I don't know what it is but I have a complete and total inability to take anything seriously. Perhaps it is nervousness or my medication but I always seem to laugh when it is completely inappropriate to do so.
I just can’t seem to help myself; the slightest little thing seems to be incredibly funny to me. I think it is just the general level of discomfort I feel in pretty much every situation that seems to spark this up.
For example, I find serious meetings very hard to take seriously, once during a small meeting my boss said ‘Maybe it’s because...’ and in the pause between words I suddenly sang ‘...I’m a Londoner!’ – I have no idea what possessed me to say that out loud, he’s not even a Londoner :) It just seemed so funny and the sentence seemed to need finishing.
A similar situation occurred when my team lead said ‘Because...because...’ and I replied with ‘Because, because of the wonderful things he does!’ with a flourish. At which point he looked at me like I had lost the plot and I had to swiftly apologise and ask him to continue.
Libraries are a constant source of amusement for me, there is something about the request to be quiet that just makes me worse. I usually end up thinking about something ridiculously stupidly pant-wettingly funny and I usually have to leave before I completely embarrass myself.
People singing to me or expressing great emotion towards me, particularly in a public place seems to make me double over with laughter – I’m really glad that my husband proposed to me in private or I may have seriously offended him.
To be fair, I am not actually laughing at the event itself, it is simply how uncomfortable I feel in that situation that my brain suddenly recalls something I saw on Robot Chicken or something that someone has said to me that made me laugh. Once that has occurred I get into the inevitable situation where I try desperately not to laugh but the fact that I am suppressing my laughter seems to make it funnier and so I attempt to suppress that until that just becomes so hilarious that I find myself laughing hysterically and I have very little explanation for my behaviour. This is neatly described by Jeff in the TV comedy ‘Coupling’ as ‘The Giggle Loop’.
I often feel uncomfortable in posh restaurants, I generally drop food all over myself or knock things over or swear by accident – I just can’t be trusted in serious situations.
During my graduation ceremony I found that I was going to be the last person on the stage to collect my degree and to be honest, once I found that out I almost couldn’t climb the stairs to the stage as I was too busily mentally restraining my laughter. This wasn’t helped by the lady at the front of the stage who said ‘It’s ever so brave of you going last’ and I turned to see that there was no one left in the queue. I suddenly felt stupendously silly and this just made it harder to stop laughing.
I must seem mad, suddenly bursting into laughter on the bus or my mouth twitching desperately in interviews but anyone who has ever felt this way will completely understand where I am coming from on this.
I particularly like comedy shows as at least there your laughter blends in with everyone else’s but serious plays have me fleeing to the loo at the interval to laugh myself senseless.
Recently I went to a few art exhibitions and while walking around in the silence and the contemplation, my husband kept saying to me things like ‘I really like the use of light in this painting’ which just kept making me laugh as it all just seemed so silly. I pointed out to my husband that I appreciate art in my head very much but I find it difficult to share my thoughts with anyone else for fear that they think I am being somehow pretentious.
I am much better at expressing myself in written form rather than verbally, this is mainly due to my desperate inability to string words together in a sentence when I am nervous but also because if I am writing things down I can laugh as much as I want. I’m laughing now, but you can’t see it so I feel more comfortable knowing that I am laughing at something ridiculous I saw on the internet the other day and as I am in an empty flat, no one can see me.
What I do know is, generally the more serious the situation, the more likely my brain is to find it amusing.
Nevermind, you know what they say, laughter is the best medicine.
Monday 6 September 2010
Don’t send in the clowns...
This may surprise a few people but I have suffered from severe depression for many years. I know, weird isn’t it?
“But you seem so cheerful!” people say to me “You can’t be depressed!”
Anyone who says things like this to me has clearly never seen me in private when I have reached the extreme low points.
Now, you may be thinking ‘Oh, well this is going to be a miserable blog post!’ and I would say ‘Aah, well that is where you’re wrong!’ so there!
On the contrary, this blog post may delve into misery at points but I assure you that it has a happy outcome. With that in mind, I shall continue.
As I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, I have suffered from severe depression for many, many years. Whether this is due to my OCD is unknown – it’s difficult to know which came first. All I know is that I was a miserable child, a miserable teenager and a miserable adult.
Several people have said to me in the past that depression doesn’t exist and that it is all in my head – so to speak. I always find this completely insulting and it really doesn’t help when I am feeling so low. Anyone who has suffered through depression will tell you that it is a terrible illness and one which can have an enormous impact on your life and the lives of your loved ones.
In my case, there was nothing particularly bad in my life that caused my recent terrible spell of depression. I have a job that I love, a husband whom I love, I’m now debt free after a lot of effort, I have everything I could want – yet several weeks ago I felt like I couldn’t go on and apart from my OCD there was no reason for this to occur.
It didn’t help that I was recovering from viral meningitis and felt physically terrible but that wasn’t the cause of it. For about a year I have spent most of my time feeling dreadful, feeling unworthy, fat, ugly, useless and a disappointment. My husband tells me I’m wonderful on an almost daily basis but to no avail. Nothing seemed to lift the darkness, I found myself having some terrible thoughts – not specifically about harming myself but I just didn’t want to have to go on feeling the way I did.
There was no obvious reason for it, a time when I should be the happiest in my life and all I could think about was how miserable I was. The worst thing was that I knew that my misery was making my husband sad and it was hurting him to see me that way – but that just made me feel worse.
So, I sat in my psychiatrist’s office around two weeks ago in a sorry state. I was at as low ebb as I could have reached to be honest. I’ve tried everything over the past year to improve my mood but nothing seemed to work. I have had Cognitive Behavioural Therapy for my OCD and have taken various anti-depressants but I just didn’t feel any better.
This time my psychiatrist advised me to take new medication, I was offered the same medication last year and I refused it as I didn’t want to take any more medication than I was already on. However, this time I was so miserable and so desperate to feel better I accepted the medication at as low a dose as possible. Now, everyone is different and I am in no way suggesting that what helps me will help anyone else and I would strongly advise anyone with depression to seek help from their GP as different therapies benefit different people.
I took the low dose of the medication and I have to admit that I felt like a zombie for around 2 or 3 days, I kept drifting into sleep at odd times. The first day I couldn’t keep my eyes open, I was so sleepy. The side effects were not nice but after a few days I started to feel quite cheerful.
