I’m not very good at hiding my feelings. I think that’s directly related to the fact that I never try to hide my feelings. They are always right there on my sleeve by my watch so I remember where I left them.
This morning my big unhidden feeling is how upset I am over this whole Lisa Nowak drama. I am fit to be tied and since I don’t even know for sure what that means, that should indicate to you my high level of anger.
You’ll remember Lisa as the diaper wearing NASA astronaut who took a trip across country to allegedly kidnap and murder the chick who was keeping her from a man she desired.
This week her attorney was quoted in all major media as saying, “Listen kids, Lisa was freaking nuts when she did that. I mean seriously. I’m saying she was depressed, she hadn’t slept, she’d lost a lot of weight and she had that whole obsessive-compulsive disorder thing happening. Everybody knows those OCD people are totally freaky.”
Now my personal brand of crazy is not only all over my face, but all over the news as well.
Because of Lisa’s deep desire to stay out of prison and her counsel’s deep desire to be on Nancy Grace, the only thing most of the public will ever know about OCD is that it has something to do with wearing Depends and stalking people.
Of course, that’s only a small part of it.
Having obsessive-compulsive disorder is not exactly a barrel full of monkeys. I don’t enjoy having something everybody thinks they understand but almost no one does. Given the choice, I think maybe I’d have picked a malady that is both plain to see and incredibly easy to understand.
Perhaps a big wart right on the end of my nose.
No one would think I could stop having a wart just by telling myself I don’t have a wart and I would be surprised if anyone felt the need to tell me they once had a pimple, so they too know the pain and humiliation of having a big nose wart. That's exactly how it goes with OCD. Everyone who gets close enough to you to see it wants you to just stop it and everybody who's ever avoided a crack so as not to break their Momma's back has it.
With regard to my mental wart, I was pretty much born knowing something wasn’t exactly right with me. From the time I could think thoughts, a small voice repeatedly reminded me that I wasn’t like everyone else.
It was my little brother.
Years and various and assorted torturous acts against my brother later, the white-coats concurred and gave my crazy a name. It was a relief to finally know, but misery on a stick to live with and to find people who would love me while I live with it.
Everybody loves an obsessive-compulsive when the house is dirty, but nobody wants to live with one.
So Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, if I, a regular chick from the South who almost never tried to gain entry into the Space Program, was diagnosed by small city doctors who could barely spell MMPI, how is it possible then that Lisa’s OCD wasn’t found out until last Thursday? Am I to believe that NASA…we’re talking freaking NASA here …had no idea they had an obsessive-compulsive in their midst?
Surely someone noticed she was flipping the lights in the space ship on and off twenty-one times every time someone said the word Tang.
While it’s absolutely 100% true that most of us with OCD are fantastic “hiders” and quite adept at making sure we wipe the crazy off our faces before we go out in public, it’s ludicrous to expect twelve jurors of even the most limited intelligence to believe that the months and years of tests and checks and training did not uncover a mental illness severe enough to cause one of their own to think Huggies are strong enough for a baby, but made for a woman.
And in that vein, here’s one more tidbit provided as proof positive that Lisa Nowak is more criminal than crazy. Anyone who has known an obsessive-compulsive person for at least two minutes knows there is not a chance in hell we’re going to sit in our own poopie for even one millisecond.
I can’t even sit in my own bathtub!
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