OCD and ME

Most everyone gets a song stuck in their head now and then. I certainly do. But recently OCD has gotten involved and it's turned from a simple annoyance to something of a concern. I realize this is one of those things that the general population isn't going to fully understand -- I think you need to have OCD or another form of anxiety to get it -- but I feel pretty safe talking about it here. It sounds like I'm joking, but here goes: For about the past month, I'd say way more than half the time I wake up in the morning I have Wham's "Careless Whisper" going through my head -- instantly. "I'm never gonna dance again, Guilty feet have got no rhythm ... Should have known better than to cheat a friend." Just those words. I admit, this sounds funny. The scary thing is I don't hear this song enough, if ever these days, for it to be so stuck in my head. It was never a favorite song of mine either. I didn't NOT like it, I just never s...

We've all seen those cliche -- and inaccurate -- images of what OCD is: the crooked pencil in a line of straight pencils, the one yellow M&M in the pile of reds. So for my post today I want to try to show what OCD really looks like, at least to me. This proved especially challenging, because my most painful and most consuming OCD is mental -- whether it's "bad thoughts" or religiousity or catastrophizing. But I'm going to give it a try. For the most part, the images that follow probably look ordinary, boring. But to my OCD mind, they have some serious power. A normal bathroom soap dispenser? Yes. But my OCD tells me I have to pump it 7 times, or in multiples of 7, whenever I wash my hands. Just clothes in a closet. We've all seen this. But to my OCD mind, all the clothes "must" be facing to the right. Buttons to the right, prints on t-shirts to the right. I've tried hard to let them face left when I've made an error and i...

I never thought I was claustrophobic -- it never even occurred to me that I might be. Until I went for my first MRI. I'm not sure this has anything to do with OCD, though in my case I think it does, because now when faced with an MRI I tend to catastrophize -- focusing on having the worst possible experience in that tube weeks ahead of the actual appointment. For my first MRI I was offered a Valium to keep me calm. I cockily said no, don't need it, and proceeded to get on the MRI table. My recollection is that I didn't start to panic right away, as they slid me head first into the tube. But I do recall starting to get a little uncomfortable. Then they handed me a panic button in case I needed to get out. They turned the machine on and in maybe a second -- at most -- I was hitting away at the button. Kicking my legs up and down. Yelling something to the effect of "Get me out. Now!" Of course I was embarrassed and it goes without saying that I got no furth...

Getting this out of the way right off the top: I'm not sure I can describe all the feelings that go through my head when I have what OCD is telling me is a 'bad thought.' It's something I've been experiencing since I was a  child -- many, many times a day -- but I don't think I've ever fully described it to anyone. But I'm going to give it a try. Here goes: The thought comes into my brain out of nowhere. It could be a simple obscenity, or it could be an obscenity with someone's name attached to it. It could be an obscenity with my own name attached to it. Or it may have nothing to do with obscenities at all. It might be "I hate (fill in the blank)." Or it could be religion related (the worst of them all -- because OCD perceives it as offense against God for which I may never be forgiven). All that happens in a fraction of a second. Where I suppose someone without OCD wouldn't even know the thought was there, or if they did, woul...

Yesterday I was thinking about what my life would be like without OCD. Almost all of the differences would be positive, but as a friend reminded me, I believe that some elements of my personality (empathy, compassion) at least, in part, are stronger because I've had  mental health challenges. So here's a list -- a partial one, because who has time to read a comprehensive list, anyway? -- of things that would NOT be part of my daily life if I didn't have OCD. A constant need to count things (such as how many times I look at a religious symbol). A constant need to have items (such as scissors) pointing up and to the right, out of some OCD concept that up and to the right is good, down and to the left is bad. A fear that so many decisions I make will have some powerful implication on someone else's, if not everyone else's, well-being. And I don't mean major decisions, could be simply how I fold a bathroom towel or whether I throw away a piece of trash now ...