For the first time in a long time I actually felt quite happy, sort of content. I didn’t feel drugged up or hazy – just a feeling that everything was going to be ok. The OCD voice in my brain that generally told me that I hadn’t done things properly seemed to quieten down considerably and for the first time in a year I found myself looking forward to things.
The oddest thing is, I’ve spent so much of my life feeling miserable inside that I actually have no idea how to cope with not feeling that way. Isn’t that weird? I’m so used to feeling miserable and worried and desolate that now I don’t feel it I sort of miss it – I was so used to it, that living without the constant misery is actually very peculiar. I commented to my husband recently that I am so used to living with depression that I don’t really know how to act without it.
I don’t feel euphoric or high, I just feel like everything is ok. Who knows how long it will last, I am only to be on this medication for a few months so we’ll just have to see what happens over the next few months but even a break from the depression is very welcome, regardless of how long it lasts.
It at least gives me hope that perhaps I won’t feel as bad as I did forever, there is hope.
“But you seem so cheerful!” people say to me “You can’t be depressed!”
Anyone who says things like this to me has clearly never seen me in private when I have reached the extreme low points.
Now, you may be thinking ‘Oh, well this is going to be a miserable blog post!’ and I would say ‘Aah, well that is where you’re wrong!’ so there!
On the contrary, this blog post may delve into misery at points but I assure you that it has a happy outcome. With that in mind, I shall continue.
As I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, I have suffered from severe depression for many, many years. Whether this is due to my OCD is unknown – it’s difficult to know which came first. All I know is that I was a miserable child, a miserable teenager and a miserable adult.
Several people have said to me in the past that depression doesn’t exist and that it is all in my head – so to speak. I always find this completely insulting and it really doesn’t help when I am feeling so low. Anyone who has suffered through depression will tell you that it is a terrible illness and one which can have an enormous impact on your life and the lives of your loved ones.
In my case, there was nothing particularly bad in my life that caused my recent terrible spell of depression. I have a job that I love, a husband whom I love, I’m now debt free after a lot of effort, I have everything I could want – yet several weeks ago I felt like I couldn’t go on and apart from my OCD there was no reason for this to occur.
It didn’t help that I was recovering from viral meningitis and felt physically terrible but that wasn’t the cause of it. For about a year I have spent most of my time feeling dreadful, feeling unworthy, fat, ugly, useless and a disappointment. My husband tells me I’m wonderful on an almost daily basis but to no avail. Nothing seemed to lift the darkness, I found myself having some terrible thoughts – not specifically about harming myself but I just didn’t want to have to go on feeling the way I did.
There was no obvious reason for it, a time when I should be the happiest in my life and all I could think about was how miserable I was. The worst thing was that I knew that my misery was making my husband sad and it was hurting him to see me that way – but that just made me feel worse.
So, I sat in my psychiatrist’s office around two weeks ago in a sorry state. I was at as low ebb as I could have reached to be honest. I’ve tried everything over the past year to improve my mood but nothing seemed to work. I have had Cognitive Behavioural Therapy for my OCD and have taken various anti-depressants but I just didn’t feel any better.
This time my psychiatrist advised me to take new medication, I was offered the same medication last year and I refused it as I didn’t want to take any more medication than I was already on. However, this time I was so miserable and so desperate to feel better I accepted the medication at as low a dose as possible. Now, everyone is different and I am in no way suggesting that what helps me will help anyone else and I would strongly advise anyone with depression to seek help from their GP as different therapies benefit different people.
I took the low dose of the medication and I have to admit that I felt like a zombie for around 2 or 3 days, I kept drifting into sleep at odd times. The first day I couldn’t keep my eyes open, I was so sleepy. The side effects were not nice but after a few days I started to feel quite cheerful.
For the first time in a long time I actually felt quite happy, sort of content. I didn’t feel drugged up or hazy – just a feeling that everything was going to be ok. The OCD voice in my brain that generally told me that I hadn’t done things properly seemed to quieten down considerably and for the first time in a year I found myself looking forward to things.
The oddest thing is, I’ve spent so much of my life feeling miserable inside that I actually have no idea how to cope with not feeling that way. Isn’t that weird? I’m so used to feeling miserable and worried and desolate that now I don’t feel it I sort of miss it – I was so used to it, that living without the constant misery is actually very peculiar. I commented to my husband recently that I am so used to living with depression that I don’t really know how to act without it.
I don’t feel euphoric or high, I just feel like everything is ok. Who knows how long it will last, I am only to be on this medication for a few months so we’ll just have to see what happens over the next few months but even a break from the depression is very welcome, regardless of how long it lasts.
It at least gives me hope that perhaps I won’t feel as bad as I did forever, there is hope.
Tuesday 20 April 2010
OCD
With all the misery in the world at the moment, I'll try not to add to that with this blogpost but things have been so desolate that it may dip into the morose at times - sorry.
I have been through a mammoth struggle in the past year and I really just want to get my thoughts out and to hopefully raise awareness of a disorder that can be utterly debilitating and left untreated can lead to all manner of problems functioning in life. It may seem a little selfish to talk about myself so much in this blog post but I really need to explain what has been happening.
As you may know, I have obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). I have had OCD since I was about 8 years old but it was only really diagnosed formally a few years ago. I've spent my entire life knowing that there was something that wasn't 'right' with me mentally but I didn't know exactly what it was.
Many people seem to have an inaccurate view of what OCD is, people regularly say to me - 'If you have OCD then at least your house must be immaculate!' which is just not true, I have a fear or chemicals that trumps my fear of contamination so I tend not to scrub things meticulously. My flat has 'safe' areas that I feel are clean and 'unsafe' areas that I feel uncomfortable in and are untouched for long periods of time. I also do not feel completely compelled to gain symmetry in everything as is often portrayed on the TV, some OCD sufferers do but others don't. Everyone with OCD has different obsessions and compulsions and it is important to understand this.
My first real memory of OCD behaviour was when I was a child. I remember being told that if you didn't drink enough that you would become dehydrated, I became extremely anxious about this, not knowing how much I was supposed to drink to keep hydrated. One night I drank as much water as I could before I went to bed, assuming that this would keep me hydrated. However, when I got into bed I became more and more anxious and got up several times to drink more water. As you can imagine, this lead to needing the toilet rather a lot but every time I went to the loo I became utterly terrified that as I had gotten rid of some water that I needed to drink more - so the cycle of going to the loo then drinking water from the tap continued throughout the night. I remember my parents getting cross with me, not understanding what was wrong, and telling me to go back to bed but every time I did I needed the loo, then I felt utterly compelled to drink more water.
