Grappling an Octopus

“…you must remain vigilant, because it waits for the chance when you are walking along the shore, unsuspecting, where it will try to grab you, and before you know it you are fighting the octopus again.”

In honor of OCD Awareness Week (Oct. 12th- 18th), my co-author of You’re Not a Murderer: You Just Have Harm OCD and eldest, Finn, has contributed a blog post about what it feels like to have OCD. I love the comparison of OCD to grappling with an octopus. Accurate!

One day when I was riding in the car, I was talking to my mom and I mentioned offhandedly that dealing with OCD was like trying to grapple an octopus. Over time, this description has become more and more apt. It feels like you are never done, and no matter what direction you come at it from, it has at least three more on you. As soon as you deal with two of its arms, it grabs you with the remaining six and slams you into the ground like it’s performing some sort of WWE wrestling move. Not that getting a hold of the two arms is in any way easy; it’s more slippery than a bar of soap and squishy too, slipping out of your hold with no trouble. It feels infuriating and hopeless all at once.

However, that’s what it wants you to think. It wants you to believe that there is no solution, but much like the octopus, OCD is not invincible. If you cannot fight it with brute force, you must outwit it. It wants you to face it head-on and to engage. By intentionally stepping aside and actively not engaging with the compulsions, you avoid the arms of the octopus. The octopus will continuously come after you though, reaching with its arms, until it eventually retreats to the ocean, leaving you to live freely.  However, you must remain vigilant, because it waits for the chance when you are walking along the shore, unsuspecting, where it will try to grab you, and before you know it you are fighting the octopus again.

Finn Conrey

Triggers as Deep as the Grand Canyon

“I fell back on old compulsions that I tried desperately to fight, and I faced down new challenges, pushing back on my tendencies. I managed to catch myself other times and sit with the uncomfortableness of these new challenges. “

This week I am super excited to share a blogpost by my co-author of You’re Not a Murderer: You Just Have Harm OCD and oldest child, Finn Conrey! I’ve been trying for a while to get them to write a post for the blog. Here tis! Enjoy!

Going to the Grand Canyon is something that my mom talked about for a long time. She has been trying to go for years, and though I was less excited, I was still interested in going. When I was little we tried to go—unfortunately, that was the exact week the government shut down and we didn’t get to see the Canyon at all. We finally made it a week ago, and it’s times like this that I miss the uncomplicated nature of my youth when my OCD was quieter. If had I been able to go back then, I would not have had the anxieties I have now.

Well, at least I wouldn’t have had the same anxieties. 

The people everywhere kicked up old fears of me spreading my germs, some sort of dirty miasma to others. Accidentally stepping in mule poop resulted in an avoidance of touching my shoes, becoming a problem adjacent to my first worry. So, my foot touched the hotel room floor —no, there’s no visible mule leavings there from earlier, just OCD feelings that there might be microscopic ones from my shoe that I can’t see—and then my purse sat on that same spot, and later I sat my purse on the table at the restaurant. So now, I might give the next people who eat at this table some sort of weird intestinal virus from coming in contact with mule poop five degrees removed from my hike early that morning. But if I mention all of this to the waiter so he can sanitize like an OCD sufferer would, they will definitely think I’m weird! If I don’t mention it, though, am I a morally corrupt person who doesn’t care if other people get sick and possibly die? Yes, I’m afraid that is true as I stare at the ceiling panicking at midnight. Ah, the trifecta: morality OCD, harm OCD, and germ OCD all ganging up on me at once. Of course one could categorize the germs and harm into one since they may both, at least in my head, at the worst moments, culminate in some poor soul’s death.

 Family members walking too close to the edge of the Canyon breathed a sense of hyper-vigilance into me that went beyond the level of hyper-vigilance I am usually at (which is already high). All of this and more that I have a hard time categorizing resulted in both heightened anxiety and lower patience that I tried desperately to hold inside with varying degrees of success. 

In the end, I ended up both backsliding and progressing in my fight against my own brain. This also translated into using way more hand sanitizer than my therapist would have approved of. I fell back on old compulsions that I tried desperately to fight, and I faced down new challenges, pushing back on my tendencies. I managed to catch myself other times and sit with the uncomfortableness of these new challenges. I am honestly not sure if I improved or declined overall on this trip—I easily get caught up in my own thoughts and that makes self-evaluation difficult at times. However, despite the paradoxical nature of my own being, I am glad I went. It was a good trip, and I feel like I was able to at least start to push forward in my healing a little bit. The Canyon itself was also very beautiful, so that might have added a bit to my positive outlook.

Onward.

Finn Conrey

Grand Canyon. Bright Angel Trail.

In Praise of What Is Good

“There’s a time to look around and be dazzled by the grace and good in the world, a time to give thanks for the space to share.“

I recently spoke about OCD with intrusive thoughts at the Dahlonega Literary Festival in north Georgia. The moderator was a psychiatrist, Dr. Jacob Appel, with years of experience; after working psychiatry in the ER, he’s seen it all. I’ve pitched my memoir You’re Not Murderer: You Just Have Harm OCD at many bookstores and festivals, and in that time, I’ve seen just about every reaction from the giggles of those who don’t understand it to the tears of those who absolutely do. This time, there were no giggles, no weird faces, just a curious community eager to learn more.

Dr. Appel couldn’t have been kinder as we discussed mine and Finn’s journey through tormenting OCD and all the way through to the other side. He asked great questions about the book and helped the audience understand this neurological beast. The room monitor volunteers were calling for us to wrap up before we knew it. The time just flew by!

