Tuesday, December 30, 2014


              I must have broken a mirror, whilst standing under a ladder,  holding an open umbrella in my living room, while a horde of angry black cats crossed my path. That must be what happened and I just don't remember it because I was drunk. (I don't drink) But, clearly that must have been the case.

I am so over Christmas. Hell, I am over this year. This last month was horrible. So horrible in fact, that I have to sit and laugh at it because if I were to sit and cry about I am not sure I would ever stop.

Lots of people do a count down till Christmas. This year we had one of our own but it wasn't the painstakingly hand sewn red felt calendar with the happy motifs of Santa Claus or shimmering glittery snowmen with the candy cane counter. Ours was more of a countdown on moldy torn fabric warily clinging to the nail, praying to God that it didn't blow away in the shit storm that we are weathering.

Before Thanksgiving my husband got hurt at work. He chipped his hip bone and hurt his back. He was in pain but he is a hard worker and so he went to work everyday despite numbness in his back and feet.

The day before Thanksgiving, my grandma became very ill and had to be hospitalized for eighteen days. She almost died on us.

Two weeks before Christmas my Christmas tree (the one thing that made me still feel hopeful for Christmas cheer) dried up. Most people have Christmas trees that sparkle. Mine molted. Most are full and fluffy, mine was crispy and stabby.

Six days before Christmas my husband was laid off. "Merry Christmas to you and by the way, we don't need you anymore....have fun with trying to pay bills and buy Christmas gifts for your kids..."

A few days later, my oldest cat became extremely ill. We did everything we could including taking him to the vet to get shots and medicine but his kidneys had stopped functioning. He had lost six lbs in two weeks.

Two days before Christmas, he had to be put to sleep....He was in pain and was going to die a painful death within the next few days and the vet told us the humane thing to do would be to end his suffering rather than let  him suffer.

The day before Christmas eve instead of having happy thoughts of Christmas gifts and sugar plumb fairy dreams, my kids stood outside in the rain as we buried beloved Geves. (We didn't ask them to stay out there with us. They both just walked outside while we buried him. I was very proud of what little men they are becoming.) Instead of cheer my eight year old tried to come to grips with the truth that no, cats do not actually have nine lives. I had to explain to him in detail on Christmas Eve, that even if he did throw a coin into a water fountain and wish for Geves to come back, it wouldn't work because life doesn't really work that way.

Then we had a reprieve and went to my mother's house which was nice. We had a good time full of family and love. We didn't really want to come back home to a house without Geves though. To have to come back to our home and pretend we don't feel the glaringly obvious absence of one of our buddies. The other three cats are grieving just as much as we are. Now, our house is just a big grief sandwich filled with sadness and uncertainty. He used to sleep with me. I can't sleep in my bed because it makes me too sad to not feel him at my feet. My other cats won't go upstairs anymore, so I am now sleeping in the living room.

Christmas morning, my kids opened their gifts and played. A quiet relief of them forgetting for a second that all is not right with the world right now for us. I was thankful for that.

Santa had brought them "stickies" in their stockings. Those little oddly shaped creatures that are sticky to the touch so you can throw them on the wall and watch them "walk" down the wall. One of my kids had flung one on the ceiling in the dining room. It was so sticky it didn't fall down even after hanging there for two hours. When my husband stood on a chair to get it down, it ended up pulling off a plate sized portion of the plaster off of the ceiling.

 I laughed and laughed and laughed. Ridiculous. This month has been so bad it has been utterly ridiculous. I asked them not throw them on the ceiling anymore lest my whole damn house start to fall in around our heads when we pull them off.

I was laughing but then I was sick to stomach. So sick of Christmas and dead trees, and sickness, and pain, and loss, and of having an unsure future. I looked at all of the decorations I had lovingly hung and it made me feel even more disgusted. I looked at my husband. I looked at my kids happily playing in the other room and something inside me snapped. I started tearing down the decorations. I couldn't remove them fast enough. It was almost as if they were now, for me tainted somehow. I put away the stockings and dismantled my dried husk of a tree. I threw it off of the porch to let it stagnate in the yard until the trash man comes. I removed the what now seemed to be a sick joke of festive decorations and boxed them in their bubble wrap and tape. I swept the floor of the pine needles like I was cleaning out the negative emotions in my head. Each sweep of the broom was sweeping away the tears and sadness that had become my constant companion these last few days. I was purging this bad Christmas away from my home, my eye view, and hopefully, my recollection. I packed up Christmas and forbid myself to even think about it again until next year, where hopefully it will not be as much of a disaster as it was this year. I left my kid's tree up. I  didn't take away their decorations and joy because I am not heartless. I just couldn't stomach one more second of looking at the red a green and gold balls dangling in the light happily or the wreaths proclaiming joy and peace. I couldn't swallow one more cheerful Christmas carol or digest one more sniff of a cinnamon candle. I couldn't tolerate one more paper angel or blinking Christmas tree light. I wanted to erase the unfulfilled Christmas feelings that now felt like lies. I wanted vomit Christmas back up like it was something rotten I had eaten as a midnight snack. It left a bitter bile taste in my mouth. So much wrong in such a short span while the world is happy and telling you that you should be as well, activated my gag reflex. I couldn't take it.

I couldn't even have the lights on the tree plugged in because the tree would catch fire and yet deep down I dreamed of setting the damn thing on fire in my yard myself as a protest. I protest this Christmas and all of the suffering and fuckery that it entailed this year. It was a horrid, horrid year and I wish I could erase it from my memory.

And if things weren't bad enough to ramp my OCD into overdrive, I just went to urgent care for pain in my tailbone and was told that I have a congenital dimple there. When I told the doctor there is Spina Bifida in my family he was concerned that I may have it as well. Now, I have to have an ultrasound done on my spine and maybe a cat scan as well....So, I am more than just a tad bit upset. Fuck this year, seriously.

As always, I am remaining positive. (Ha ha ha.) I should say I am trying my damnedest to remain positive even though everything around me seems to be falling apart. I am trying to remain hopeful and thankful and I am praying. Like I always do. I know that everything will work out eventually, it just has been so hard. So stressful. So devastating. I feel numb. I feel angry. I feel sad. I feel....hollow. Empty. Gutted.

Luckily, I am blessed with a wonderful supportive family and friends and they are helping us deal with all of this...crap. I can't help but think of others going through this and not having that support. It really upsets me. No one in this country, let alone this world, should work so hard only to be one or two paychecks away from losing everything they have struggled for. But that is my opinion and this is reality. I have decide reality blows.

Here's hoping your Christmas was better than mine and that next year is a better and happier year for all of us. Because I have always loved Christmas....just not this one. Not this way and not this time.

Hopefully things will be looking up soon and my next post will be less depressing. You can bet that at 12:00 a.m. on Jan 1st there will be cheers and hooting and hollering like there always is. Only this time the loudest will probably be coming from my house. Screw this crapified year and all of it's heart break. Come on 2015 don't fail me now! We could really use a break here...and maybe even some good news as well.

Until Thursday,
Neurotic Nelly

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Warm Wishes....

Thursday is Christmas so I will not have time to write on this Thursday. Today's post is just a small post wishing everyone a peaceful and safe holiday season. Whatever your religious beliefs are, I send my warmest wishes to you all....

For those of you who are struggling with the holiday stress and are feel overwhelmed, remember to breathe. You will get through this.

For those of you who feel alone and wonder if anyone else feels the same way, remember that you are not alone. This can be a stressful time for many of us and you are many things. Many  positive, wonderful things, but alone isn't one of them.

So, to you all....be safe, have fun, breathe, and try to relax. Happy Holidays. See you next Tuesday.

Warm wishes,
Neurotic Nelly

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Go Suck An Egg OCD....

