OCD

Vulnerability is OK

I’d like to once again thank the great people at The Mighty for posting another story of mine: “When I Want Permission to Be Overwhelmed By My Mental Illness.” It’s about dealing with vulnerability, a subject that’s difficult for me.

If you haven’t checked out their site, I recommend it. They do great work.

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OCD

Communion

I love reading and likely own more books than I can possibly read in a lifetime. This doesn’t deter me from buying more books, however. Setting aside whether I should talk to someone about my book problem, I’d like to discuss how OCD affects my love of reading. I’ve been thinking about this for awhile, and because the universe often allows you to find what you’re looking for (confirmation bias perhaps), I stumbled across this piece about OCD and Reading  by Janet Singer.

OCD is notorious for attaching itself to everything you love. That’s the source of its power. For me, I’m often concerned about losing my support system, my family and friends. I worry about losing them to accidents or disease. When I read, I’m often confronted by trigger words. For a long while, if I saw words like “death” or “cancer” or “heart attack,” I’d immediately have to stop reading and start ritualizing. Even now it’s difficult to write those words. Sometimes whole scenes about tragic events can stop me from reading.

Some might suggest reading more lighthearted books as a cure for what ails me. But that’s not it. Reading for me is a rewarding experience because of the communion I feel with others while doing it. Even explorations of darkness bring light. One feels less alone when reading about struggle. The writer seems to say, “We’re in this together.” There’s a devastating beauty amidst the suffering.

And that word — “communion” — represents another idea that keeps percolating. I’ve been reading quite a bit about language, words, reading and listening, and the recurring theme in all these books and articles is that of communion. Talking and listening, reading and writing, words themselves bring people together.

Here’s one of my favorite lines from When Breath Becomes Air, a neurosurgeon’s meditation on confronting death: “I had come to see language as an almost supernatural force, existing between people, bringing our brains, shielded in centimeter-thick skulls, into communion.” That line explains why reading is so important to me, and why I hate when OCD interrupts this intimate exchange. Fortunately, I’m able to read with less ritualizing these days, and that’s wonderful because I need to buy more books.

OCD in the wild

Share Your Story

Recently I shared part of my story  at The Secret Illness, a great site where people discuss their intrusive thoughts and say a little bit about their OCD. If you or someone you know has OCD, check out the site and consider sharing your own story. You can even be completely anonymous.

The more people know about OCD the less stigmatized it will be. Plus, hearing other people’s stories has always made me feel less alone. Perhaps this is true of others as well.

OCD

Stretch, Leap, Sail, Jump

I have this theory that OCD informs some of the risks I take. These are calculated risks, though some might say that’s absurd. That’s because these gambles involve jumping out of airplanes and leaping off tall buildings. But even as I’m filling out the paperwork to relinquish vendors of any responsibility for my potential death or dismemberment, I’m thinking, “Well, how often does the parachute fail to open?”

Here’s where the OCD comes in. The only way to get better is to face your fears. You have to flood yourself with anxiety in order for that anxiety to decrease. So jumping out of an airplane isn’t exactly exposure therapy, but part of me has taken these leaps to overcome the fear I’ve gotten so sick of throughout my life. (Please note that I’m not endorsing this behavior; I’m merely speaking from personal experience.)

OCD has been a constant source of pain and fear for me for nearly three-quarters of my life. I get tired of fear, so I’ve confronted it in myriad ways. To date, I’ve gone skydiving, jumped off the Stratosphere (twice), been zip-lining, and let my niece put bugs in my hands (which she finds hilarious).

A boss from long ago once told me I liked certainty. Based on his observations, I wasn’t someone who’d easily stretch beyond my comfort zone. He was ­­right and wrong. I do like certainty; it’s at the very root of my ritualizing. But I will push my limits. I don’t consider myself a thrill-seeker; I’m just someone who hates to be chained to fear. Perhaps it isn’t the OCD itself that informs my behaviors. Instead, there’s a lesson embedded in the recovery process. Stretch, leap, sail, jump – you’ll be happier for it.