On the way out of the room, I told Dr. Appel how important it was to me to keep the discussion going anywhere I could because I was certain people have taken their lives over this, especially because of the violent intrusive thoughts that can make a person question their very soul. He replied that after what he’s seen in practice, he believed they absolutely had. And that’s why the discussion will continue anywhere I can open a dialogue.

For now, I am feeling a wealth of gratitude for caring professionals like Dr. Appel and people who might not understand but are showing up for the chance to learn. There’s a time to look around and be dazzled by the grace and good in the world, a time to give thanks for the space to share.

Thank you to Sharon Thomason of the Dahlonega Literary Festival for this wonderful opportunity!

Here We Go Again?

“IT. BEGINS. And it doesn’t end until they are back in therapy.” 

I’m looking in through the window of Finn’s car, and my heart sinks. I see dozens of used disinfecting wipes all over the seats, floors, and dashboard. I’ve seen them using the wipes here and there in the house and told Finn they weren’t for use on their skin, as they stand there wiping their hands, arms, and legs with them but seeing this many in their car… it hits home, hard. They’d been doing well for several years now. They’d come so far from the days of sobbing meltdowns on the bathroom floor, even dry heaving over the toilet when the looping intrusive thoughts of OCD would scare them so badly. Far, far from the days of cracked hands with raw fissures that stung like fire when I tried to apply lotion to them. Ever since they started working at the Pet, Vetting, and Boarding Center, the OCD has crawled out of its hole, not unlike that scene from The Ring when that scary girl crawls from the well.

At the Pet Center, it’s Finn’s job to take the dogs out and clean their kennels. Yes, that might start a germ frenzy in general, BUT the heartworm dogs must be kept separate from the general dogs, just like the dogs that occasionally get something like giardia. So, if you are a person who is prone to OCD, you say to yourself, “Well, they didn’t tell me to bring different shoes when I take the heartworm dog in and out but what if some of his germs stick to my shoes or pants and one of the well dogs brushes up against me, or what if I bring worms or giardia home to my own animals?” AND “I washed my hands at work then drove home, but I’m not sure if I washed my hands thoroughly enough last Tuesday, and I’m touching the same steering wheel, therefore my hands are contaminated, aren’t they?” I’m going to be responsible for a dog dying. Oh, God! Not to mention going back multiple times after getting halfway home to check the doors of the facility just one more time to make sure they are truly locked.

IT. BEGINS. And it doesn’t end until they are back in therapy. 

One could look at this as a defeat. They were doing so well. They’d wrestled their life back from the tight, unrelenting jaws of OCD. They’d even studied abroad in Japan for four months. However, I see this whole thing in a different light. LIGHT always being the key word. “Better out than in,” as Shrek would say, and what we drag into the light can now be dealt with. It represents something we had not yet faced. What it is, no matter how tormenting it may seem, is an opportunity for growth. We are better down the line for what we face today.

Finn called and made the appointment with their therapist and already seems to be doing better. They are strong enough to know when they need help and smart enough to know this is not a weakness. This is what courage looks like, facing our issues.

I am once again and always proud that they are mine.

I may not know you, but if you are courageous enough to seek help for yourself, I’m proud of you, too. Stay in the fight. You’re worth it.

OCD Awareness Week and “The Giggler”

“It’s hard to admit something we thought was correct, a belief we held for years, is wrong. Or worse, that we might have been making light of something that was horrifically painful to someone else.

All we can do is educate, love, and have a little compassion for ‘The Giggler.‘”

So often when I’m at a bookstore talking to readers about the memoir I wrote with my oldest child about living with clinical OCD and intrusive thoughts, You’re Not a Murderer: You Just Have Harm OCD, I’m met with “The Giggler.” Who or what is The Giggler you might ask. The Giggler is the person who hears the term OCD and immediately starts to giggle or smile. This is usually a very clear indication that they don’t know what it truly is. People who have experienced actual, tormenting OCD, the kind that has had them in tears, despair, and therapy, won’t be giggling.

I don’t necessarily blame these people, even though I’ve sat on a cold bathroom floor and rocked my sobbing child who was hanging on by a thread as her hands bled and intrusive thoughts and compulsions robbed her of her childhood, and, I feared, would take her life. The reason I don’t necessarily blame them is that we live in a society that has spread this misinformation so thoroughly and imbedded it so deeply into its fabric that those of us who actually, truly know what OCD is, have to weed out this misinformation with surgical precision. People won’t let go of it easily either. It seems that some folks, no matter how kindly I explain it, will even argue that their tendency toward neatness is indeed OCD.

“Does the organizing torment you/your daughter/spouse?”

“No! They love it! It just drives the rest of us crazy! Ha! ha! Ha!”

“Well, it likely isn’t OCD then. Organizing these things wouldn’t make them feel better. It would likely make it worse and never be enough. They’d need to do it again and again with increasing anxiety.”

“No! No, I know they have OCD. Ha! Ha! Ha! Everything is color coded, and she doesn’t want anyone to mess with it.”

They start to get annoyed with me, and I get that too. After all, no one wants to be told that something they have believed for a long time, something they thought was more a cute quirk, is not. When all is said and done, all we can do is plant the seed. Offer correct information about what OCD is truly like and hope that despite the giggling, the stubborn desire to believe the social media, white washed, cute meme version of OCD, that the seed we planted will bloom later. Just because they left the bookstore stubborn doesn’t mean they stayed that way. It’s hard to admit something we thought was correct, a belief we held for years, is wrong. Or worse, that we might have been making light of something that was horrifically painful to someone else.

All we can do is educate, love, and have a little compassion for “The Giggler.”