
My Diagnosis Story: OCD and Anxiety
The first time I remember someone telling me I was unwell was probably when I was about 9 or 10 years old. I had started washing my hands obsessively multiple times every day with heavy duty dish soap from our kitchen, and my hands were cracked, red and bleeding. I remember my parents putting restrictions on me- telling me it wasn’t okay how much I was washing my hands and it wasn’t necessary. I remember my brain taking me to new places I hadn’t thought of before- like when I was lying in bed with a library book- and realizing how many people might have touched this book in the past and what kind of germs lay in wait on it. This was a signal to the young me that a whole new world was opening up to me that I had never considered. That world was mental illness, but I didn’t have the words for it yet.
What finally worked was a system of tally marks I created with my parents. We made a little calendar, and I had a total of five handwashes I could do a day (after going to the bathroom, or before eating). If I used up all five tallies early on in the day, I had to wait for the next day to wash my hands. Somehow, this worked. And my contamination OCD hid away for another few years.
Of course, it would always come back out whenever I was somewhere I didn’t have access to washing my hands, such as camping trips (where I would beg my parents for germ-x), and gas stations that were out of soap. But I didn’t suffer from the chapped red hands for another few years because a new obsession took over my brain- popularity and relationships.
I’m still not sure if you can classify the methodical work I did to improve myself and become more “cool” and “fun” to hang out with as obsessive- because if it is an obsession it’s probably one that most teenagers might have. But I did notice that the way I pursued it doggedly was a little more than most people I knew- and thoughts of how to make myself more noticeable or likeable filled up all my thoughts. The reason that this fits into my OCD story is because, whether it was an OCD behavior or not, it was taking over the space in my brain that made me do the “crazy” OCD things- the handwashing and the asking for germ-x after touching door knobs or library books. And, today at the age of 27- I kind of miss that popularity seeking brian because it didn’t allow me to be so weird. I forced myself to do whatever “normal people” did, because I wanted to be a “normal teenager”(big hint: I wasn’t ever popular). And so today, that self consciousness (that at the time was paralyzing and just as bad as what I have now probably) seems like a luxury in retrospect, because I wasn’t where I am at am now.
In college was when I finally realized that I was mentally ill. I don’t remember how or why I finally realized that- maybe it was all the other kids around me struggling with shit too. What I do know is I was still comparing myself to the “normal” college life, and I was assessing myself as failing. I laid in bed a lot during college in my room alone with boxes of granola bars I would just barrel through, and packs of Skittles I would needlessly steal from the convenience store attached to my dorm. I quickly ran out of money and lost my job, and then tried to quit school. Underneath all of this, I now realize, was anxiety. School put a four year timeline on my life- and I wasn’t even believing in the idea of tomorrow. I was sure I was going to die everyday, and this made everything else a moot point. I went to a few doctors and got misdiagnosed as an alcoholic and then diagnosed with depression and given a medicine that made my eye twitch. I stopped that and started another one, which I was then on for the next three years of college.
My sophomore year I moved in with two friends in a isolated apartment building, and my ideal of my “college life” continued to disappoint me. I did the bare minimum for classes, because I still didn’t believe I would live to see the day of graduation, and I sat in my room and listened to music and wrote most days. Halfway through that year a friend from high school died by suicide and my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I still find that hard to write (I almost skipped over writing it because of OCD). My mom’s cancer diagnosis inspired me to add a new fear of contaminants that might cause cancer, such as pesticides and preservatives, into my life. I shopped at the organic food store for the rest of the year, and watched a lot of Hulu. If I wasn’t numb before, I went completely numb then and decided to enroll for a study abroad year in England to “wake me up.”
My mom finished her chemo that fall, and I flew to England with the identity a “depressed personality”. If nothing mattered, why not make the most of it all? We never knew when we would die, so we needed to make the most of it. Thus began a really, really fun year of partying and socializing in Europe. I feel like I found the Annie that I was always wanting to be over there- and I wanted to take that back with me to the US. And I did, when I left.
However, it wasn’t always roses over there in England. I was still “depressed” (actually I was anxious, but didn’t know the difference), still spent most of my days drinking coffee and watching TV online. I pretended to have a more vibrant social life by watching other people have real connections on my laptop. I did have friends there- but no one who I felt truly, truly understood me. The thing was, I didn’t even understand myself. How could anyone else?
I was still functioning off of the “what would normal people do?” methodology in England- still seeking to be looked at favorably in others eyes. So when it came time for spring break and everyone was booking flights- so was I, even though I was sure I would die in the air. I also at this time decided it would be a good time to stop taking my medication because I wasn’t depressed anymore (I didn’t know at that time that I needed meds mostly for anxiety, and not just depression). I booked about 10 flights around Europe over the course of four weeks with a few friends, shaking and sweating as I confirmed with RyanAir and hostels around Europe (I thought I just had a fever, but I was actually going through withdrawal symptoms from my medication).
