FYI…OCD

For those of you who don’t know – I suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  And no, I do not just “think” I suffer from it, I have been diagnosed and treated for it.  (well, treatment is actually ongoing.)  For those of you who don’t know what OCD really is – maybe you just think it is compulsive hand washing, door locking etc…it is, but it is so much more.

Most people who suffer from OCD, suffer from obsessive/compulsive thoughts….thoughts of bad things happening to those they love or themselves, thoughts of self-doubt, overwhelming self-criticism, irrational fears etc.  I will tell you that this has increased tenfold since I became a mom, but its always been there.  When I was little I was terrified that my parents wouldn’t come home from work, one day going so far as to try to walk to my mom’s work when she was running late.  I assure you that when my mother found me strolling along the very busy 9th street in Amarillo on route to her place of employment, that did NOT sit well with her.  So instead I took to sitting on our neighbor’s fence in the alley where I could see the entrance to our sub-division.  When I would see my mom’s mini-van round the bend I would go screeching back to the babysitter’s to grab my backpack and meet my mom at the garage…only to repeat this same ritual the very next day.

When I was in college I was convinced that I would be kidnapped, raped and murdered if I ventured out of the dorms after dark.  I remember walking home from a frat party by myself one night (yes, I know – hello I was paranoid, not smart) and campus safety tried to offer me a ride.  I freaked out and literally sprinted the mile back to the dorms sobbing and screaming the entire way back.   Some poor guy tried to stop me to see if I was ok, and I shoved him down on the soccer field.  (I think he was cute damnit!  But I never did slow down to find out.)

When I went inexplicably blind in one eye when I was 23, let me tell ya -that unleashed a flurry of anxiety and self-doubt that you cannot even imagine.  It didn’t help that the since the doctor’s had no clue what was going on, they just threw random diagnoses at me…multiple sclerosis, brain tumor, retinal cancer…so I didn’t even have to imagine the worst; it was spoon-fed to me by some of the medical field’s finest and I lapped it up like a thirsty puppy.    I can clearly say that this when my OCD went absolutely out of control.   Its ironic isn’t it?  The problem with OCD is you want to control everything, but finding that you can’t causes your brain to go absolutely out of control…having a medical condition that no one can figure out or even name meant I was completely out of control.

And don’t even get me started about flying in airplane.  The mere thought of that sends my brain into a tailspin…pardon the pun.  I wish I could explain in words the terror and fear that flying sends through my heart and mind, but I can’t.  There are simply no words.  And the thing I fear most is that I really am doomed to die in a plane crash and I will take all of those innocent people with me.  I can’t even look at other people when I fly….I have to sit facing forward (no risk of looking out the window), with my eyes closed and I cannot talk to anyone.  If I break my concentration on nothing, then my mind goes haywire.  The panic starts, the hives, the hyperventilating…God I really wish I were exaggerating.  When I flew back from Durango last May we went over the mountains and through a spring thunderstorm in a very small plane.  I completely panicked…the woman next to me freaked out and called the flight attendant.  I had to breathe into a paper bag, my face was covered in hives so huge people actually gave me looks of horror by the time I stumbled out of the plane, wheezing, sobbing and apologizing incoherently to the rest of the passengers for almost killing them.

 

Being a mom has elevated my OCD to a new level.  Absolutely every horrid news story I see my mind goes to…you guessed it, “What if this were to happen to Nolan?”  Then I imagine it…and I get so upset that I freak out and panic.  But it doesn’t just have to be a news story – it can be him slipping in the bath as kids are prone to do, bumping his head, scraping his knee, etc.  Its overwhelming at times.  My husband knows about it and can tell when its flaring up because he gets VERY reassuing VERY quickly.  But its always there in the back of my mind…nagging me with the “What ifs?  Whens? and Hows?”  Its not just being a worrywart…I literally cannot shut my brain off or for that matter – shut it up.  I haven’t quite figured out how to duct tape my brain shut – so instead I pop a pill once a day and it helps tremendously.