I was so busy yesterday, finding time to write was like putting socks on a rooster. I have a bunch of things going on right now and only about 1/4 of them are positive things. Most of them are depressing, and maddening, and just down right unpleasant. But me being me, I am trying to stay positive.

I would list the bad things going on but I don't want to depress myself any further. A few good things are that my grandma is finally back home after eighteen days in the hospital. She is doing well. My youngest had a school Christmas performance. It was really adorable as all little kid school performances are. We haven't frozen to death this winter....yet. Christmas is just around the corner. We still have a roof over our heads....

It is the small things like this that keep me going. Because the bad stuff just seems to pile up and add on and procreate until it starts to feel like they are physically laying on your chest smothering you last breath out of your lungs.

So what did I do? Well, first I had a good ole cry. A big one. Like one of those migraine inducing from the snot moving around in your sinuses because you have cried so long and so hard kind of cry. Then after that I looked at myself in the mirror, in which I realized no one should ever have to look at themselves after that kind of cry....scary. Then I prayed and gave it all to God, because I am at a complete and total loss as to what I am supposed to do to fix anything or change any type of outcome. Then I made myself get up, shower, dress, and slather on my "war paint" and went to my kid's play.

I refused to dive into the rabbit hole of OCD today. Even though there is this really odd errant smell of old beans in my kitchen (we haven't had any beans). I did not allow myself to search it out and clean the whole kitchen with an old toothbrush and bleach. I refused to let my anxiety act up when the person behind me at the play was coughing and sneezing. I wouldn't go so far as to say I would lick their shoes or sit beside them  or anything, but I didn't change seats or cover my mouth and nose with the collar of my shirt like I wanted to. I did not vacuum away my anxiety or hand wash till my hands bled. I guess that is a good start.

My OCD seems under control outwardly and is only noticeable when I am not stressed but let's be real, who is never stressed? I am completely stressed. I am overloaded with it, hung up by it, strangled from it, and drowning in it. So, yea my OCD is going to flare up. It is going to try and rise from the ashes as the proverbial mental illness phoenix and take it's ugly smelly wrath out on me and I am not having any of it. I am unafraid. I am not about to give this damn bird another hour of my life, another day, another week, another month, another year. It will try and I may fail but it is not going to do this to me without a damn good fight on it's hands. I just hope it has it's boxing gloves on because I mean business.

I am just going to do whatever I have to do and keep plugging along taking back my life from OCD bit by bit. Centimeter by centimeter until it becomes inch by inch. Inches until it becomes feet. Feet until becomes miles. I will never be OCD free but I don't have to accept being OCD enslaved. This is me breaking my chains. This is me cutting the ties that bind. This is me retaking back my life. Go suck an egg, OCD. I have enough issues going on without you bothering me relentlessly. I got this. I got this.

Friday, December 12, 2014


Well, my beautiful Christmas tree is dead. Like a dried out pokey husk of what it used to be. I finally got to where it made me happy OCD wise, looking at such a beautiful lighted menagerie only to have die on me. The day may have been hard or tiring and I would walk into the dining room and gaze upon it's glittery shining appearance and feel peace and calm. Now I just feel empty. Sure, it is still glittery and shiny but now it is less green and more crusty. Even the wonderful evergreen scent has faded away. It's depressing me.

I am fighting the urge to throw a full grown fit like a three year old complete with alligator tears and throwing myself to the floor......sigh. It just kind of summons up the last few weeks. Blerg.

I was so depressed I forgot what day it was yesterday and didn't write. Now, I feel kinda guilty about that too. Sorry guys.

Some good things this week are my Grandma is supposed to get out of the hospital next Tuesday, finally. She has given us a few scares with her health there, so I can't wait for her to go back home. And, tomorrow is my youngest's birthday so I made homemade chocolate chip cookies for his school for today. I was so stoked that I didn't burn them on the bottom (as I have now discovered the amazing properties of parchment paper). I spent an extra twenty minutes making sure they were all similar sizes. You can't have wonky sized cookies and give them to kids. Then one kid would feel bad and I can't have that. We even gave the bus driver one. I am just secretly praying none of my hair got in the batter. I had it severely plastered back before I cooked just to be sure. I think I need a hair net though. Like for anytime I cook....or go in the kitchen...or maybe just to wear constantly. I think I am shedding or going bald or molting.

The flu is going around and my wonderfully informative news has declared that the flu vaccine doesn't really work for this particular strain. So, there is that terrific bit of news. You're welcome. And supposedly there is also a 14 day stomach virus going around the school. The school bus driver is now wearing a face mask. She said the kids on the bus have been dropping like flies. I am not worried though.....okay that is a complete lie. I am a little concerned. Oh, who am I fooling, I am petrified.

How weird is it when it is 25 degrees outside and you think to yourself, "Huh, It's not that cold out here"?
As someone born and raised in Texas, I am pretty sure this shouldn't be a phrase I should ever be using. Apparently, living up north for the last thirteen years has changed me. I still refuse to completely acclimate to "yankee" (as my southern relatives would call it) traditions.  Like eating geotta- yucky- or putting spaghetti noodles in my chili.....what in the hell?  I still don't get some of the sayings and traditions. Like, "forgot crapped his pants" if you say you forgot something...I mean what does that even mean? But I guess that is par for the course. I mean, many of these people have never seen cotton fields, wheat fields, and bean fields. They find my accent to be strange and "funny sounding". Sometimes they do not understand my sayings and euphemisms. I don't know anyone from here that has seen a "Mexican jumping bean". Most people that I have met, don't like black eyed peas, or pea salad, or all of the bean laden meals I grew up with. Not a huge number of people have a strong hankering for fried catfish which kinda makes me sad. Even the Mexican food seems kind of off to me here. Of course, it is Mexican food in Ohio, so I guess that makes sense. Everything is pork here which after thirteen years, I still shudder at the thought of pork ribs. Can I not get some decent beef ribs for the love of God!!!???!!! The snow is pretty but I have learned to hate it. It's so cold and it gets ugly and dirty looking after the cars and snow plows run over it. It's slippery and I live in a constant state of fear that I am going to fall. I fell on a bunch of acorns on the side walk on a perfectly clear Fall day, once. True story. So you can see how thrilled I would be to walk on slippery surfaces that appear to be clear but are actually black ice. I think I should by soccer cleats to get to the bus stop safely. That being said, I like it okay here.

I used to dream of becoming a piano bar singer. Is that weird? I wanted to dress up in beautiful dresses and sing Billie Holiday songs in a club. I visualized soft lighting and grand accompaniment. Smoke filled rooms and the gentle clinking of glasses while I belted out my rendition of Gloomy Sunday......Now, I dream of owning a Christmas tree farm where you grow trees and let the families pick them out and cut them down to take home and make them even more beautiful. I would always have that gorgeous smell of evergreen. I would make a Christmas shop in my barn and sell handmade ornaments and decorate trees in different decorations to show how they would look. We could even have a Santa come and take pictures with the kids. It would be wonderful to have that Christmas feeling for a longer period of time and be able to help share it with others. Lights and hot apple cider and red and green mittens and garland made of popcorn...  And in the Fall we could grow pumpkins and make corn mazes and have hay rides. And I would drive out to the mailbox on a unpaved driveway in my 1950's old beat up Ford pick up truck that is  two toned powder blue and white with scratches on it. I would only go to the mailbox though because I don't see well enough to actually drive. I know this is a lot of work and frankly, I know nothing about farming and this is all a pipe dream but it is my pipe dream dammit. So I can pretend, right? Since it is a pipe dream I could be both a Christmas tree farmer and a piano bar singer. I could sing like Billie in a fancy dress that just happens to smell like one of those little green Christmas tree car air freshners but "fresher". That could work, right?