In July, I wrote about how "memory hoarding" is such a difficult aspect of OCD for me. Essentially, I see it as an OCD-fueled obsession to remember every detail of a moment, interaction, event so I don't forget it. Of course, that's almost impossible, so I end up regretting not being able to recall every detail. And to make it worse, by trying to remember every minute detail, I lose my view of the bigger picture, thus diminishing my recall even further. Last night, however, I think I found another aspect of memory hoarding. I had a great evening with friends at a comedy club and was pleased with myself for not doing the standard hoarding activities and just, instead, enjoyed the moments. But then, I noticed after I got home last night -- and then again today -- I started thinking about the evening, with my OCD brain telling me all the ways I messed up. How I "tainted" what was, sure, a fine evening but could have been so much better if I hadn't ...

When I'm around people I still have OCD, I just find ways of hiding it -- or more precisely -- of doing my obsessions and compulsions in ways that aren't so obvious. At work, I have a desk in the corner of the room that faces a wall. It seemed weird at first, but then it was somehow comforting. I now think it gives me a sense of privacy -- kind of having my own office, without the door. At my desk I do have my OCD moments -- counting, staring at things, praying and then of course sometimes hitting myself in the head to get certain compulsions to stop. As much as I think someone must have seen me do this, it's actually quite possible they haven't. I'm kind of an OCD ninja, or an OCD magician -- now you see it, now you don't. Did you see me do something compulsive? No? But I did, and right in front of you. At home I sneak my obsessive routines in when no one is looking -- praying, touching things a certain number of times, looking at things, showering and ...

In June, I wrote about "good" and "bad" numbers , according to my OCD. That's just the tip of the iceberg. My compulsions lead me to do a lot of things in certain number groupings. It's a fairly common OCD characteristic. In my case, sometimes those number groupings work in tandem with those "good" and "bad" numbers, sometimes they don't. OCD likes to play games. In this post, I wanted to just mention a fraction of my common numerical repetitions: 7: The number of times I pump the soap dispenser. If 7 doesn't feel quite right, then I increase it by multiples of 7, usually stopping at 21. (I go through a lot of liquid soap.) 4: Paper towels I pull out of the dispenser in the restroom to dry my hands. If 4 doesn't satisfy my brain, 7 generally does. If there are other people around, it's usually the quicker the better. 4: The number of pieces of garbage I will often throw out at one time or in quick succession. I...

Mirror, mirror on the wall, I can't look at you at all... If it were socially acceptable, I would cover up all mirrors I come across. I can't stand looking at myself -- even catching a glimpse of myself. If there's a positive attribute, my brain puts a negative spin on it. And if it's a negative attribute -- of which there are many to chose from -- my brain takes the opportunity and runs with it. I've never been formally diagnosed with body dysmorphic disorder, but given how I see myself, and the connection of BDD to OCD, I'd say there's a pretty good chance I have it to a degree. Growing up I was way overweight and short -- I'm still short (still waiting for that growth spurt into adulthood) but having spent time at the gym and paying some attention to my food intake, the weight has evened out. That said, when I look in a mirror, I see the unattractive stuff. Is it all real? I honestly don't know for sure. It seems real. And my OCD trainin...

It's not often, but sometimes to get a slight advantage on the bully that is OCD, I throw it a curve and think about the benefits of having OCD. Yeah, I know, there aren't many. And maybe it's stretching it to say there are any at all. But I came up with a few to throw in the bully's face. First, I believe having OCD has made me a compassionate person. There's no way to truly understand mental illness without experiencing it, in my opinion. I have empathy for others that I might not have if I didn't experience OCD first hand. I try hard to be non-judgmental. OK, I judge myself 90 percent of my waking hours -- but I do try hard to be non-judgmental of others. I give a lot of credit to my mother, who lived her life that way. But I also credit OCD. I have a better sense of what people may be going through because I know what I'm often going through. Speaking of my mother, she was excellent in a crisis. She was a nurse and a caretaker for her ill and a...