In isolation this may just seem like the episode of an anxious child who perhaps got the wrong end of the stick when given some advice but some of my other behaviour highlighted that this was not just an isolated incident.
In my early years at secondary school I developed a series of tics that I couldn't control and for which I was generally mocked. I would clear my throat every few seconds, the compulsion to do so was overwhelming even when I didn't feel necessarily that my throat needed clearing. I developed a nervous cough and the more people mocked it, the worse it got. Surpressing it just made it worse, surpressing it led me to start sniffing every few seconds instead so then I was mocked for that. I found that in later life, surpressing my OCD behaviour would result in me feeling compelled to blink a certain number of times every few minutes.
I was a complete nervous wreck as a child for little reason, I worried about everything. If a disease was mentioned I would become completely consumed with worry that I would get that disease - I thought that every dog would give me rabies, that everything I touched would make me ill or poison me, that even walking under certain trees would cause me harm. I became terrified of death, every time I thought about the death of people around me or my own I would become almost hysterical.
My main problem was that, despite being absolutely terrified of pretty much everything, I was too scared to tell anyone about my thoughts. I was worried that I would be taken to a psychiatric hospital and locked away or that people wouldn't believe me. Every time I tried to explain to people what I was worried about and get reassurance people would look at me as if I were mad. My main phrase in life as a child seemed to be 'will I be alright if I do (insert anything here)?'. I must have driven my parents bananas with my constant asking for reassurance. Because no one actually knew what the problem was, no one could really help me. I felt so ashamed, asking for reassurance so often and so I developed ways to cope. Unfortunately these coping mechanisms were to make my anxiety and my life a whole lot worse.
I would check things copiously and often unnecessarily. The worst part of OCD is that, there is a part of your brain that says 'I know that I have locked my door' or 'I know that I have switched the tap off' but there is another more insidious part of the brain that continuously questions and doubts whether you do know that things have been done.
Looking back, my OCD has affected large parts of my life - I almost missed an exam at college as I had to go back home and check that my hair tongs were off, despite the more rational part of my brain knowing that I had unplugged them before I left the house. I have often missed out on going places because of anxiety about food, available toilets, fear of contamination, fear of not locking the door of my house properly. In one of my jobs in my life I was the only girl in the office and was completely terrified that the tap would be left on in the female toilets and that I would be blamed even if it wasn't me so after leaving work I would often have to go back and check the taps several times - no matter how close to home I got. I would touch things with tissues in my own home if I felt they were 'contaminated'.
A lot of my life has revolved around my OCD and it has prevented me from doing so many things. At several points in my life my hands have been cracked, sore and bleeding due to the sheer amount of handwashing I have done to ease my anxiety about contamination. I kept quiet about it, tried to hide my coping behaviours from people but that has always made them worse and I have suffered clinical depression for most of my adult life because of my OCD. Whenever I tell people that I have suffered from depression they usually say 'but you seem so cheerful!' - sadly I have tried to cover my misery most of my life that I tend to think that everyone wants to see me cheerful and have done so. OCD can be such a destructive disorder.
Over the past year I have had the biggest flare up of my OCD that I have ever experienced and I have had to finally face up to the rather grim reality that, although OCD can wax and wane, there is no absolute cure. I think that this was the biggest cause of my depression, I had to face up to the fact that my OCD is a disability which I will probably fight against for the rest of my life.
I haven't been very communicative over the past year or so, my OCD overwhelmed me. I have isolated myself and been too afraid to see people. For the past year or so I have not been able to function in any capacity. There was no one single event that caused this relapse, just a slow decline into the worst period of mental illness in my life.
About a year or so ago I was coping with my OCD symptoms. I would check things but not obsessively, wash my hands but not to excess. I was able to get buses, travel places, go to supermarkets - all the usual things that most people do on a daily basis. Slowly I started to notice that I was checking the floor more often, worrying that I was standing on sharp things like knifes or needles, this fear started to escalate until I could barely go anywhere without worrying that I had cut my foot open and that I would bleed to death. I have always had checking and washing behaviour but I was unprepared for the horrors of my OCD that were to come.
While sitting on a bus one morning there was a girl sat behind me talking on her mobile phone, I was fiddling with my MP3 player and not paying much attention. The bus came to my stop and I started to get up and walk down the bus when I suddenly thought 'What if I have hurt that girl in some way?'. Now, you need to understand that while people have intrusive thoughts all the time, most people dismiss them - consider the last odd thought that crossed your mind, you probably dismissed it right? With me and a lot of other OCD sufferers, we tend to attach more meaning to those thoughts than they really require. I thought 'I wouldn't hurt anyone physically, ever! I didn't hurt the girl' but my brain wouldn't let it go. I then thought 'Aah, but you were worried that you had hurt her so maybe you did'. I searched my memory and in my heart of hearts I knew that I hadn't hurt her in any way or even gone near her - but my brain kept doubting my memories. I turned back to look at the girl and she looked fine, chattering away on her phone, but my brain told me that maybe I was confused and perhaps I had hurt her but was seeing her as fine because I wanted to. I started to feel anxious and as I got off the bus I continuously checked that the girl was ok, she was fine but I couldn't convince myself of that. As the bus drove away I could see the girl and knew she was fine so why was I worrying that I may have hurt her??? I couldn't breathe properly, my breathing was coming fast and my heart was beating so quickly I thought that it was going to beat out of my chest. I started to feel light headed and my fingers tingled, I felt like I was going to pass out or have a heart attack. To say it was awful is an understatement. I don't want to hurt anyone, I never would hurt anyone deliberately so why would I worry that I had hurt a complete stranger? I have since found that the anxiety is due to the disparity between what you think and your general ideas on things - I never want to hurt anyone and even the thought that perhaps I had hurt someone caused massive anxiety.
During the course of that day there were several instances of the same thing, I started worrying that I had punched people or shouted at them in the street. I started to worry about what I was saying and doing and this hyper vigilance just served to make things worse because the more I tried to remember what I had said or done, the more my brain would say 'Well, if you thought it then you must have done it'. The absence of the memory of shouting things, doing things etc just made me think that perhaps I had done those things but couldn't remember. I had so many panic attacks that day that I had to go home and when I went home I simply went to bed as the mental exhaustion was horrendous. I worried that my thoughts made me a bad person, that I was somehow evil deep down and that was why I was having these thoughts. I worried that I was being possessed, I felt so confused and scared all the time with no reason whatsoever.