Why am I admitting my craziness to the greater blogging world?  Because I think if you met me (for those of you who don’t know me) you would never guess that I am mentally ill.  Obessive Compulsive Disorder is a mental illness.  People (including myself) throw words around like “crazy”, “gone mental”, “psycho” etc.   But having a mental illness doesn’t make you a leper or a freak of nature…its a condition that needs to be monitored by a doctor and medicated if necessary; not unlike high blood pressure, high cholesterol or a wonky thyroid.  Its just your brain that has gone a little wonky…and frankly your brain is the most important organ in your body so its not a bad idea to take care of it and get it the help it needs.

So this has been your FYI on OCD…now if you will excuse me, I need to go quadruple check the locks on my door before turning in for the night.

L is for Loser

So my “things to do” update for October is this – I did not one thing on the list.  I felt like I was really busy the entire month, but yeah – busy doing nothing apparently.

Weight loss = nothing gained, but nothing lost.  Busting my ass at the gym, and falling off the wagon only twice and still nothing.  Yet,  I will continue to toil forth.

Why is the time of year so tough on me?  I always fall into a weird depression at this time of year – whether its the weather, work, hormones, time change, general way of the world, etc…not really sure.  But I REALLY need to snap out of it.  When your own general down-in-the-dumpness starts making you pissed off at yourself for being such a slacker you know you have a problem.

And it certainly doesn’t help when you eat entirely too much spicy curry for dinner and want to curl up in the fetal position and DIE…see this is what happens when you fall off the wagon…it drags you under its wheels and runs you over repeatedly.

Half Baked

Tonight I was waxing poetic about my love of baked goods with a good friend…who just happens to be one of the most amazing and talented bakers I have ever met.  Her lemon cupcakes are enough to make me speak in tongues…but that is a post for a different day.

The reason I was thinking about this is because, were it not for my love of baked goods and sugar – the cookies, the candies, the ice creams, the cakes, the breads – basically the CARBS of the world – I would easily weigh 100 pounds and wear a 00.  How is that possible you ask?

Everything else I eat is relatively healthy.  I don’t eat red meat or pork.  I loathe fast food – my one exception to that rule is my bi-annual trips to Chick-Fil-A for golden nuggets of deliciousness and waffle fries.  I don’t particularly care for chips.  I limit my french fry eating to the occasional restaurant visit.  Fried foods and heavy sauces leave me writhing in agony so I usually do not indulge.  I don’t really drink alcohol, which is not directly related to my ability to speak in tongues.

No, suffice it to say that my love affair of carbs, my thick German genes and a non-existent metabolism have doomed me to a life-time of pear-shaped purgatory.  My friend made a good point – what would life be like without all of the delectable carbs of the world?  Is that a world I really want to know?

I think my biggest problem is I don’t know when to say when.  I can’t just have one cookie; I want to eat them all.  I can’t have one scoop of ice cream, I need the whole half gallon.  Apparently the bigger is better – which would explain my love for large portions and LL Cool J.

I don’t know what the answer is to this conundrum.  I know I can’t avoid carbs forever.  I know at some point I am going to come face-to-face with a large piece of frosted cake and engage in a lengthy stare down.  Who will come out victorious – will I cave to my craving?  All I can say is that if it is coated in cream cheese frosting, put your money on the cake, and stand back to watch the culinary carnage.

Enough about me

I’ve been blabbering on about myself way too much lately…how about some cute kid pictures instead?  Yes?  You got it.  Comin’ right up…

I’ve Gone Bi.

Bi-Blog that is.  That’s right folks – I now have two blogs to keep up with.

I am moving my weight loss journey to a separate blog so I don’t let it take over.  Because, you know, this blog has a purpose and everything.  Wait, no, that’s not it.

