(This is a continuation of the story Waking Up to OCD)
Walking the tourist strip of a small college town with family, a sense of urgency compels me to back-track and walk in a particular manner on a specified section of the sidewalk. I step back as indiscreetly as I can, feigning a nonchalant reason (such as peering in a shop window) to calm the compulsion without attention. With the shame in my actions small and deeply hidden, I resume walking and do not give another thought to my strange behavior.
Braiding my daughter's hair to soothe her to sleep, a wordless feeling suggests “each fold of the braid on this strand is ten more years of life for our family,” and being unsure if this applies to us as a collective unit or for each of us individually, I braid tightly to fit in as many folds as possible. I feel the deep inner cold, the slight tightening of my chest, and ignore the part of me whispering “this is absurd,” because the unformed question sits in my subconscious, “what if it is true?”
One night, amid an ever-tightening fear and compulsion spiral, a new thought springs to mind:
Maybe you have OCD…
I cannot find the origins of this thought. I knew so little about #OCD, and what I did know was only the caricature produced by popular media. I do not know why this thought came to me, but that evening I started researching obsessive compulsive disorder.
I began consuming hours of OCD podcasts each day. I started taking note of all the events of my life which I now saw to be an obsession or a compulsion.
I noted the nights lying in bed as a child, terrified of fire, repeatedly praying for God to protect my family, the many times I got up to check and double check the stove, and the way I placed most my stuffed animals on the floor to offer them some protection from the fire which might still come despite my efforts.
I noted the incomplete feeling I often have when I leave a place, a feeling that is nearly sorrow. The times I have crouched down to look underneath our car to make sure I did not accidentally drop something. The times I have gone back to a restaurant booth to carefully examine the seats, the floor, and the table for personal items. The length of time it takes me to leave a hotel room because every corner and drawer must be thoroughly checked. The empty, sad feeling that lingers even after I have performed these checks.
I noted the way I can get stuck in a store, unable to decide what to purchase, staring at the options while my mind races through all the reasons each option is the wrong choice. The frustration I feel as my heart starts racing, my chest tightens, and a voice inside screams “just pick something!”
I noted the way I have always insisted the word “goodbye” was off limits, and how I have insisted my husband and I never part ways saying “I love you.” I feared if we ever parted with “I love you,” death would surely come for one of us.
I noted, and I noted, and I noted. Little things. Big things. Inconsequential things. Embarrassing things. On and on and on.
The obsessive-compulsive processing in my brain is entangled into my farthest-reaching memories, and they do not seem a foreign substance. The small and subtle ways in which my brain tries to protect me from my deepest fears are revealed in plain light for the bizarrities they are, but without light they are just a small and shameful part of me, and I am content to keep them hidden, even from myself.
Sitting on the other side of the light, I marvel at how I avoided seeing myself. How could my life be so full of these thought/behavior quirks that I managed to not ponder or see the pattern for thirty-six years? How could I, an intelligent and introspective individual, believe the lies of security and safety the compulsive thoughts and behaviors promised me?
No one ever told me some people’s brains misfire and send fight or flight signals of danger where no danger exists. Entrenched in the daily grind of #anxiety and OCD, I could not see the patterns. My symptoms were mild enough to avoid detection but strong enough to rob my life of so much joy and peace.
Sufferers from OCD and Anxiety disorders have a problem in our brains. The part of our brain which sends signals of danger triggering the fight or flight response (the amygdala) sends these signals in response to stimuli which are not actually dangerous, sending out body into fight or flight mode when no real danger is present. The more we respond with fight or flight, the more we reinforce these faulty signals causing the anxiety spiral to tighten. By avoiding the danger (typical in #AnxietyDisorders) or responding to the danger with some sort of protective counter thought or action (typical in OCD), the brain is taught to keep sending these signals.
These misfiring’s of the brain typically get stuck on particular themes, which become obsessions. The reason I could get in my car and drive my kids around without experiencing strong flight or fight responses (though I do experience minor generalized anxiety about practically anything that could pose a danger to my children) is because this has not been a major theme of my OCD experience.
On the other hand, because one theme of my OCD experience has been fear I will harm my family in my sleep, I would experience the fight or flight response just by seriously considering leaving a knife on the counter overnight.
OCD is not consistent, and OCD sufferers complete compulsive behaviors in response to strong feelings of foreboding warning us that “something terrible will happen if…,” and such feelings are so compelling logic is defied and the warning is heeded. A degree of relief follows compulsive actions or thoughts which serves to reinforce the behavior, but like addiction, the relief diminishes over time. The intensity of the obsessive thoughts and feelings grows, and the responses must intensify in order to achieve that same degree of relief.
The process of understanding the patterns of my brain, thoughts, and actions, did not take away my problems, but this knowledge brought a new framework from which to understand my life and practical tools for combating obsessive fears and engaging in life with a new kind of freedom.
But as is true of all things worthwhile, this new freedom did not come without cost, for to enter this new land required release of that which I held sacred for so many years: my certainty of God.
This story will continue. Until next time, may God hold us close in both darkness and light,
Jen
The stories and meanings here are my own stories and my own experiences. While I do hope they help you on your own journey, they are not therapy or a replacement for therapy. I am not a therapist, and nothing here should be used as a replacement for professional services.
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