Now, I just want to reitterate that I am in no way dangerous, I know that, my psychiatrist knows that and you need to know that. Apparently the fact that I have these anxieties is supposedly a good sign as it means that I have no desire to do any of the things I worry about and wont carry out any of these things.
I genuinely started to think that I was losing my mind and due to the sheer volume of panic attacks I had started to have on buses, in the street etc. I became utterly terrified to even go outside. This led to my agoraphobia. Every time I tried to leave the house I ended up having a panic attack, even the mention of having to attend any appointment gave me panic attacks.
Just because I didn't go outside didn't mean that the problems ended. I became scared to touch things in my flat, things that I had been able to touch perfectly fine before I now considered contaminated. I couldn't even use the phone or the computer at one point, fearing that they were somehow dirty and contaminated. I could barely eat anything as I worried that my food would be contaminated. It would take so long to go to bed as I had to check everything was off first, door locked etc. I couldn't read anything as I couldn't concentrate and slowly but surely my decline continued until I couldn't even leave my bed for several weeks. I couldn't make food for myself or wash my clothes, I became convinced that even my clean clothes were dirty. I would be totally unconvinced that the taps were off in the flat and would spend hours checking taps and that doors were locked.
The cruel thing about OCD is that even though you doubt everything that you do, there is still a part of your brain that is hyper aware of what you have done and haven't done so the confusion worsens as it is almost like having two conflicting people inside your brain. What's even more frustrating is that I knew that it was my own brain doing this to me but I was powerless to stop it, when I had a compulsion to check something for example I absolutely had to do it or the anxiety within me would rise to unbearable levels. Often it was easier to check whatever it was then walk away but then I wouldn't believe myself and would have to check again and again and again...
The anxiety was crippling, I felt nauseous pretty much most of the time and my stomach churned every time I even thought about doing anything that would involve me touching things. I stopped showering as the panic attacks made a shower last 2 hours and I would almost pass out. I stopped brushing my teeth, putting on make up and even brushing my hair. I had to do things over and over again until I felt right. Life became unbearable for both me and my poor long-suffering husband.
I really went to bits, the OCD was crushing me and my world seemed to get smaller and smaller with regards to where I felt I could go or what I could do. Due to the sheer helplessness I felt at not being able to control my thoughts and anxieties I became immensely depressed. I can't put into words exactly how low things got for me, I just felt that I was never going to get any better and that the rest of my life would be like that.
I am lucky enough to have a loving husband who did everything he could to help me. He urged me to see the doctor and he re-referred me back to my psychiatrist and they referred me to a mental health team. My husband went to every therapy session with me, held me when I was hysterical, shaking and sobbing, he supported me through everything. He even read as much about OCD as he could to see how he could help. The important thing is that he listened to me and never judged me and that made all the difference. In my life, whenever anyone noticed my OCD behaviour in the past they would often look at me with scorn, pity or bemusement and this just made me feel more ashamed. That's no ones fault, OCD is difficult to understand if you are not going through it.
I've been receiving therapy for several months now and I'm feeling a bit brighter. I accept that everyone has intrusive thoughts and that I am not a freak, but I have had to accept that I do have a mental illness for which there is unlikely to be no cure. I am learning new coping methods and trying my best to recognise my obsessive thoughts and apply what I have learned to get through them.
Without my husband I wouldn't be making such a good recovery today, his endless patience and support has kept me going through times that I just couldn't have borne alone. I have a long way to go and my recovery is slow but steady. I still find it incredibly difficult to get out of the house and walk around the streets without having anxiety attacks but I am getting better. I still worry that I have punched people or shouted at people on buses or in the street but it's getting easier to convince the doubting part of my brain that I haven't.
I am not looking for sympathy, pity or attention - the point of me writing this is to raise awareness of OCD, it can be an utterly debilitating condition. I may look funny when I am continuously checking things or if it takes me a long time to do something but it truly isn't amusing in any way. I would urge anyone with the same thing to seek help from their doctor as it may not improve on it's own. It is a distressing condition and one which can affect not only the person suffering from it but people closest to them. There are several treatments and although CBT may seem scary, believe me nothing is more scary than having to continue life the way I have been this past year.
I'm improving a little every day and with the help of my husband I know that, while I may not live a 'normal' life, things will get better.
I have been through a mammoth struggle in the past year and I really just want to get my thoughts out and to hopefully raise awareness of a disorder that can be utterly debilitating and left untreated can lead to all manner of problems functioning in life. It may seem a little selfish to talk about myself so much in this blog post but I really need to explain what has been happening.
As you may know, I have obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). I have had OCD since I was about 8 years old but it was only really diagnosed formally a few years ago. I've spent my entire life knowing that there was something that wasn't 'right' with me mentally but I didn't know exactly what it was.
Many people seem to have an inaccurate view of what OCD is, people regularly say to me - 'If you have OCD then at least your house must be immaculate!' which is just not true, I have a fear or chemicals that trumps my fear of contamination so I tend not to scrub things meticulously. My flat has 'safe' areas that I feel are clean and 'unsafe' areas that I feel uncomfortable in and are untouched for long periods of time. I also do not feel completely compelled to gain symmetry in everything as is often portrayed on the TV, some OCD sufferers do but others don't. Everyone with OCD has different obsessions and compulsions and it is important to understand this.
My first real memory of OCD behaviour was when I was a child. I remember being told that if you didn't drink enough that you would become dehydrated, I became extremely anxious about this, not knowing how much I was supposed to drink to keep hydrated. One night I drank as much water as I could before I went to bed, assuming that this would keep me hydrated. However, when I got into bed I became more and more anxious and got up several times to drink more water. As you can imagine, this lead to needing the toilet rather a lot but every time I went to the loo I became utterly terrified that as I had gotten rid of some water that I needed to drink more - so the cycle of going to the loo then drinking water from the tap continued throughout the night. I remember my parents getting cross with me, not understanding what was wrong, and telling me to go back to bed but every time I did I needed the loo, then I felt utterly compelled to drink more water.