Anyhow – check in when you can.

http://biggirlbiggoals.wordpress.com

Home is Where the Warmth Is

I was born in the Midwest.  Pretty much smack dab in the Midwest actually, in a small town in Indiana called Michigan City.  We ended up moving three times before I was six years old – Frankfurt, IL, Wichita, KS and Amarillo, TX.  So I am a Hoosier by birth and a Texan by rearing.  For the past twelve years I have made my home in the Denver Metro Area.  Its part Wild West, part Mountain town and part bustling metropolis.

Every year at about this time, when the first snow rolls in off the mountains, when the temperature drops into the mid-thirties and my unbearable prison sentence of six long months of cold weather hell commences, I am reminded of this fact:  Denver is not my home.  The truth is, no place you hate for more than half the year can be your home; no place that causes you months of unending misery should be the place that you stay until the end of your days.

I want to live someplace where it is unbearably warm 10 months out of the year, where it never snows and is never cold.  A beach nearby wouldn’t be bad either…the mountains hold absolutely no allure for me.  Sitting in traffic for three hours at 5am on a Saturday to go up to an overcrowded ski area where I can freeze my ass off to careen down the side of a mountain teetering on toothpicks hopped up on steroids, dodging trees and other humans, and praying I don’t pee my pants before I can jimmy out of my ski suit just doesn’t appeal to me.  Sorry.  Not even a smidge.  And no, I wouldn’t miss the seasons either…let me sum up the supposed “seasons” in Colorado – there is spring -when it snows, summer when most of the state is either on fire or inundated with monsoon rains (seems there is no happy medium anymore – damn that inconvenient truth of global warming); fall – when it snows, and winter-where ohguesswhat – it snows.  So all those people who rave about the seasons in Colorado?  Well, all I am going to say is the wacky tobacccki is legal here…I rest my case.

I can say that I hope to never move back to Amarillo.  It is the 3rd windiest city in the U.S. and that is no exaggeration.  You know “Big Texan Hair” – teased up hair encapsulated in a can of Aqua Net, which acts somewhat as a hard fondant shell to the scalp?  That’s no fluke people – that is done of necessity.  Plus, frankly it is stuck in a time warp.  My family has lived there since 1984 and hardly a thing has changed, or progressed – including political and social attitudes.  Let’s just the Evangelical Christian population is quite robust – and since I took a left turn somewhere on Gloria Steinem Ave, chances are when word gets out that I have rolled into town, there may be a petition circulated demanding my exile.

I do miss the lack of traffic – the rush hour here lasts from 5am – 8pm.  I do miss the Tex-Mex food…oh dear sweet baby Jesus do I miss good Tex-Mex.  But mostly I miss the wide open spaces; views unobstructed by snow covered mountains – where you can literally see forever on a clear day.  You can see the curve of the Earth at the end of the horizon; and the colors…my God the colors.  For people that don’t believe in God, I wonder how they justify the brilliance of the color; the oranges, the blues, the yellows, the purple – its likes Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat has cloaked the heavens in all its glory.  Here’s proof:

So where is my home you ask?  I am not really sure.  I can’t go back to my childhood home, yet I feel as though I can’t stay here.  Sure, for a while I can…and I will just suck up my misery as I have the past dozen years; some days crying in the shower in the morning because I can’t bear the thought of leaving the warm cocoon of my abode to venture out into the cold, cruel, unyielding climate.  But eventually my heart, and poor circulation, will call me away from here.  Someplace warm, someplace where you wear a sweater on the rare 70 degree day because its a bit “chilly.”  Someplace where the horizon meets the sky and explodes into a burst of primary colors…I’m coming for you home, just wait for me a big longer.  Please.

September Check-In

Short and sweet to keep me honest…

2.  Read 1 book per month. – I read “Sarah’s Key” and I thought it was excellent.  Gut-wrenching, but excellent.

29.  Have a “date night” with Eric once per quarter. – Done!  We celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary with lunch out and Cirque du Soleil!