Early on in my battle with OCD, someone described it as being a bully. I didn't really get the comparison at first, but now I see it's 100 percent accurate. Like a bully, OCD picks on your weaknesses. Like a bully, you can beg it to stop and it won't -- in fact, it generally takes your begging as a sign to attack even harder. I know, because I've had bullies -- and OCD -- and I see the similarities. Though truth is, OCD is a bigger bully than my several human bullies ever were. Some examples: One of my OCD issues is having what I call "bad thoughts." Even as a kid I referred to them as "bad thoughts," I guess, because to categorize them more specifically seems impossible. They are all over the map. Anyway, when the subject of the thought is a person, it's inevitably a person I care deeply about. The bully knows I love this person -- my parents, a friend -- so it targets them. I don't tend to have bad thoughts about people I don't ...

As much as I have come to depend on technology providing instant access to information, I sometimes wonder if it's causing me harm when it comes to OCD. I mentioned in a previous post that I have a great fear of forgetting things -- people's names, common facts, it runs the gamut. When I can't recall something, I go into a panic. Breathing becomes more difficult. My mind spins into thoughts of dementia. I'm sure many, if not most, therapists would tell me to sit with that discomfort of not remembering as a means of exposure therapy. Sit with it as it diminishes, and then ultimately, the hope is, I become desensitized to it and it holds no power. I agree with that approach. But so many times, now, as I sit with the anxiety of forgetting something I know it's just a Google search away. And more times than not, I take the 20 seconds and find the answer online. What was the name of the actor who starred in that movie? Check with Google. What band was it tha...

It was one of those moments when I knew I wasn't alone in my anxiety. I was at an OCD conference and the speaker had just described something I'd experienced for years. I just never had a name for it -- and frankly, wouldn't even have known how to describe it in the first place. But he knew what it was -- "memory hoarding." As it's explained in an article from the OCD Center of Los Angeles , memory hoarding is "a mental compulsion to over-attend to the details of an event, person, or object in an attempt to mentally store it for safekeeping. ... People with memory hoarding OCD exhibit two major errors in information processing. The first error is the distorted belief that they will need this memory someday, and that it would be catastrophic if the memory weren’t 100% accurate. Second, people with memory hoarding also have the distorted belief that memories can be treated the same way as inanimate objects." (Essentially, as I understand ...

Working most of my adult life in a newsroom, it makes sense that I would hear a lot of fingers tapping away at keyboards. When I started, I enjoyed the sound -- it was the sound of important work getting done. Then one day the click, click, clicking of a room full of fingers on keyboards sounded much louder than usual. It was all I could hear. Suddenly, a sound that I had come to look forward to hearing was making my skin crawl. What was happening? A little research and I found that what was happening probably falls into the category of misophonia, a heightened sensitivity to certain sounds that has been linked to OCD and other forms of anxiety. Give me a barking dog any day. But someone chewing food? It unnerves me. Want to crack your knuckles? Go for it, I'll do it too. But a lip-smacking sound -- even a very quiet one -- can cause my anxiety to skyrocket. None of this makes much sense to me. And I certainly would never ask someone not to chew food. It's...

Maybe this happens to everyone who tries blogging about OCD or other forms of anxiety -- though it was a surprise to me -- but a month or so in and I'm realizing that writing about my OCD experiences is a form of exposure therapy. I have lots of stories to tell and I can't wait to share them. If I had my way, I'd think them and they would appear on the page -- I want to tell them that quickly. But at the same time, I've noticed that the more stories I share, the more my OCD acts up. Putting these challenges into words that I read over and over before hitting "publish," is bringing things to the surface. I've got to think that's a good thing. Frankly, I had a therapist who told me to record myself telling an OCD "worst-case" scenario and play it over and over and over again until I became desensitized to it. (It was a hospital-ambulance scenario and within a week I actually lived it in reality -- more on that in an upcoming post.) An...