In isolation this may just seem like the episode of an anxious child who perhaps got the wrong end of the stick when given some advice but some of my other behaviour highlighted that this was not just an isolated incident.
In my early years at secondary school I developed a series of tics that I couldn't control and for which I was generally mocked. I would clear my throat every few seconds, the compulsion to do so was overwhelming even when I didn't feel necessarily that my throat needed clearing. I developed a nervous cough and the more people mocked it, the worse it got. Surpressing it just made it worse, surpressing it led me to start sniffing every few seconds instead so then I was mocked for that. I found that in later life, surpressing my OCD behaviour would result in me feeling compelled to blink a certain number of times every few minutes.
I was a complete nervous wreck as a child for little reason, I worried about everything. If a disease was mentioned I would become completely consumed with worry that I would get that disease - I thought that every dog would give me rabies, that everything I touched would make me ill or poison me, that even walking under certain trees would cause me harm. I became terrified of death, every time I thought about the death of people around me or my own I would become almost hysterical.
My main problem was that, despite being absolutely terrified of pretty much everything, I was too scared to tell anyone about my thoughts. I was worried that I would be taken to a psychiatric hospital and locked away or that people wouldn't believe me. Every time I tried to explain to people what I was worried about and get reassurance people would look at me as if I were mad. My main phrase in life as a child seemed to be 'will I be alright if I do (insert anything here)?'. I must have driven my parents bananas with my constant asking for reassurance. Because no one actually knew what the problem was, no one could really help me. I felt so ashamed, asking for reassurance so often and so I developed ways to cope. Unfortunately these coping mechanisms were to make my anxiety and my life a whole lot worse.
I would check things copiously and often unnecessarily. The worst part of OCD is that, there is a part of your brain that says 'I know that I have locked my door' or 'I know that I have switched the tap off' but there is another more insidious part of the brain that continuously questions and doubts whether you do know that things have been done.
Looking back, my OCD has affected large parts of my life - I almost missed an exam at college as I had to go back home and check that my hair tongs were off, despite the more rational part of my brain knowing that I had unplugged them before I left the house. I have often missed out on going places because of anxiety about food, available toilets, fear of contamination, fear of not locking the door of my house properly. In one of my jobs in my life I was the only girl in the office and was completely terrified that the tap would be left on in the female toilets and that I would be blamed even if it wasn't me so after leaving work I would often have to go back and check the taps several times - no matter how close to home I got. I would touch things with tissues in my own home if I felt they were 'contaminated'.
A lot of my life has revolved around my OCD and it has prevented me from doing so many things. At several points in my life my hands have been cracked, sore and bleeding due to the sheer amount of handwashing I have done to ease my anxiety about contamination. I kept quiet about it, tried to hide my coping behaviours from people but that has always made them worse and I have suffered clinical depression for most of my adult life because of my OCD. Whenever I tell people that I have suffered from depression they usually say 'but you seem so cheerful!' - sadly I have tried to cover my misery most of my life that I tend to think that everyone wants to see me cheerful and have done so. OCD can be such a destructive disorder.
Over the past year I have had the biggest flare up of my OCD that I have ever experienced and I have had to finally face up to the rather grim reality that, although OCD can wax and wane, there is no absolute cure. I think that this was the biggest cause of my depression, I had to face up to the fact that my OCD is a disability which I will probably fight against for the rest of my life.
I haven't been very communicative over the past year or so, my OCD overwhelmed me. I have isolated myself and been too afraid to see people. For the past year or so I have not been able to function in any capacity. There was no one single event that caused this relapse, just a slow decline into the worst period of mental illness in my life.
About a year or so ago I was coping with my OCD symptoms. I would check things but not obsessively, wash my hands but not to excess. I was able to get buses, travel places, go to supermarkets - all the usual things that most people do on a daily basis. Slowly I started to notice that I was checking the floor more often, worrying that I was standing on sharp things like knifes or needles, this fear started to escalate until I could barely go anywhere without worrying that I had cut my foot open and that I would bleed to death. I have always had checking and washing behaviour but I was unprepared for the horrors of my OCD that were to come.
While sitting on a bus one morning there was a girl sat behind me talking on her mobile phone, I was fiddling with my MP3 player and not paying much attention. The bus came to my stop and I started to get up and walk down the bus when I suddenly thought 'What if I have hurt that girl in some way?'. Now, you need to understand that while people have intrusive thoughts all the time, most people dismiss them - consider the last odd thought that crossed your mind, you probably dismissed it right? With me and a lot of other OCD sufferers, we tend to attach more meaning to those thoughts than they really require. I thought 'I wouldn't hurt anyone physically, ever! I didn't hurt the girl' but my brain wouldn't let it go. I then thought 'Aah, but you were worried that you had hurt her so maybe you did'. I searched my memory and in my heart of hearts I knew that I hadn't hurt her in any way or even gone near her - but my brain kept doubting my memories. I turned back to look at the girl and she looked fine, chattering away on her phone, but my brain told me that maybe I was confused and perhaps I had hurt her but was seeing her as fine because I wanted to. I started to feel anxious and as I got off the bus I continuously checked that the girl was ok, she was fine but I couldn't convince myself of that. As the bus drove away I could see the girl and knew she was fine so why was I worrying that I may have hurt her??? I couldn't breathe properly, my breathing was coming fast and my heart was beating so quickly I thought that it was going to beat out of my chest. I started to feel light headed and my fingers tingled, I felt like I was going to pass out or have a heart attack. To say it was awful is an understatement. I don't want to hurt anyone, I never would hurt anyone deliberately so why would I worry that I had hurt a complete stranger? I have since found that the anxiety is due to the disparity between what you think and your general ideas on things - I never want to hurt anyone and even the thought that perhaps I had hurt someone caused massive anxiety.
During the course of that day there were several instances of the same thing, I started worrying that I had punched people or shouted at them in the street. I started to worry about what I was saying and doing and this hyper vigilance just served to make things worse because the more I tried to remember what I had said or done, the more my brain would say 'Well, if you thought it then you must have done it'. The absence of the memory of shouting things, doing things etc just made me think that perhaps I had done those things but couldn't remember. I had so many panic attacks that day that I had to go home and when I went home I simply went to bed as the mental exhaustion was horrendous. I worried that my thoughts made me a bad person, that I was somehow evil deep down and that was why I was having these thoughts. I worried that I was being possessed, I felt so confused and scared all the time with no reason whatsoever.
