet with the bishop the next week to see how things were going.

What a long week. We hardly talked because I still wasn't sure I wanted to stay in this emotionally abusive and exhausting marriage.

Sunday came again and after skipping out on church, Peter showed up for our meeting with the bishop, only this time, he was closed off. His arms were folded, his eyebrows were furrowed, and his answers consisted of short yes's, no's, and ok's. Our bishop realized that he wasn't getting through to Peter and told us there was nothing else he could do for us except refer us to a marriage counselor.

We agreed.

To continue on to Part 4, click here.