In a recent post, I suggested that, as much as I fight the idea, I could be holding on to OCD rather than letting it go. That it's a safety net. I made the argument that having OCD around gives me something to blame if things go wrong. But I think I missed the point. The more I consider it, the more I feel that if I am clinging to OCD it's because the compulsive rituals give my brain a sense that I have control over things. Oh sure, in my clear mind I know touching something a certain number of times or counting to a number that feels "good" isn't going to keep every driver I see on the road from getting into an accident, but my OCD brain doesn't acknowledge that. So the OCD repetitions give me a sense that I can have a say in how things turn out in a world that, in reality, is extremely random. As psychologically painful as OCD is, the concept that I can control things just by doing some rituals offsets that -- at least in my OCD mind. Letting g...

Typical OCD moment for me: I feel a piece of popcorn stuck to the back of a tooth I can barely reach with my tongue and I freak out. My mind spins rapidly and I obsess over tying to get the popcorn out. I keep trying to dislodge it with my tongue even though I know the more I contort my face, the more likely my jaw will start hurting. Even when it does start hurting, I keep doing it. Then OCD's voice gains strength "Remember that guy you used to work with who said he got a piece of popcorn stuck in his teeth one day and needed root canal the next? He said he was kidding, but you doubt it, don't you. It could happen." "Are you going to make an appointment with the dentist just to get food unstuck? How embarrassing." "If you don't get it out, it could cause an infection. Then you might need surgery." "You shouldn't have eaten the popcorn in the first place. This is your fault." Meanwhile, I have a searing pain in my ...

In line with my Jewish faith, I light memorial candles on the anniversary of the deaths of mother and father. It's when I started observing this tradition that I began to sense I had potential to be a hoarder. Each candle comes in a glass container and is intended to burn for about 24 hours. You don't blow them out -- you let them burn -- and when they're done, you presumably discard the container. Except I couldn't discard the container. My mother died first and my OCD was fierce when it came time to throw away the used glass: "How could you throw that away -- it's a connection to your mother. How disrespectful can you be? Don't you love her anymore?" So I didn't throw the candle away the first year, or the second, or the first seven anniversaries. I mentioned this to my OCD therapist and she put it simply?: "So do you think you can just keep them forever?" It was a good question. Already they were taking up some space an...

My panic over forgetting names started with the '60s pop singer Trini Lopez. For some reason, I find that pretty funny. I liked his rendition of "If I Had a Hammer" but it wasn't like I was a starstruck fan. It happened sometime in the late-70s/early-'80s, I'd say. I was listening to a compilation album with a song of his on it and I suddenly couldn't think of his name. It freaked me out. I'm not sure why -- I was still a kid, so I wasn't thinking dementia -- but it just terrified me that I knew his name one minute, then couldn't recall it the next. So from time to time, for years after -- and, frankly, even today on occasion -- I feel the need to recall his name. Just so I know it's there, I guess, safe and sound in my brain. This sounds like OCD to me. It's not just Trini Lopez, though. Same thing happens with others -- especially with the actor Dennis Quaid. Again, I like his work, I just wouldn't say he's my favori...

This may sound odd, but sometimes I wonder if I'm capable of functioning without OCD. It's been a part of my life for so long it's hard to imagine what it would be like to go through my day without repetitive thoughts, counting, a fear of certain thoughts. OCD can be excruciating. The effort it takes to do the mental repetitions and the simultaneous effort it takes not to let anyone know I'm doing them is exhausting. So is it even conceivable that I'd be lost without OCD? Maybe I think that with obsessive compulsive disorder I always have something to blame if things go poorly. But if OCD were suddenly out of the picture, everything would be my fault. There'd be nothing to blame. Is it possible OCD has become a safety net that I can't let go of? It's hard for me to believe that I'm clinging to OCD. So I fight back at the thought -- and maybe the thought, itself, is an OCD thought to begin with. One thing is pretty certain: I would sure ...