Now, I just want to reitterate that I am in no way dangerous, I know that, my psychiatrist knows that and you need to know that. Apparently the fact that I have these anxieties is supposedly a good sign as it means that I have no desire to do any of the things I worry about and wont carry out any of these things.
I genuinely started to think that I was losing my mind and due to the sheer volume of panic attacks I had started to have on buses, in the street etc. I became utterly terrified to even go outside. This led to my agoraphobia. Every time I tried to leave the house I ended up having a panic attack, even the mention of having to attend any appointment gave me panic attacks.
Just because I didn't go outside didn't mean that the problems ended. I became scared to touch things in my flat, things that I had been able to touch perfectly fine before I now considered contaminated. I couldn't even use the phone or the computer at one point, fearing that they were somehow dirty and contaminated. I could barely eat anything as I worried that my food would be contaminated. It would take so long to go to bed as I had to check everything was off first, door locked etc. I couldn't read anything as I couldn't concentrate and slowly but surely my decline continued until I couldn't even leave my bed for several weeks. I couldn't make food for myself or wash my clothes, I became convinced that even my clean clothes were dirty. I would be totally unconvinced that the taps were off in the flat and would spend hours checking taps and that doors were locked.
The cruel thing about OCD is that even though you doubt everything that you do, there is still a part of your brain that is hyper aware of what you have done and haven't done so the confusion worsens as it is almost like having two conflicting people inside your brain. What's even more frustrating is that I knew that it was my own brain doing this to me but I was powerless to stop it, when I had a compulsion to check something for example I absolutely had to do it or the anxiety within me would rise to unbearable levels. Often it was easier to check whatever it was then walk away but then I wouldn't believe myself and would have to check again and again and again...
The anxiety was crippling, I felt nauseous pretty much most of the time and my stomach churned every time I even thought about doing anything that would involve me touching things. I stopped showering as the panic attacks made a shower last 2 hours and I would almost pass out. I stopped brushing my teeth, putting on make up and even brushing my hair. I had to do things over and over again until I felt right. Life became unbearable for both me and my poor long-suffering husband.
I really went to bits, the OCD was crushing me and my world seemed to get smaller and smaller with regards to where I felt I could go or what I could do. Due to the sheer helplessness I felt at not being able to control my thoughts and anxieties I became immensely depressed. I can't put into words exactly how low things got for me, I just felt that I was never going to get any better and that the rest of my life would be like that.
I am lucky enough to have a loving husband who did everything he could to help me. He urged me to see the doctor and he re-referred me back to my psychiatrist and they referred me to a mental health team. My husband went to every therapy session with me, held me when I was hysterical, shaking and sobbing, he supported me through everything. He even read as much about OCD as he could to see how he could help. The important thing is that he listened to me and never judged me and that made all the difference. In my life, whenever anyone noticed my OCD behaviour in the past they would often look at me with scorn, pity or bemusement and this just made me feel more ashamed. That's no ones fault, OCD is difficult to understand if you are not going through it.
I've been receiving therapy for several months now and I'm feeling a bit brighter. I accept that everyone has intrusive thoughts and that I am not a freak, but I have had to accept that I do have a mental illness for which there is unlikely to be no cure. I am learning new coping methods and trying my best to recognise my obsessive thoughts and apply what I have learned to get through them.
Without my husband I wouldn't be making such a good recovery today, his endless patience and support has kept me going through times that I just couldn't have borne alone. I have a long way to go and my recovery is slow but steady. I still find it incredibly difficult to get out of the house and walk around the streets without having anxiety attacks but I am getting better. I still worry that I have punched people or shouted at people on buses or in the street but it's getting easier to convince the doubting part of my brain that I haven't.
I am not looking for sympathy, pity or attention - the point of me writing this is to raise awareness of OCD, it can be an utterly debilitating condition. I may look funny when I am continuously checking things or if it takes me a long time to do something but it truly isn't amusing in any way. I would urge anyone with the same thing to seek help from their doctor as it may not improve on it's own. It is a distressing condition and one which can affect not only the person suffering from it but people closest to them. There are several treatments and although CBT may seem scary, believe me nothing is more scary than having to continue life the way I have been this past year.
I'm improving a little every day and with the help of my husband I know that, while I may not live a 'normal' life, things will get better.
Monday 18 January 2010
TV Guided
I love television. In fact, I would go as far as to say that I really don’t know what I would do without it. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I enjoy a good book, I find computer games entertaining and I adore baking (when my OCD permits me) but to me there is no better hobby than the television.
My enjoyment of TV seems to have started in my early childhood when I used to avidly watch the adverts. I seem to remember my mam once telling me that I only used to stop crying when the adverts came on. I’ve always had a fascination with adverts, perhaps it’s that I want to understand how they work, how do you encourage someone to buy your product with a 30 second idea?
It wasn’t just the adverts, I loved it all, the sitcoms, documentaries, magazine shows and I have spent the majority of my life basking in the glow of that fantastic invention.
When I was about 15 my Dad lent me his ‘media station’ – in this day and age those words mean something totally different but this media station comprised of a tape deck, a radio and alarm and a black and white TV that was about 4x5 inches. It was about the size of a small car engine and was notoriously difficult to tune in (It was a dial, not a series of channel numbered buttons). My Dad then procured me a betamax video recorder to go with it. Now, at that stage Betamax video recorders were pretty much obsolete and getting hold of the accompanying betamax tapes became an epic obsession for me. Many years of scouring car boot sales until I had a healthy collection of about 50 tapes which I crammed with episodes of ‘Cracker’, ‘A Touch of Frost’, old films like ‘The Big Sleep’ and little gems such as the ‘Ghosts’ season of mini dramas from the BBC. I adored that Betamax, even if it chewed up some of my tapes and sometimes the picture rolled as I had lovingly watched each tape so many times. I remember many nights and days, holed up in my room, obsessively watching my tapes – I’m genuinely astonished that I actually did go out and socialise with people at that time, I was so obsessed with TV.