Geeze, what did I write? This post is so all over the place. I guess it is just one of those days where I don't have anything really important to say so I say whatever pops into my head....lol. Makes me sound kind of neurotic....

Anyway enough of this babbling, I will post again on Tuesday. Hope you all have an amazing weekend.

Neurotic Nelly

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

You Just Can't See It Yet......

I keep seeing this floating around on the internet and it bothers me...

Gag...I am not a feminist, at least I don't think I am. I kinda feel like if you are a feminist, you know you are such. Right? I don't think I am a feminist but I am a realist. I don't blame men for everything. I don't feel like they are the cause of all evil or that everything wrong with our society is entirely their fault. No it is all of our faults. Both men and women.

This sign bothers me for many reasons. What does this even mean? Is it implying that you are fragile trinket that has fallen from a shelf? That you are a broken vase that needs to be glued back together with love and gorilla glue? 

I get irritated by this saying and it's notions. Like the fact that it implies that to be whole you have to someone else fix you. Or the fact that it seems to imply that one should just wait around while their broken pieces lay all over the place until your knight in shining armor comes to your rescue. Or even, that you need to be saved in the first place.....

I don't agree with this odd notion that you have to be rescued from yourself by someone else. That is simply not true. There are tons of people in this word that seem to think this way. That they just need someone else to save them or to make them feel "complete". I see this a lot more in younger women and girls and it perplexes me. They are constantly waiting around for Sr Galahad to come traipsing out of the wood riding upon a strong white steed, whilst saving you from your own self esteem issues, emotional baggage, and whatever else is tormenting you at the moment.

Here is something that these over romantic, immature, ridiculous memes don't tell you, you don't need to have someone save you. You have to do that yourself. You have to put in the work. You have to look at yourself and work on your issues first, before you even think about getting involved with someone else. It is not their place to fix your broken pieces, it is yours. Don't wait around for a knight in shining armor to come to the rescue because sometimes your knight in shining armor turns out to be just an idiot wrapped in tin foil. What do you do then? Who is going to hold you so tight your broken pieces fit now? Certainly not Sir Galahasn't. Take it from me. I dated him in high school, married and divorced his cousin Sir Galacan't, and I have went out with a bunch of Sir Gala-not-worth-the-time-I-spent-fixing-my-hair. It is not their fault that it didn't work out as much as it is my fault for thinking I needed them to complete me in the first place.  

What I have learned in my "old age" is that the things I deal with, my issues, my "broken pieces" don't need to be held together my someone else. Hell, they may not even need to be held in at all.  Sometimes it is perfectly okay to let them lay around on the floor and let me look at them so that I can decide on how to fix them. I can decide on if I need to glue them back in place or not. What I have learned is that, relationships are hard work and if you are too busy hating yourself, then you can't let anyone else love you. You don't have time to keep up the relationship because you are always expecting the other person to heal your wounds and make you whole. In realty, you should choose to be with that person not feel as if you can't live without them. You can. You can stand on your own. You can be whole without being in a relationship. You can conquer your fears, your issues, and your baggage all by yourself (and maybe with some therapy). 

If I could interject a better meme it would say something like this:

"Love yourself. Heal yourself. Know your worth as person. For one day you will hold yourself so tight that all of your broken pieces will fit back together. "

Because you don't need saving. You don't need the proverbial  mythical "someone" you just need you. 
Because you are strong all by yourself. You are brave all by yourself. You are capable all by yourself. You just can't see it yet.

Neurotic Nelly

Thursday, December 4, 2014

An Ember.......

An ember is a glowing, hot coal made of greatly heated wood, coal, or other carbon-based material that remain after, or sometimes precede a fire. Embers can glow very hot, sometimes as hot as the fire which created them. They radiate a substantial amount of heat long after the fire has been extinguished....

The holidays fast approach us all. And although many are thrilled and caught up in the excitement of red and green, present wrapping, Christmas tree decorating, or candle lighting. As many of our houses smell of cinnamon, hot chocolate, and evergreen. As an electric cheer seems to snap through the air touching everyone in some way creating an unidentifiable warmth that spreads from person to person, I know that not everyone loves this time of year. For many it is not the best time to celebrate. To some this is not a holiday of giving and peace but a holiday full of triggers and pain. Feelings of loss. Feelings of failure. An extreme overwhelming sense of loneliness.

For those that feel this way about the Christmas/Holiday season, this post if for you more than anyone else. I know the frost in the air freezes to the bone. I know that instead of joy you only see a gray expanse of nothingness. I know that all of the carols and wishes of good cheer fall silent in your mind. I know that you feel like no one on the face of this planet understands you, knows how you feel, or gets what you are going through. That nothing can reach your heart because there is so much pain. Too much pain to accept anything else.

To those people I want to say that I was you once. I have been there. Many of us have. You are not alone. People do see you. People do understand your pain. And it is simply not true that you are a failure or that your life goes unnoticed. You matter even if sometimes it doesn't seem like it.  You are important. The people, the world, the universe needs you. You are here for a reason. We do not understand how the world works or for what reason we are where we are but that doesn't mean there is not a reason. There is and you are here on purpose. You belong here. You belong. 

I don't expect a blog post to make you feel less alone although I sincerely hope it does. And I don't expect you to change your whole feelings about holidays just because I wrote a few words. What I do hope is that this little message of support I am sending out to the world, will touch you in some small way. That it can be a little spark of hope that could turn into a tiny little burning ember. An ember that could in time, become a raging fire of self acceptance. 

I hope that this post reminds you of how important you are even if you have forgotten in the mess of things. I hope that you can start to see yourself like I do. As a strong, intelligent, magnificent human being. You are not just a person lost in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season. You are the stars that light up the sky at night. You are the magic that flows through the leaves hanging on the branches of the world's strongest tree. You are what makes the world a unique and wondrous place. You are worthy. You are important. You are not alone. You matter.

I hope this post becomes an ember that reminds you are just you and you and you are magnificent. Thinking of all of you this Holiday Season. Take care my friends....

Neurotic Nelly

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Just Stop It Already....RANT......RANT......

Thanksgiving was interesting. My Grandma was sick and had to go to the hospital the day before Thanksgiving. She was in the hospital up until today. She is now going to a rehabilitation to help her regain her strength.  God only knows how long it will be until she gets to go home. I am worried about her which triggers my OCD medical fears about myself. We spent three days at my mom's and I helped clean my grandma's apartment after which I took a shower and then spent twenty minutes trying to remove a comb I was attempting to brush my unruly mane with, from said unruly mane. It was firmly implanted in my hair like I was born with it there. (This is why I carry my own hair comb but I forgot it this time.) Then after we returned home I started to decorate out new Christmas tree we picked up Saturday, only to somehow manage to get the string of Christmas lights entangled in my hair as well. I guess I am just having a bad hair week. Or maybe my hair has Pica or was super hungry...who knows.

The tree is decorated "Old World" style. I used to read Christmas books as a child and I always loved the illustrations with the Christmas trees that had garland and red and gold ornaments. My tree looks good but I need to get those little white candles to put on the tree. Fakes ones of course, because real ones are a fire hazard and I am extremely clumsy. I mean, I got the lights tangled in my hair, just imagine what I would be like around lit candles..

Am I happy with the tree? No because it is never perfect enough. And that is how OCD works my friends. It has to be perfect but it never quiet reaches the mark. It is something all OCD sufferers learn to live with.

Then I got on the internet to search OCD news and I ended up reading this article with the title "Khloe: I'm an OCD Freak."

It's about Klohe Kardashian ( I have no idea why I bothered to read such drivel) and her Thanksgiving table and plans. There were these pictures of a grand and intricately decorated table and here is what she says.