34.  Potty train Nolan. – Still trucking a way on this.  He definitely understands using the potty and is so happy/proud to do so – it is a TIMING issue right now.

58.  Plan a BBQ for summer of 2009. – I had some friends over right before Labor Day!

72.  Try one new recipe a month. – Yes!  I made Chicken Parmesan from a Family Circle magazine – it was just “eh.”  However, I also attempted the Paula Dean Apple Cake and it was divine.  It is also a heart attack in a bundt pan.

Five Nice Things

My self esteem has been in the crapper lately – more on why in the next day or so…and more on what I am doing about it.

But for tonight I am going to write out five things I actually LIKE about myself.

1.  I love that I am a natural blonde.  Apparently that is not all that common and I love my blonde hair and would never ever want to change it.

2.  I can be wicked funny.

3.  I am 99% sure I am the best pet owner in the world.  The only reason I say 99% sure is because my mom makes up that other 1% that might out do me.

4.  I’m smart.  Not going to toot my horn too much in this area, but I’m smart.  ‘Nuf said.

5.  I love my eyes….and what’s weird is I didn’t think too much about them until I had a kid that ended up with the same eyes – except 1000 times bluer.  And they are the same shape and set as my mom’s too.  I love that I share that with both him and my mom.   Its our “thing.”

Aunts Marching

The other night I saw the most amazing picture of my almost-15 year old nephew.  In this particular photo he is all suited up in his football uniform, carrying the ball, evading the tackle, strong thighs propelling him forward, his eyes looking up field most likely sending an IM to his brain about where to go next.  I was filled with such a sense of pride when I looked at this picture – I literally felt my chest puff out before a wistful smile took over my face.  There he is – all grown up.  A high schooler…and before we all know it, a college student.

When my nephew was born I was only 16 – a junior in high school.  I loved babysitting him, taking him places and showing him off, and having him squeal with delight when he saw me – “Auntie!”  And now looking at him I realize just how far those days are in the past, even though it feels like I just blinked and he grew up.  (I know this same thing is going to happen with Nolan, I am just in complete denial about it – and that is a post for a different day.)

I absolutely, postively, 1000% love being an aunt.  My sister has four children – my nephew, and 3 nieces aged 12, (almost) 10, and 8.  They have brought so much laughter and love to my life that I won’t even try to sum it up in words – mostly, because I am not sure what the word limit is on wordpress for a single blog post.  Growing up I never had an aunt to which I was close.  At one point I even started a letter writing campaign to my various aunts and uncles just to see if they would write back…sadly, with rare exception, they never even responded.  I am not saying they are bad people…now as an adult I know just how busy life gets while you are living it.  At the time I pegged them as “mean” and “stupid” for ignoring me.  Ah, to be young again and be able to sum complicated emotions up in simple adjectives.

When I became an aunt the first time, I was young and had absolutely no idea what I was doing.  I had babysat, sure, but I remember the first time my sister left Tyler in my care without my parents being home.  I just held him the entire time because I was so afraid that if I put him down I would break him.  So I sat with our two dogs on the couch and this little scrunchy bundle of newborness on my chest, with a bottle nearby just in case.  When I finally realized I needed to change his diaper I took him back to my bedroom and laid him on my bed only to have him pee all over me, the bedspread and the ceiling as soon as I removed his diaper.  That was my first big challenge as an aunt – how to change a diaper without taking piss full on in the face.
The challenges now are greater…how do I be a good great aunt, making life infinitely more fun and enjoyable for them, while offering them sound advice that does not contradict what my sister and brother-in-law have already told them?  Is there some manual that didn’t get handed out to me way back in 1994?  They are getting to the age that, “Because Auntie said so” is not enough a good enough reason for them to do something.