My love affair with television has been a tempestuous one; I jumped for joy when Craig won the first Big Brother (the only Big Brother I really watched) and pledged his prize to charity, I sobbed uncontrollably at David Tennant’s final performance as the Doctor, I shouted angrily and stamped my feet whenever there was a cliff-hanger ending on Eastenders and I would have to wait a mere 2 days to find out what actually happens. I have marvelled in awe at the wildlife of our world and have seen so many unusual creatures. I have watched startling discoveries and science experiments. I have been appalled at some TV shows, hugely offended. I have watched the nation choose people with little talent on talent shows and have marvelled that people with great talent have been dismissed. I’ve spent many hours getting questions wrong on University Challenge and wondering how I ever got through university if I’m so intellectually inept. I have sat through programmes about Fishing and Barges (for which I entirely blame my husband) and have apologised profusely after becoming fascinated by the most banal shows and putting my husband through the pain of having to watch them.
Television is like a drug to me – it’s not always good for my health (mental or physical), it sometimes makes me elated and other times depressed and I couldn’t stop it even if I tried.
I once asked my husband if he would ever ask me to give up television and thankfully he said no. You see, the thing is that if he asked me to give it up – I’m really not sure that I could or would want to. I have given up smoking, alcohol (sporadically and when necessary), chocolate (on various occasions but I’ve currently fallen off the wagon) and caffeine – but ask me to give up television and I would become pretty hostile. If I did give up Television for my husband I daresay you would find me staring wistfully into the windows of Electrical shops or gazing greedily at mute TVs in pubs.
Several months ago we visited my in-laws and, as there is no TV in the bedroom, we usually bring a miniature handheld TV which I got very cheaply a few years ago – I have raging insomnia and I tend to watch TV if I can’t sleep. On this occasion my husband seemed to be under the impression that I had brought it although I’m not sure why as he has always been in charge of it in the past, he had helpfully brought the charger though. Anyway, after the initial ‘I thought you brought it...’ exchange I found myself feeling like a petulant child having their toys taken away. I think I even cultivated a pet lip I was so upset. It wasn’t my husband’s fault, it was an accident that it hadn’t been brought along but I was so upset and angry that I wouldn’t get to watch TV as I tried to sleep. I think that this definitely counts as addiction.
I have found recently that television is my way of actually experiencing various different emotions without having to go through the scenario in real life. I’ve had enough drama in my life and my mental health doesn’t really stretch to allowing me to get involved in stressful situations at the moment. So I use TV as way of letting my emotions out without actually offending anyone...well...unless they are in the room at the time and are offended at sobbing women.
For example, when the Doctor and Rose were separated in Series Two of Doctor Who and she was cast to a parallel universe I was heartbroken. The scene where he says goodbye to her has me in tears whether I watch it, hear the music or even think about it. The fact that they will apparently never see each other again (although we all know where that ended) and they care about each other so much pulls on my heart strings. It’s right up there on the sobometer with ‘Casablanca’ for me.
I won’t spoil the following film for anyone but my friend Ewen will tell you that anyone mentioning the film ‘The Iron Giant’ and the word “Superman!” is guaranteed to make me fill with emotion – seriously, even writing this at the moment I have tears in my eyes. I cried for about two hours after that film and each time Ewen cried “Superman!” it just set me off again.
I cried on awaiting Allie’s decision between Gavin and Finn in ‘Cutting It’ at the end of the first series. I clasped my hands to my chest and only moved to wipe the tears from my eyes so that I could see the screen. Don’t worry, I know that it is not real, but if the actors are skilled enough, watching their emotion is thrilling.
Don’t get me wrong, there have been happy times too...
I obsessively consumed ‘Red Dwarf’, ‘Charlie Brooker’s Screenwipe’, ‘Fawlty Towers’, ‘dinnerladies’, ‘Blackadder’, ‘The Mighty Boosh’, ‘Life on Mars’. I have laughed myself silly at ‘Mock The Week’, ‘QI’, ‘Not Going Out’, ‘Rab C. Nesbitt’, ‘A Bit of Fry and Laurie’ etc.
In some ways I miss the old days of watching a TV show bit by bit, now I can go out and buy a DVD and watch it in the space of a day and once spent I feel sadly dissatisfied. I’ve been watching ‘30 Rock’ week by week and in some ways it has been like constantly teasing me which has just made it all the more alluring. I watched ‘The Thick of It’ series 3 week by week and thoroughly enjoyed it. The only problem with this is that I saw the third series of ‘The Thick of It’ before the first two series so now I will definitely watch the previous series, which I have already bought on DVD in anticipation, within a short space of time because I can’t help myself, which somewhat spoils the excitement.
Such is the nature of my addiction that I can quite happily sit through most shows, I’m not a big fan of reality TV and talent shows and I do find that the news, while fascinating, is ultimately quite depressing - doesn't stop me watching them all on and off though. I find some soap operas a bit boring but it still doesn’t stop me from switching them on from time to time and getting sucked in again.
I often wonder if I really should curb my television habit, if I’m spending too much time doing something that may be considered so amazingly pointlessly time wasting by some people. My agoraphobia affects me in such a way that I only really feel comfortable going outside with my husband and with him at work full time I find it very difficult to go out on my own so most of my day at the moment is spent inside. In the flat the TV is a constant feature of my life and I do tend to find that if I watch too much TV I find my worldview is often skewed, depending on what I watch. I often have the TV on while I am doing other things, don't worry, I don't spend all of the day watching TV.
I’ve started listening to the radio more lately and watching shows on the internet but I still see that huge comforting box sitting in the corner of the room, dolefully willing me to switch it on, to see what it has to offer and I can’t help but run my fingers over it’s well worn remote buttons and wonder what delights I am missing. Perhaps I won’t give Television up just yet...
My enjoyment of TV seems to have started in my early childhood when I used to avidly watch the adverts. I seem to remember my mam once telling me that I only used to stop crying when the adverts came on. I’ve always had a fascination with adverts, perhaps it’s that I want to understand how they work, how do you encourage someone to buy your product with a 30 second idea?
It wasn’t just the adverts, I loved it all, the sitcoms, documentaries, magazine shows and I have spent the majority of my life basking in the glow of that fantastic invention.