“A sneak peak of my craziness today. I know you see my OCD in high gear when you look at my cookie jars,”

“I have a problem... I know... but I like everything neat and in its place. This kind of stuff makes me SO happy!! #HappyThanksgiving”

Yea, because nothing says happiness like OCD. Hell, I know that my life with OCD is all shits and giggles. I couldn't be happier that I spent six hours today trying not to obsess over whether or not I have thyroid cancer because I am being triggered by holiday stress. I am so glad that Khloe Kardashian knows my pain..... I now feel complete.....*snicker*

I am so sick of hearing how liking things orderly is OCD. Sick to death of it, seriously. Stop it already! You don't have OCD because you like to line up your cookie jars a certain way. What you might have is a plethora of self importance, narcissism, delusions of grandeur, and possibly some serious self esteem issues but the one thing you do not have is OCD. You do not say that OCD makes you so happy, if you actually have it. Because if you actually had it you would understand what a fucking horrible burden having OCD is. Here's a tip, there are actual words used to describe OCD. I won't burden you with the long list of what they are but I will tell you what they aren't. They aren't words like happy, or cool, or fashionable, or fun. It's mental illness and it blows. Okay? Is that so hard for people to understand?

And further more, I really don't want my mental illness to be sullied or trivialized by some small minded idiot who only got famous because her sister is famous for a sex tape and or possibly being peed on. I am so tired of seeing everything these ridiculous self absorbed people say plastered all over the news as if they have a fucking clue what they are talking about. They don't. So please for the love of all things holy, stop it already.

I think what bothers me the most is that this year has been the hardest for me OCD wise. I have been battling OCD for as almost as long as I can remember and I have been unmedicated for over three years now, but there have been a ton of stressers this year. Deaths in my family, diagnoses of medical issues, relearning how to function on somewhat of a schedule which truth be told, has never been my strong suit. And to have to read something so asinine as my mental illness/mental hell being reduced to something as paltry as lined up cookie jars just really pisses me off. As if it would make sense out of all of this pain and frustration if I would only be famous, ridiculously rich and stupid, and just line my crockery in eye pleasing patterns. Then and only then I could be "so happy". So no, I am not really happy right now. Especially, after reading an article that calls OCD sufferers "freaks"....(Gee thanks. That really bolsters my self esteem.) Or having to read ridiculous claims made by morally inept morons as to why their Thanksgiving preparations in any way compare to the absolute hell I have been living with the last thirty one years.

I mean, I think we as sufferers of all mental illnesses deserve more respect than that. We deserve to be treated like what we have is an actual illness and isn't something to be used as a general term for something odd or quirky. Just because you are having a bad day doesn't make you " Bipolar". Feeling paranoid does not make you "Schizo". And lining your cookie jars up in a row clearly does not make you "OCD". So stop it. Just stop.

And just so you know, poorly written news article author: We are magnificent, brave, courageous, intelligent, and strong individuals. We are many things to the many people in our lives. We are important and we matter. We are not "freaks". We are human beings. So, educate yourself because smearing us with words like "freak" shows your ignorance and bias. And I don't think anyone who suffers form mental illness finds your title amusing or cute.

Neurotic Nelly

Sunday, November 23, 2014


 I was watching The View and I was quite flabbergasted. They were talking about the allegations about Mr. Cosby and the fifteen, I think it is now, accusers that say he raped them. I was upset at the side talking and swaying of the issue. Now, I don't always agree with Rosie O'Donnell's views but in this case I agreed wholeheartedly. The other's seemed to side track the issue and remain muted on the actual subject of rape. They made it about media slander and if there is a media slander going on anywhere let me tell you, just read the comments people are saying about these women accusing Mr. Cosby of rape.
It is beyond disheartening the way other people have dragged their names and assumed personal characters through the mud.

I do not know if Mr. Cosby did what he is accused of.  I do have an opinion on it, but that isn't even the point of this post. The point of this post is to clear up the overwhelming amount of ignorance there seems to be in the mass public about sexual assault and rape. And as sexual assault victim it really bothers me.

The things I have read and the victim shaming and blaming really upset me. Questions like, "Who waits thirty years to report a rape?" or "Why didn't they go to the police?" It seems like these would be easy questions to answer but they aren't.

In this country, 60% of sexual assaults are not reported to the police.  I know I did not report my assault. I was young, I was scared, and I was ashamed. I never spoke about it in a public way until last year. That means I didn't openly discuss it for...21 years. That in no way means that I made it up or I wanted attention. I only decided to post about it earlier this year because  one of my dear friends convinced me to in hopes that it may help someone else struggling with sexual assault issues. Otherwise, I may have never discussed it all. Not because it didn't affect me but because it did affect me and I don't like to relive it.

Sadly still in this day and age, many survivors do not report their rape or sexual assault. Even when they do only a staggering  3% of rapes get a conviction. That means that 97% of reported rapes and sexual assaults go unpunished by our legal system.

And why do survivors end up not reporting their rape or sexual assault? It hurts so much and the shame is so overwhelming. Having to relive the painful act over and over. Having to tell strangers or even worse our loved ones the unspeakable things that were done to us is devastating. The feeling that somehow it is our fault or that we did something to provoke an unwanted attack. After all, we are often times told by ill informed individuals, that if we had done something differently we might have been spared. Rape is an act not a consequence and yet often times it is implied that it is a consequence of something that we, the survivors, have done.

We don't report it for many reasons but a big reason is the exact thing these women are getting now with these comments. Victim blaming, "Why did she get so drunk then?" or "Why did she go back again?" or "Why did she take that pill he gave?". Sure things are better now in 2014 than they were in the 60's and 70's when it comes to prosecution of rape but lets be real for a second. How many times have you heard someone say it is a woman's fault for being so drunk? Or that she had some culpability because she was drinking, or walking alone at night, or dressed in a tight outfit? Like doing any of these things is a big sign that you are open to being sexually assaulted. Like these things make rape acceptable in some way. That kind of ignorance is still out there and it is still said out loud. Disgusting as it may be, there are people who still think this way. In the sixties and seventies there were no rape kits, no DNA evidence. It was his word against hers and the burden of proof would be hers to get him convicted or even at the very least, arrested in the first place. And just how easy do you think it would to convince a large group of people that some famous rich guy who everyone loves has raped you after you went to his room? And that you may have been drugged? And that you don't recall everything that happened because of it?

And let us not forget that as much as people want you to believe that women were," I am woman hear me roar,"  and "let's grow our arm pit hair long and burn our bras" in the 70's , at that time if your husband beat you, the police tended to consider it a "domestic issue" and he was often times not arrested. You were not necessarily legally protected from domestic abuse like you are now. This wasn't the television shows you see on t.v. This was reality. A reality that in the sixties women weren't even considered worthy enough to own the things we have now. You couldn't get a credit card in your name as an unmarried woman and your husband had to cosign it if you were married. You couldn't go to an Ivy league college, you couldn't serve on a jury, and you weren't even allowed to get the birth control pill unless your doctor signed off on it because you had extreme menstrual distress. There was no equality in the work place, there was no equality at all and yet some people still sit behind their computer screens and ask if these allegations were true, why they did not go to the police.....I don't ask why not, I ask why would they? What would have been done? Nothing most likely, except that other people would have blamed them, openly talked bad about them, and would have made misguided judgments about their character. (Guess that last part still hasn't changed much, has it.)

And rape isn't always like you see on television either. Not everyone screams no and fights. Some people don't fight. Some people can't fight and some people freeze. And no, not everyone runs away afterwards. Some people are in a state of shock that can take hours if not even days to really come to grips with what has happened to them. And for some people it takes years. So it is not that much of a stretch for me to believe that some of these women may have stayed in his hotel or condo for a few days after he left them there confused and sore. Especially, if they were drinking heavily or using drugs. They may have simply been so in shock that they were unsure what else to do. It happens.

