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Copyright © Sherri Bailey
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Guest Blogger: Ruth J. Hartman - Author of "My Life in Mental Chains"

There is Hope

By Ruth J. Hartman

Sometimes life’s a struggle. Sometimes it’s a train wreck. But what do you do when it’s even worse than that? I wish I’d known the answer to that in February of 1990. That’s when I was first diagnosed with severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Looking back, I now realize there were precursors to my illness, but on that cold, snowy Thursday, it hit me like a lightening bolt.

As a dental hygienist, working in spit and blood on a regular basis really didn’t faze me. Until that day. That awful moment. Suddenly, a thought latched onto my brain. “What if,” the awful thought prodded me, “you don’t get your equipment clean enough? What if there’s still some blood and germs left on the surfaces? And, what if your next patient gets some awful disease from the previous patient because of it? Worst of all, what if you get some disease from it?” I hated that mean, obnoxious thought!

I became obsessed with cleaning everything in that room. I couldn’t top disinfecting, wiping, scrubbing. And the thought zipped around in my mind as a terrifying loop. I’d never experienced anything like that before. Where had it come from? And why did it pick ME to latch onto?

Before I even made my first appointment with a psychiatrist, I pretty much knew what was happening to me. I’d had enough psychology classes in college to figure it out. That still didn’t prepare me for his diagnosis. After much discussion, and a long, drawn out written evaluation, he determined I had severe OCD. One of the worst cases he ever seen, in fact. Lucky me.

I ran into even more trouble at work. My militant employer hated to be even one minute behind schedule. Unfortunately, my cleaning and re-cleaning caused me to fall farther behind after every patient. That didn’t go over well with the dentist.

The OCD soon spilled over into my home life. I became afraid of most things in my house. I couldn’t seem to get my hands clean enough. They bled from the repeated scrubbings. I became so terrified of going places and being near people, it was a struggle just to leave my house. I quit my job. I just couldn’t cope with it anymore. It got worse. I began seeing things that weren’t there. My mind continually told me lies. And I fell for each and every one.

Sound awful? It was. Not only didn’t I know how I’d make it through each day; I had trouble coping from one minute to the next.

Fast forward to today. After years of visits to my psychiatrist, three times a week, I now only see him once a year. But even with his treatment, I would never have made it without medication. Prozac became my new best friend. It still is. I will never stop taking it. Believe me; no one wants me to, either!

If you suffer from severe OCD, and are resisting treatment, please re-consider. When I think back to all I’ve gone through, and how much better I am now, I can’t believe I ever resisted taking medication. I am now happier and healthier than I ever believed possible. Take heart! Help is available for you!

Buy Ruth's book, My Life in Mental Chains.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

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Hey Sher, That’s Not Funny.

As often as I joke about having obsessive-compulsive disorder, the truth is that until a person with the illness finally dwells in a place where they understand exactly what it is, accepts that it is a part of what makes them who they are, and forces themselves to stop trying to hide it, OCD is miserable business.

Fortunately for this OCD Chick, I have lived in such a place for some time now.

Not that it was easy. On the contrary, Obsessive-compulsive disorder was once my sworn enemy and we battled, this nasty brain monster and I, for years and years and years. Most of the time, the monster won and left me lying on the floor, unable to adequately defend myself or the people I loved.

Because I pay attention to such things, I know that a percentage of the visitors who read my blog (and my website) arrive here from some of the various “OCD websites” you can find on the net.

I know from experience that they are likely searching for something familiar, something to remind themselves they aren’t alone with their crazy. Maybe they need a little hope, or the benefit of someone else’s emotional knocks or even a moment to take a breath and laugh at an illness that they don’t find funny at all.

I try to provide the laugh, but I have been cautious of anything more serious. Having dealt with OCD my entire life, I’ve been taught to be selective about whom I include in my reality. I have a nasty habit of believing the best in people and sometimes they have a nasty habit of proving I shouldn’t have.

Today I realized that from time to time it’s OK, if not necessary, for me to write about this thing that lives in my brain. Having lived nearly 43 years now with obsessive-compulsive disorder, it’s really ridiculous as a writer not to occasionally feed the elephant in the room a hand full of nuts.

So, from now on there will be a post here or there about the reality of OCD. My hope is that my readers who live this life will find some comfort and even some hope of their own. For those who do not have OCD, maybe they’ll learn something new. It could be a big bonus when they finally make it on Jeopardy.

“I’ll take Someone Sneezes on You for $500, Alex.”

(FYI, the answer is “What is kill them with something sharp and then boil yourself in Lysol, Alex?”)

I’ve learned how it works, my obsessive-compulsive disorder, and in the same way a diabetic is fully aware the price she’ll pay for a piece of cake or foregoing her insulin, I know the price tag stress carries for me. It’s not one I’m willing to pay.

There has been something in my life for quite awhile now that I knew was costing me far more than I had the psychological ability to pay. I kept at it though, the entire time knowing full well what I was doing to myself and always wondering when I’d finally have to foot the bill.

For an obsessive-compulsive, stress can be as toxic as a bleach martini.

In my case, unhealthy stress levels show up in how much I care whether the shampoo bottle is facing east. One day you take a shower and put the bottle down with no thought, the same way a “normal” person would. The next, you spend five minutes trying to position it so that it is exactly where it “feels right” so that no one you love or care about will die in a car wreck.

That’s the reality of OCD and that’s the price of doing something you find so stressful that you cry five nights a week… but keep doing it anyway so that everyone else likes you because they think you’re just like them.

Which is what you’ve always wanted. To be just like them.

Which you are not. ~~~~~

*Tell me your OCD stories or ask your OCD questions. But wash your hands first. Questions are dirty.*

Macy Gray's best song ever... and the best song ever for this post. Oh click it, already.

Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

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