When I was about 15 my Dad lent me his ‘media station’ – in this day and age those words mean something totally different but this media station comprised of a tape deck, a radio and alarm and a black and white TV that was about 4x5 inches. It was about the size of a small car engine and was notoriously difficult to tune in (It was a dial, not a series of channel numbered buttons). My Dad then procured me a betamax video recorder to go with it. Now, at that stage Betamax video recorders were pretty much obsolete and getting hold of the accompanying betamax tapes became an epic obsession for me. Many years of scouring car boot sales until I had a healthy collection of about 50 tapes which I crammed with episodes of ‘Cracker’, ‘A Touch of Frost’, old films like ‘The Big Sleep’ and little gems such as the ‘Ghosts’ season of mini dramas from the BBC. I adored that Betamax, even if it chewed up some of my tapes and sometimes the picture rolled as I had lovingly watched each tape so many times. I remember many nights and days, holed up in my room, obsessively watching my tapes – I’m genuinely astonished that I actually did go out and socialise with people at that time, I was so obsessed with TV.
My love affair with television has been a tempestuous one; I jumped for joy when Craig won the first Big Brother (the only Big Brother I really watched) and pledged his prize to charity, I sobbed uncontrollably at David Tennant’s final performance as the Doctor, I shouted angrily and stamped my feet whenever there was a cliff-hanger ending on Eastenders and I would have to wait a mere 2 days to find out what actually happens. I have marvelled in awe at the wildlife of our world and have seen so many unusual creatures. I have watched startling discoveries and science experiments. I have been appalled at some TV shows, hugely offended. I have watched the nation choose people with little talent on talent shows and have marvelled that people with great talent have been dismissed. I’ve spent many hours getting questions wrong on University Challenge and wondering how I ever got through university if I’m so intellectually inept. I have sat through programmes about Fishing and Barges (for which I entirely blame my husband) and have apologised profusely after becoming fascinated by the most banal shows and putting my husband through the pain of having to watch them.
Television is like a drug to me – it’s not always good for my health (mental or physical), it sometimes makes me elated and other times depressed and I couldn’t stop it even if I tried.
I once asked my husband if he would ever ask me to give up television and thankfully he said no. You see, the thing is that if he asked me to give it up – I’m really not sure that I could or would want to. I have given up smoking, alcohol (sporadically and when necessary), chocolate (on various occasions but I’ve currently fallen off the wagon) and caffeine – but ask me to give up television and I would become pretty hostile. If I did give up Television for my husband I daresay you would find me staring wistfully into the windows of Electrical shops or gazing greedily at mute TVs in pubs.
Several months ago we visited my in-laws and, as there is no TV in the bedroom, we usually bring a miniature handheld TV which I got very cheaply a few years ago – I have raging insomnia and I tend to watch TV if I can’t sleep. On this occasion my husband seemed to be under the impression that I had brought it although I’m not sure why as he has always been in charge of it in the past, he had helpfully brought the charger though. Anyway, after the initial ‘I thought you brought it...’ exchange I found myself feeling like a petulant child having their toys taken away. I think I even cultivated a pet lip I was so upset. It wasn’t my husband’s fault, it was an accident that it hadn’t been brought along but I was so upset and angry that I wouldn’t get to watch TV as I tried to sleep. I think that this definitely counts as addiction.
I have found recently that television is my way of actually experiencing various different emotions without having to go through the scenario in real life. I’ve had enough drama in my life and my mental health doesn’t really stretch to allowing me to get involved in stressful situations at the moment. So I use TV as way of letting my emotions out without actually offending anyone...well...unless they are in the room at the time and are offended at sobbing women.
For example, when the Doctor and Rose were separated in Series Two of Doctor Who and she was cast to a parallel universe I was heartbroken. The scene where he says goodbye to her has me in tears whether I watch it, hear the music or even think about it. The fact that they will apparently never see each other again (although we all know where that ended) and they care about each other so much pulls on my heart strings. It’s right up there on the sobometer with ‘Casablanca’ for me.
I won’t spoil the following film for anyone but my friend Ewen will tell you that anyone mentioning the film ‘The Iron Giant’ and the word “Superman!” is guaranteed to make me fill with emotion – seriously, even writing this at the moment I have tears in my eyes. I cried for about two hours after that film and each time Ewen cried “Superman!” it just set me off again.
I cried on awaiting Allie’s decision between Gavin and Finn in ‘Cutting It’ at the end of the first series. I clasped my hands to my chest and only moved to wipe the tears from my eyes so that I could see the screen. Don’t worry, I know that it is not real, but if the actors are skilled enough, watching their emotion is thrilling.
Don’t get me wrong, there have been happy times too...
I obsessively consumed ‘Red Dwarf’, ‘Charlie Brooker’s Screenwipe’, ‘Fawlty Towers’, ‘dinnerladies’, ‘Blackadder’, ‘The Mighty Boosh’, ‘Life on Mars’. I have laughed myself silly at ‘Mock The Week’, ‘QI’, ‘Not Going Out’, ‘Rab C. Nesbitt’, ‘A Bit of Fry and Laurie’ etc.
In some ways I miss the old days of watching a TV show bit by bit, now I can go out and buy a DVD and watch it in the space of a day and once spent I feel sadly dissatisfied. I’ve been watching ‘30 Rock’ week by week and in some ways it has been like constantly teasing me which has just made it all the more alluring. I watched ‘The Thick of It’ series 3 week by week and thoroughly enjoyed it. The only problem with this is that I saw the third series of ‘The Thick of It’ before the first two series so now I will definitely watch the previous series, which I have already bought on DVD in anticipation, within a short space of time because I can’t help myself, which somewhat spoils the excitement.
Such is the nature of my addiction that I can quite happily sit through most shows, I’m not a big fan of reality TV and talent shows and I do find that the news, while fascinating, is ultimately quite depressing - doesn't stop me watching them all on and off though. I find some soap operas a bit boring but it still doesn’t stop me from switching them on from time to time and getting sucked in again.
I often wonder if I really should curb my television habit, if I’m spending too much time doing something that may be considered so amazingly pointlessly time wasting by some people. My agoraphobia affects me in such a way that I only really feel comfortable going outside with my husband and with him at work full time I find it very difficult to go out on my own so most of my day at the moment is spent inside. In the flat the TV is a constant feature of my life and I do tend to find that if I watch too much TV I find my worldview is often skewed, depending on what I watch. I often have the TV on while I am doing other things, don't worry, I don't spend all of the day watching TV.
I’ve started listening to the radio more lately and watching shows on the internet but I still see that huge comforting box sitting in the corner of the room, dolefully willing me to switch it on, to see what it has to offer and I can’t help but run my fingers over it’s well worn remote buttons and wonder what delights I am missing. Perhaps I won’t give Television up just yet...
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