There is still a double standard with these kind of allegations. There was no huge outpouring of comments claiming that the men who had been raped and assaulted by Jerry Sandusky were just saying that to get money.  Even though many of the claims had been done years after the assaults took place. There was an overwhelming amount of support for his victims. People were appalled. However, when several women come forward with disturbingly similar stories about Mr. Cosby all of a sudden it is not because they are victims, it is for their fifteen minutes of fame or they just want to cash in on it. They are all in cahoots. They just want to ruin a man they don't even know even though they receive nothing for their efforts. He can not be prosecuted due to time restraints. He does not have to settle in court for these particular allegations. What would be the purpose of raising these allegations if there wasn't some truth to them?

And probably the biggest thing that pisses me off about this whole thing is the idea that because Mr. Cosby has had such success and played such monumental characters that we feel like we know him or that he is like "America's Dad" people say he could not be a rapist. How could he be the thing that goes bump in the night? He could have any woman in the world why would he rape? ect. ect. ect.

We do not want to believe it and I understand that. I don't want to believe it either but not wanting to believe something doesn't make it not true.

Let me paint a different and yet oh so similar picture for you. There once was a doting father, a singer, a well respected community leader. He was a father of four. A "loving" husband. He was a former soldier. He was the ideal of what an "American Dad" should look like. He was holy and God fearing. Clean shaven and wore suits. He was even a well known Southern Baptist preacher in the area. Everyone loved him and he could in fact, have just about any woman he wanted. And he did have them. But that didn't stop him from raping and assaulting his two daughters from the ages of seven until they were sixteen and fifteen. Now, I don't want to believe that my grandfather was a rapist, a pedophile, a molester, a sexual deviant....but that doesn't make it not true. He was and no one on the outside looking in would have ever suspected it. No one would have believed it, and they didn't believe it when they were told. And just so we are clear, this happened in the 60's and 70's. So don't sit there and tell me that not only is it impossible that someone who is seen as a "hero" could easily get away with that kind of crime, but that you would be believed if you went to the police and reported it. Because I am here to tell you that is complete bullshit. And just to quell any questions about time being a factor in the truth of accusations, my mother and aunt waited almost thirty years before they started openly talking about it. The thirty years they did not speak of it does not make it any less true or as some commentators have suggested, made it any less devastating. Simply because someone doesn't report it for decades or even never reports it all, does not mean that it did not affect them in a horribly disfiguring way. That is just crazy.

I am not saying that Mr. Cosby did this. What I am saying is that the reasons people give for not believing the allegations are born of ignorance and bias. You can not say someone isn't a rapist because he/she seems to be the perfect father figure/mother figure. You can not say that someone isn't an offender just because of the wonderful success they have had. You can not predict how a rape victim will act or say how they should react to being raped. That is ridiculous. It's unfair and it is ignorant. You can not simply say an accusation is not true because the accuser acts in a way you find to be different than how you think you would react in that situation. Every rape is different just as every situation is different and unless you have been raped or assaulted then in my opinion you have no right to judge what actual victims do or don't do afterwards.

Being a survivor of a sexual assault, the daughter and niece of survivors, the great grand daughter of a survivor, the sister of a survivor, and the friend of many survivors I feel the need to stand up for these women. I feel the responsibility to stand up for all survivors of sexual abuse and sexual assault. Whether it be men, women, or children. For as survivors, if we sit on the fence or accept other people's ignorance when it comes to why survivors wait, or don't report, or allow others to victim blame then we have failed them and ourselves. Rape is not a choice. It is not a consequence. It is never okay. And those who report it should be looked upon with respect and compassion because they are brave. They were able to do something many are too afraid to do and they should not be punished for doing so. They should be believed and they should be treated like the human beings that they are. It is always easy to judge others form behind a computer screen because what they are claiming may not be what you want to hear, but I have to ask you this:

Would be so quick to judge these women if they were your daughter, your sister, your aunt, your wife, your girlfriend, or your mother?

Because 1 out of 6 American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime.

Would you look your loved one in the eye and ask the questions you keep asking these women? Would you ask your loved one if she was just "making it up" for fame or money? Would you tell her it happened to her because she was careless or asked for it? Or claim that it was just a "relationship gone wrong"? And how would you feel if someone said that about them after they had been victimized over and over again, first by their rapist and secondly by ignorant people that felt they knew how "a rape victim should act"?
Because when you judge these women that have come forward to tell their stories, that is what you are doing. Telling them that you know more about their rape then they do.

And that is completely unacceptable.

Neurotic Nelly

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Feeling Like A Loser.....

Today was one of the days I hate....the day I have my three month Diabetes check up. I have to fast which makes me cranky. I have to have my blood drawn and my finger stuck, which doesn't bother me too much as  long as they don't try to press the diabetes stick needle through the other side of my finger. I hate just being in that germ infested place touching things and breathing the same infected air. Ugh.

I was more than a little freaked out when an elderly lady sat next to me, grabbed a magazine from the rack and proceeded to lick her finger and turn the pages one by one. Lick, swipe page, lick, swipe page, lick. ect. I was trying my best not to stare and cringe with every slow motion movement of her finger going to her mouth and back down to the magazine page. I was horrified. All I can say is I hope that lady got her flu shot already.....I really truly do.

After I used hand sanitizer because watching her do that made my hands feel dirty, I got my blood drawn and my finger stick done and my AC1 was higher than my last check up. It was a 6.6 and now it is a 7.2. I was upset. I have been cycling on my elliptical bike five miles a day five days a week. I haven't been as rigid in my diet as before but honestly, with the exercise I thought I was doing well. But I guess that is not the case. Now I have to be on a small dose of an ACE inhibitor to protect my kidneys for the next three months because having an AC1 above 7 can start to cause kidney damage. Hopefully at my next three month check up it will back down to where it was. I am so mad at myself right now. I am not sure what I could do differently but still I am beyond pissed. I am trying to control my Diabetes and get to where I don't need medication and yet now I have somehow messed it up and have to get on yet another medication. Double UGH!

Medications scare me. I have OCD worries about their side effects and I try not to read them because if it is bad, even if it is extremely rare, I will totally wig out about it. And I don't think I need to stress myself out anymore than I already am. I mean...Dear God. Now I am terrified of not taking it because of my stupid Diabetes could be hurting my internal organs and at the same time I am terrified to take the medicine because of side effects that most likely won't even happen to me. And I can't help but feel like this is all of my fault.

I feel really deflated. I am still cranky but now I also feel like a loser. I know that it is a small setback and I can most likely get my AC1 level back down but it just really feels likes I was punched in the gut. Like I can't do the simplest thing. Like I suck at being healthy. Like I just suck period. I think I am just going to have a good cry when I am done writing this. I know that how I am feeling is the negative self talk but that doesn't really make me feel any better at the moment. Triple UGH.

 Oh well, there isn't anything I can do to change the past. All I can do is try harder.....Hopefully I will be in a better mental state on Tuesday and have something funny or uplifting to write about then. Hope you guys have an amazing weekend.

Neurotic Nelly

Tuesday, November 18, 2014


So Thanksgiving is rapidly approaching and although I find "thankful" posts on facebook to be annoying and self serving, it is only because people feel the need to post them every day of the month of November. I just find them silly and quiet honestly over done. Usually they revolve around family, which one should always be thankful for in my opinion, unless your family is mean, in which case feeling thankful may be hard to do. And they always say something about the spouse being perfect or the children being angelic....No one is perfect and children are supposed to be little dirt spewing, world upturning, darling little monsters. They are supposed to be difficult and wonderful. They are children and children are miraculous little human beings full of crazed energy, innocence, curiosity and imagination. They are not angelic and that is okay because what they are is better than any words we could possibly dig up, scour through, or make up to describe them.