My one wish for all four of them, just as it is my wish for my own child, is that they grow up and achieve all of their dreams while giving back to their communities and making a difference in the world.  I want to make sure they understand that the decisions they make as young adults can and will effect their lives going forward.  That’s not to say that you can’t be silly, have fun, even make irresponsible mistakes, but that the most important thing is to learn from your mistakes and to take your future seriously while you are out making mischief and driving your parents to drink.  I sincerely hope they will understand the good fortune they have…so many people care about them and love them, not to mention the opportunities they have been given just by the sheer fortune of being born into the mid-to-upper middle class.  I mean how *do* you explain socioeconomic status during the commercial breaks of their favorite shows?

But this aunt is marching into battle – the battle to turn them into kind, caring and passionate adults; adults who find a cause that tears at their heartstrings and engages their minds.  They are fabulous kids and they will be even better adults.  Because “Auntie said so.”

In Remembrance

On September 11, 2001 I was 23 years old.  I had graduated from college in June of that year and was coming off a horrible summer and was still wallowing in a haze of self pity over my seemingly bleak medical future.  In addition it was to be my first day at my second job…after working from 7-3:30 at my insurance job, I then would rush home and walk and feed Apples, only to head back out to work 4:30-10:00 at a retail job.

I remember learning about “flashbulb memories” in a class in college.  For whatever reason here is my flashbulb memory from that day.  I was tired.  Exhausted.  I wasn’t used to getting up at 5:30 yet and I had stayed up wait to late the night before.  When I got out of my car at work I remember glancing up to the sky and it was such a gorgeous morning, I almost couldn’t believe it.  The sky was that brilliant kind of emerald blue that almost takes your breath away.  I remember thinking to myself, “It is going to be a beautiful day.”  Needless to say, a psychic I am not.

I didn’t know anyone personally who died in the September 11th attacks, but I have to say that I still feel their aftermath even after eight years.  Always terrified of flying, but willing to do it when necessary, I swore that day that I would never fly again.  Already an anxious ball of depression after my harrowing and ongoing medical ordeal, I almost completely shut down from fear.  When I started that retail job the following week (the mall had been closed down the night of the 11th) I was absolutely convinced someone was going to blow up the mall.  I was completely on edge, and even broke out in hives at one point.

As I was driving home from work today listening to the radio as they discussed 9/11 and its aftermath, I thought about those nearly 3,000 people that died on that dark day.  I remember pursuing some of the biographies of those who had perished and realizing that so many of them were just like me – fresh out of college, working at entry level jobs with their eye on that corner office…human sponges who were trying to absorb all that they could in hopes of clawing their way to the top of the corporate ladder.  They were someone’s child, sister or brother, aunt or uncle, grandchild, friend, coworker…they were just people like me.  People who were in the wrong place at the wrong time and who perished because some extermist from some far off place that many of them probably had only read about in textbooks decided they should die on that day simply because they lived in America…and America, to them, was the devil.

And where are we today?  In my mind we are in an even worse place…the soldiers who have died fighting in the war in Iraq should be added to the death toll of 9/11.  They died as a direct result of that event, and yet sadly they too were in the completely wrong place at the wrong time.  Saddam Hussien was a horrifying human being, yet he did not perpetuate those attacks on American soil.  While we were digging him out of a rat hole, the real culprit got away – laughing all the way into his dank dreary hole somewhere between Afghanistan and Pakistan.   While we are searching for Bin Laden shouldn’t we also punish the person responsible for the deaths of the brave men and women who fought in a war based on known lies and mistruths?  Shouldn’t the man that sent them into battle and to their deaths to avenge the defeat of his father at the hands of Saddam more than a decade earlier be punished just as harshly?  Does he too not have blood on his hands?

I rarely quote the bible…my faith and religion are cards that I hold and keep very close to the vest…my relationship with God is mine and mine alone.  But every 9/11 since 2001 I think of this scripture – Romans 12:19 – “Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”  Sometimes I feel like that is all we have to cling to, on this the anniversary of one of the darkest days in our nation’s history…knowing that revenge for those responsible cannot come soon enough.