I made it to all the countries but the last three by plane. I had a moment in Granada, Spain where I panicked. I didn’t speak the language, I didn’t feel good (had eaten some interesting seafood), I didn’t really like the people I was traveling with and I was sure the next flight would kill me. I felt guilty as hell traveling Europe instead of being home with my family, and called home in a panic. My parents, saints that they are, bought me train tickets to finish my journey with- so I took a train alone to Belgium after a last flight to Switzerland with my travel partners. And that was definitely a turning point in my relationship with my mental health where I realized maybe I couldn’t just “do” what everyone else was doing. My mom recommended that I get back on the depression medication I had been taking, and I did.
I came home from Europe that summer empowered, but also still self conscious. I managed to be convinced by my boyfriend at the time to stop taking my mental health medications again because he told me he saw people who took them as “weak.” I devoted too much energy that year to relationships, and ended up without relationships or a career direction when I graduated that next spring- off all medications.
I moved back home to a small town, go very depressed for a while but still trying to piece my life together got a job at a coffee shop. I also went to see a psychiatrist, who tried me out with a few different medications (unsuccessfully), and also tried me out with an OCD behavioral therapist (unsuccessfully). Then later that year I added on a job at a domestic violence shelter.
And then I got accepted for a year in a volunteer program called AmeriCorps NCCC.
I remember before leaving for this program- I had fears. But, classically, my only fears consisted of throwing up (what if someone gets sick on my team and we’re sharing a living space?) and the plane ride over (sure I wasn’t even going to make it over).
Turns out, I did make the flight over to California, and I actually didn’t throw up that whole year (I literally didn’t throw up from the age of 12–27, probably a great source for the anxiety). I ran everyday, because I realized that this was important for my anxiety and OCD- new words that I had only begun using to describe myself. And it helped- because it made me realize what was really the issue in my life. Anxiety caused depression, so I had both- but anxiety and OCD were the central issues while depression was merely a symptom of them when they got out of hand. I did get really OCD about contaminants in California though- whether it was asbestos, farming near a superfund site, cutting treated wood without proper gear, living near old toxic materials etc. and the worries of cancer. And then our team got accepted to work in Alaska for a summer- with the only way in or out a plane. Which of course caused that panic all over again. But I did it. I also developed wicked acne that year, and met my current partner of three years, Carp.
After the program, Carp and I moved to Kansas City to be with my family, and stayed there for two years. In the beginning, my OCD centered around my cystic acne. How do I make it go away. Then I thought I had PCOS, went on birth control, and then thought I was putting myself at risk for cancer with the hormonal balances and panicked all over again.
It was here also that I dove deeply back into the fears of throwing up. While they have been present my whole life- they became just as bad as they were when I was 9 or 10 and I remember this all starting in my brain. And that’s the way it’s been for the past 3 years- because I can’t figure out how to get around it.
I have lived my life feeling confident that I could avoid getting sick and throwing up if I followed all of my OCD rules- washing hands after the bathroom, before eating and after touching something that seemed dirty. But that spring of our first year in Kansas City our roommate got sick with the stomach flu, and Carp, knowing my fears and wanting to help- inadvertently challenged my rules to myself.
He said we should sanitize the plates, spoons, etc. because it was easy to transfer this illness, and I was shocked because I thought as long as we stayed away from her we would be fine. I didn’t even think- in all my years of worrying about throw up- that it could be transferred when the sick person wasn’t around. And also, to add on top of that- I was in a relationship with someone who didn’t hold the same cleanliness standards as me- who could potentially pass a sickness off to me. I was horrified. I felt trapped. I felt like I was sabotaging my relationship and my control of my health at the same time.
That summer I went to a therapist in the hopes that she could talk me through some of this stuff. She looked at the lists I had made for myself, and listened to me talk a few minutes, and then basically said that therapy only helps people with OCD in addition to medication- thus I needed to start medication before we could continue. This was also upsetting to me as I was obsessive-compulsively concerned about taking OCD medicine- ie I didn’t want the medication to do something crazy to my brain, or change me (OCD is all about wanting the security of control). Finally though, because my brother and my grandmother were both taking the same medication for OCD and anxiety, I felt that I could feel safe taking it, and did.
It cleared up all my acne, and I’ve not had an issue with it since. I also don’t sweat as much as I used to, and physically it seems to have helped the anxiety a shit ton. Mentally — the OCD is still there, but maybe a bit more manageable.
That next year was a series of different jobs- a few that I quit because of my OCD fear of throwing up. And then the following year Carp and I moved to New York where we are now.
And that’s where I’m now at. It feels like I should be getting better at OCD as I get older, but it really just feels like my brain is wracking up fears and creating new hell tracks for my mind to run down anytime I go to do anything. As I gain new tools to combat OCD, I also create fresh hells for myself to think about. However, I can say that I’m creating a career for myself finally, and I am attempting to stay balanced, and create healthy relationships with others. I’m realizing that OCD is not going to go away- but it’s still challenging to not call myself a failure when I wake up crying because of it somedays. I’m working on it.
…
Like what you read? Check out my blog at everydayembellishments.wordpress.com
You can also support my writing financially on Patreon.
© Copyright 2018 Annie Windholz