I guess the posts irritate me for their lack of detail and the implication that we forget to be thankful everyday and only remember now because some stupid trend arises on social media one month a year and that bothers me for some reason.

Maybe because I hate smarmy things that make me cry or maybe because I detect a slight air of bull shit when I read such posts. No one's spouse is the best spouse to walk the earth, they are the best spouse for you. They would most likely be a horrible match for someone else. That makes them the best spouse in the world to you, but alas, not the entire world. That is kind of a tall order and those shoes are too big for any human being to fill. Be real and say that you are thankful for your spouse because they make you coffee in the morning or they put up with your snoring or your PMS. Be less vague and more descriptive of why you are thankful for them because they mean a great deal to you and probably deserve more than just some generic post about how they are the bee's knees.

Children are wonderful, lovely, exhausting and exhilarating but they are not little angels.  They aren't angelic because they are human beings. Tiny human beings that drive you crazy but human beings none the less. Reality is you should be thankful for them because they are yours and they make you happy and you are a family but cut the bullshit already. You know  that your kids refuse to even let you sit on the toilet without asking you where the black lego piece went or where the cat hid, or without them sticking their tiny little fingers under the door just to remind you that you are not alone while you are trying to "do your business". Be thankful for them yes, but not the false advertisements you pretend they are. Be thankful for them exactly for who they are now because one day they will grow up and you will get to use the bathroom quietly because they are off to college and you will never again see their tiny fingers wiggling under the bathroom door....and believe it or not you will miss it. Be thankful for them because they are your children and your husband and you are blessed to have them, flaws and all, miracles and all, love and all.

And I guess maybe I get irritated reading the simplicity of people's "thankful" posts. There is so much to be thankful for that they never seem to post. They have a whole month to talk about all that they are thankful for and it is always the same generic things everyone else blabs on their posts. Be original. Almost never do you see them being thankful for small things like being able to get out of bed in the morning. Because a lot of people struggle with such things and to be able to do so is something to be thankful for.

There is no thankfulness for food on the table when so many struggle to provide such for their families. No thankfulness for the job in an economy that has so little jobs available in certain areas. No thankfulness for the neighbors that may shovel snow out of your walkway just because they want to be helpful or thankfulness for the medications so many of us have access to when in many countries something as small as antibiotics are hard to come by. There are so many many things to be thankful for and they deserve to be thanked more than just one month a year. They should be thanked every single day because without these many things that make our lives bearable and easier, our lives would be completely different.

I am thankful for so much in my life and no I don't need to schmooze or be dramatic about them or use generic generalizations to describe them. I don't care what people think of just what I am thankful for or how it may appear to others. I am thankful for them and I am thankful for them every single day.

I am thankful for my family even though they are crazy and silly and broken and odd. I am thankful for my children who keep me on my toes and have shown me the true meaning of unconditional love. I am thankful for my husband who drives me insane and makes me mad and makes me laugh and is the one person in the world that knows me better than I know myself. I am thankful for my home and heaters and clean water and medicines and neighbors and pets. I am thankful for a pillow to rest my head on and thankful to be able to get in up in the morning and not let things like depression keep me there with my head on said pillow all day. I am thankful for my friends and my readers, and this blog. All of which have supported me and helped me to see things in a way I may have missed all on my own. I am thankful for the freedom of speech and God and the ability to believe what I choose and not have to be afraid that those beliefs would imprison me or endanger my family. I am thankful for the sun coming out today even though it was frigid outside and the ground was covered in ice. I am thankful that I didn't slip and fall on that ice even though I was expecting too. I am thankful for the internet and books and paper and pens. I am thankful for the flowers in Spring and the leaves that turn such pretty colors and drop to the earth in the Fall. I am thankful for the snowmen we will make in the Winter and the shorts we will wear in the Summer. I am thankful for music because it is one of the few things that drown out my obsessing about stuff. I am thankful for only washing my hands ten times today instead of the usual twenty times I wash them daily. I am thankful for being able to rant to my best friend so I can stop worrying over things that make it impossible for me to sleep. I am thankful for my Dad who listens to all of my medical fears and never gets frustrated with me even when I am disgusted with myself because I can't stop being afraid. I am thankful for my Mom and Grandma who understand what I go through and always offer support and acceptance. I am thankful for the many other OCD sufferers out there that go through what I go through and help me to feel less alone. I am thankful for those that fight the stigma against mental illness because we deserve to be treated like the wonderful human beings that we are. I am thankful for the  voice to speak and the words to write because for so long I felt I had neither of those things in my life. I am thankful for the struggles I have gone through because they made me stronger and although I hate the things my OCD does to me I am thankful that I will keep fighting because I know I have to. I am thankful for so many many things and I will be damned if I just think about them on November of every year. I will be damned if I make them sound paltry or normal of less amazingly life changing as they are. I will be damned if I post "thankful" posts on facebook in November because I am always thankful and I don't have time for that. I am too busy being thankful than to throw some regurgitated peice of fluff on a fb post and hope that it makes me fashionable and acceptable. I don't care if I am acceptable and I am thankful for that as well.

So, in short don't be thankful for what you have in the month of November. Be thankful for them always because even in the darkest of days, in the worst of hours there is always.....always something to be thankful for. You simply have to take a moment, breathe, look around and see it.

Neurotic Nelly

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Messed Up.....

I took a blog hiatus for my last two blogging days. It has been a mixture of things that have left me exhausted, overwhelmed, and incapable of processing all of my thoughts on paper.

Basically, my OCD has come to a head. I couldn't figure out just what was causing it. Could be my husband's new job, or Christmas coming up, or all of the online school things I am responsible for, or the weather...but honestly all of these things have been going on before my OCD decided to kick into full fledged panic. No, there has to be something else that I just can't handle at face value.

You see, how my OCD works is that when something is stressful, instead of me reacting to said stressful thing with stress, I go numb about it. As a result of the stress I should be feeling, my OCD kicks into overdrive. If bills should be the cause of my stress, my OCD brain will go numb to the fear of not being able to pay them and start concentrating on whether a small pain in my side is cancer. I get anxiety about the thing that isn't real and not about the things that are.

I often compare it to Dissociative Identity Disorder. Not that I have more than one personality, I don't. But that when a person with DID comes across a situation the main person can not handle a different person takes their place so they can cope. My OCD is very much like that when it is triggered. Instead of me dealing with whatever is stressing me out, my OCD reacts instead of me reacting. I can't handle dealing with whatever is triggering me, so my OCD numbs me to it only to stress me out about something I know is not very likely. Almost like it is some defunct coping mechanism.

It makes no sense and it is not helpful to me at all but that is what is going on with me lately.

In my last few blog posts I have been more angry and less positive. I mean, my blog isn't always going to be happy and inspiring. I am a real person, not some robot. My blog is usually positive but that doesn't mean it is always going to be rainbows and unicorn farts. Sometimes it will be sad, or painful, or glum. It happens. My life happens and let's face it, sometimes my life can be sad, painful, and glum.

 So, I took stock in the things that were changing around me to try and figure out what has gotten me in such a state I am unable to even sleep properly and it hit me. Two weeks ago......two weeks ago I asked about my Aunt's autopsy results. It has been two months and we still have no idea what she died from. I still haven't been able to grieve but I feel it bubbling up inside me. It just won't come out. I have tried and tried to make it come to the surface but I feel almost like it is jammed up. Like the flow of my emotions are dammed up with anger, frustration, broken promises, wet newspaper, and little bits of straw. I can feel the current moving underneath my skin and I am hopeful that the autopsy results will give me the answers I seek and in turn  unleash the damn and let the stagnant emotions free. The stench of the black water that is my emotions is literally making me feel insane. I need to be able to understand, to acknowledge, to breath again. I feel like I am drowning in it. I am praying that this little printed piece of paper can unwind my ties to it. That it will finally allow me to grieve. That I can finally stop waiting to feel again and start to heal.

Everyday I wait for my mother to call me and tell me what some medical examiner found in my Aunt's body. I don't know how to feel about her being cut open and dissected, so I feel nothing at all. It is necessary but still it is hard for me to put into words the oddness of talking about a paper that describes her like some specimen in a jar. That the person they are describing by organ weight is the same woman that taught me that I should put perfume behind my ears not on my neck, or how to play gin rummy and never lose , or that there is, in fact, such a thing as a panty line and that people do actually notice such things. (Well, I don't but apparently other people do.)

I know I should be devastated and yet everyday I sit both eager and horrified to know just what happened. I need to know. I can't accept not knowing, and honestly I don't think I can let her go till I do know and yet I am terrified to know all at the same time. I fear I have blocked up my emotions so high and let that dam get so big that when it finally bursts it may actually take me down with it and drown me in it's sorrow. I feel so inadequate. I feel so broken. I feel so numb and yet agitated. So helpless. So emotionally stunted. So desperate and yet not caring equally. I am an emotional ball of raw nerve endings and burnt out electrical impulses. In all honesty, I have never felt so crazy in my entire life as I do right now.

So after waiting on pins and needles and anxious nausea, I just found out that the reason it hasn't come in the mail yet is because they just mailed it....last night.  And now God knows how many more of days of this I am going to have sit through. I am guessing three or four. I really have no idea. Anyway, that is why I haven't written. I am just so broken right now. I am not sure that anything I am doing makes very much sense. And when I feel this completely messed up, my writing suffers with it. I plan to write on Tuesday as usual. Maybe by then I will have some answers and be in a better mental state. I hope you all are doing well. Sending positive thoughts your way....

Neurotic Nelly

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

It's Not So Bad.....

I am a positive person. I am a positive thinker. I am one of those annoying "the glass is half full" kind of people. I strive to see the silver lining even in the midst of a hurricane as it tears away the walls of my home and pokes holes in my ceiling. I believe that having a positive attitude is necessary for me to keep going when things get complicated and tough because things for me are always complicated and tough. I even have taught my children that anything worth having is hard because life is never easy and if something is easy it usually isn't worth having.

I am a positive individual that tries to see good in every situation. What I am not, is stupid, naive, nor am I an idiot. I am not ignorant or obtuse. I am well read, I spell impeccably but type like I have ham hocks for fingers, I have a high I.Q. although I suck at math. I curse too much. I hate couscous and have an aversion to sushi. I scream obscenities at the football game on my television even though I don't really care who wins. I watch hockey not because I know the teams or care about the scoreboard, I just like to watch people get checked into the walls. I am not perfect. I am not a saint and I certainly have things to atone for in my life. I am sensitive and kind and I am a people pleaser.

My point is, I have lived my whole life trying to please everybody. Trying to fit in. Trying to not be a burden on anyone. I have spent 31 years pretending to be okay. We all do it. We all pretend that OCD is not how it actually is. Sometimes we say it has good qualities to it. Sometimes we claim it is a gift. Sometimes we act as if it is funny or something that doesn't really affect our lives. I have seen people say that they have OCD but only enough to make them "cute" about it. We have even gone so far as to compare our symptoms to each others so we can pretend that it isn't as horrible as it is. Then we chide ourselves for complaining that it has caused us issues or that we get upset by it because other people may have it more severely than we do. Like we have no right to be irritated or upset. Like we have something to apologize for because it still bothers us.

An analogy of this would be if you woke up this morning and your hand just fell of your wrist and landed on the floor.  You would be concerned. You would be upset. Would you be less upset if you found out later that some guy two states over woke up with his whole arm gone? Would that make your pain any less real or your frustrations any less valid? No. You would have compassion for him and feel bad for his loss too but you would still have to live your life without your hand and you would have every right to feel however you felt about losing said hand and everything that has to change because you now only have one hand to work with.

 OCD is the same way. It doesn't matter who has it and to what degree, if you have OCD and it bothers you then you have a right to be mad, upset, frustrated, depressed, irritated, or disturbed by it. You have a right to your feelings about how OCD bothers you. You are not being whiny or over dramatic because Bob in sales has to wash his hands forty two times and all you do is use hand sanitizer twenty six times a day. Your pain is your pain and it is okay to say that. It is okay to not be okay. You shouldn't have to pretend that your OCD doesn't affect you if it does.

We have convinced ourselves that OCD is just not that bad and in doing so, have convinced everyone else that too. We have made it seem  like  OCD isn't as bad as other illnesses. It isn't as hard on your mental stability. It isn't as painful. It isn't as note worthy. We are constantly making excuses for it or covering it up. We tell little bitty white lies about it that fester and grow until those little white lies have all been painted together and are now the whitewash we paint ourselves with.

We don't go up to people and say, "Hi my name is Nelly. I have OCD and my life is a fucking disaster because of it." No we say paltry things like ,"Yea, I have OCD and I wash my hands sixty times a day but hey...I like clean hands. I mean, it's not that bad." or "Oh, you know, I can't drive anymore because I keep thinking I have ran over people even though I know I haven't so I have to get out of my car six times to make sure. But I always wanted to learn the bus route anyway."  We may tell people we have it but then we move on because it is easier to let others think that we just like to clean or are just quirky. We are so used to acting like it is no big deal that we start to believe it ourselves.....

We excel at pretending that what we go through isn't really because of the soul sucking succubus that lives in our minds. We don't want others to think poorly of us so we don't announce the pain we are in or the struggles we go through daily. We don't want to be a burden or make other people uncomfortable. Never mind, that we are always uncomfortable. As long as no one else is, it is okay. It's not so bad.

I am a positive person but let me be a realist for a second. OCD is not some wondrous gift bestowed upon the lucky few that have been graced with it. It's Hell. Pure mental disfigurement, terror inducing, emotional torture. It's fear and dread and a constant overwhelming plague of guilt. It is a full course meal of pain and frustration. It is a daily struggle just to keep your head above water to breathe. It is a drowning of realty. It is pulling your hair out until you have bald patches, and picking your skin until it scars. It is believing that something is wrong with your body even though no one else sees it but you. It is washing your hands until they bleed, or avoiding places, people, things because you are terrified of your own mind and what it shows you. It is touching, counting, checking things for hours and hours and hours only to have to stand there and do it again. It is living in a constant state of doubting yourself, your mind, the whole world around you. It is being unable to control racing thoughts of violence or sex or blasphemy and then hating yourself and blaming yourself for not being able to control the unwanted thoughts in the first place. It is being afraid of anything or everything and sometimes both at the same time. It is feeling alone and scared and completely fucked up because unlike other mental illnesses you are perfectly aware that it is fucked up in the first place. It is crying yourself to sleep at night, or worrying yourself sick , or having the same thought loop through your mind over and over and over and over an over and over and over again until you want to fucking stick your fingers down your throat in hopes that you can finally purge this evil thing, this mental demon that refuses to let you be. This isn't a pleasure cruise or a college road trip. This isn't about being neat or tidy. This has nothing to do with organization or being punctual. This is Hell. No, this is worse than Hell ever thought about being. This is OCD. This is Hell on steroids mixed with caffeine and a cigarette addiction. This is Hell in technicolor with surround sound. This is Hell imprinted on a broken record trapped under the bent needle of a child's 1950's plastic red Fisher-Price record player.

If it were like we try and brush it off to be, if it were not so bad as we play act it out, than instead of it plaguing it's sufferer it would wear a pink polka dot apron, have a bake sale, and hand out free cupcakes. It would get you promotions instead of making it impossible to function at work or in some cases, like mine, unable to work at all. If it were truly no big deal then people wouldn't commit suicide because of it or become depressed because they have it.

I am not saying that having it makes you doomed or that you can't live with it. I am not saying you can't fight it or manage it. I am not saying that we should all become morose or macabre about it. I am just saying we have to stop minimizing it's affects on our lives to other people. We have to stop comparing our symptoms and severity with others. You have it and it hurts and that is all that needs to be understood.  We have to stop people pleasing and worrying about how uncomfortable talking about how it really is to others will make them feel. We have to be real about it because if we act like it is not so bad, how are other people going to understand what we go through? How do we expect them to change their views on it if we keep brushing it off and making it sound like it is no big deal? How can we heal if we keep acting like it isn't the huge ugly vomit colored elephant in the room that it clearly is? I mean, I think if we want people to take what we go through seriously than we have to let them know what we actually go through and just how serious it can be.

OCD is not so bad, it's horrible. It is painful. It is life altering. It is just as serious as every other mental illness. It is a killer, a wounder of souls, a damager to people's lives. It is not a gift, it is a mental illness. It is not cute or fashionable no more than diabetes is cute or fashionable. It is an illness and it causes suffering and I think people should stop treating like it is not so bad, when clearly that is not the truth.

Neurotic Nelly

Thursday, October 30, 2014

Happy Halloween, Ghouls and Gals....

Tomorrow is Halloween. I love this holiday. It is the one day a year you can be anyone you want to be and not worry about being thought of as kooky or odd. I don't dress up anymore but my kids do. I am allergic to Halloween makeup. It chemically burns my face and both my kids were born with my extra sensitive skin (I am sure they are thrilled about that) leaving us to be more creative when creating costumes.

I may be scared of almost everything but the one thing that does not scare me is haunts. People dressed up in creepy costumes walking around, jumping out at you with props, bad lighting, fog machines and eerie sound effects don't bother me in the least. Give me someone coughing in my direction and I am totally freaked out. Give me some asshat in a clown costume with a chainsaw without the blade making moaning noises at me and I laugh. It seems ridiculous to me. They can't hurt you, the common cold can....

A few years ago my oldest and I were trick or treating when we had to walk up on this guy's porch. It was dark and he had so many decorations in the yard that you had to walk all the way around just to go up the steps. He was sitting in the corner decked out in some monstrous skeletal costume. My oldest was completely freaked out. I elbowed him gently with a fake smile plastered on my face and whispered through my teeth,"just take the candy and let's go". I wasn't scared but the weird slow movements the guy was making as he was going to give my kid the candy made me a tad bit uncomfortable. It was almost as if he was  robotic in movement and he was completely silent. He got his hand about three inches from my kid and my kid bolted. I have never seen him move so fast in his entire life. He jumped off of the porch with so much speed and force he took out half of the creepy guy's yard decorations and almost knocked over some big dude standing there chatting with other trick or treater's parents. I was left there with creepy guy unsure of what to do, so I held out my hand for the candy he still had in his hand and kept the fake smile plastered on my face and mouthed sorry at him. I mean, I am not sure what protocol you are supposed to go through when someone scares your kid so badly they actually end up destroying half of their Halloween display.

Anyway we currently avoid that house, partly out of embarrassment and partly because I prefer my children to not have nightmares every night for the next six years of their lives. When my kids stop trick or treating and they want to stay home to pass out candy to the other kids, maybe I will dress up and we will decorate the yard. I will just make sure not to be too scary for the kids or make odd robotic movements because that shit is super creepy, even to people like me that find all of this "scary" stuff ridiculous.

Hope you all have a safe and happy Halloween! Happy Halloween Ghouls and Gals!

Neurotic Nelly

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

I Just Wonder...

When I was younger, I would be outside playing and sometimes I would hear the people in their houses sitting down for dinner clinking the silverware on their plates, or washing dishes, or talking to each other in their sitting rooms with calm content voices. I couldn't make out what they were actually saying but I could tell by their tone of voice it was an amiable conversation. I imagined it was something normal and like small talk or conversations about work or bills or school, and I would wonder what their lives must be like. What would it be like to live in their family sitting at their table? What did they do on Sundays? Or even Mondays? What were their jobs like? Did they tuck their kids into bed with a story or a lullaby and a night light to ward off bad dreams? Did they pack lunches for them for school in the morning or just give them the money to buy it in the cafeteria? Did they eat cereal for breakfast or toast? Did they go swimming on weekends or camping or to soccer games? I always wondered what other people's lives were like, and if they were anything like mine. I guess that wondering never really left me because I still wonder what other people's lives are like today. When I see people walk down the street in crazy mismatched bold outfits or people in shorts and tank tops with their arms and legs covered in tattoos I begin to wonder. What do they do? What books do they read? What hobbies do they have? When they go home at night, do they have a dog, or cat, or a ferret, maybe a goldfish waiting for them? Maybe they don't like pets...maybe they are allergic....maybe they go home to a cozy little apartment with mismatched furniture and hand me down rugs? Maybe they live in a house? Maybe they don't live anywhere but where the mood takes them? Maybe their family is nice? Maybe their family is mean? Maybe they have no family at all? Do they listen to music? Classical? Rock? Rap? Folk?

I don't know why I do this or even why I did as a child, except other people's lives fascinate me. I guess it is because I have always been so scared of everything. So terrified of life. So afraid of anything new and most things that are old and everything in between. So I try and imagine what it would be like to not be scared to live. I imagine great and wonderful possibilities when I see these people. Quiet dinners around the table with no one getting up to leave because the noises of people chewing in their mouths drive them insane. I imagine comfort and coziness rather than anxiety and cleaning the baseboards with a butter knife and soapy water. I imagine the person covered in tattoos as brave because needles hurt and tattoos are permanent and what must it be like to have something to say that you believe in so strongly you want your skin to say it for the rest of your life? I am not sure that I have anything to say that is that meaningful or believe worthy enough to ever be permanent. I imagine the boldly dressed person as courageous and as someone who marches to the beat of their own drum and doesn't give a damn what other people think and I envy them because I do care what other people think. Even though I know I shouldn't. I don't really want to care but I do....and I wonder...what must it be like to be that way? To be different than how I am...to be free. Too be normal. To be not scared......I wonder.

It even happens to me on television shows or movies. Especially period movies set in a different time. I was watching a mobster movie set in the forties last night and I was interested in the story line and yet I caught myself wondering again. What would it have been like to know so little about diseases and germs? How would it have been to just live your life not worrying that every little pain or ache or cramp meant something medically horrible was wrong with you? You would never worry about it because they didn't know much about that stuff in those days. You got something bad, it made you sick but you didn't go around being plagued by the thought of it because you didn't know any better. You just lived life the way you wanted to. The freedom they must of had from the fear of it. Freedom of the fear of germs and diseases and medical issues, I will never know because now that I know about them, I fear them constantly. I always have. Then I have to sit there and ask myself what is wrong with me. I mean, here is this terrific and moving movie and all I can think about is how wonderful it would have been to share the drink with the love interest on the show and not wince when he puts the glass to his lips and not be all," Um, you have had your flu shot right?". Or how nice it must be to sit at the bar and actually eat the pretzels in the bowl on the counter that everyone and their grandmothers has had their hands in and not bat an eye....Or how freeing it would be to run around and not be terrified that every little bothersome twinge is a sign that you have a serious malady. I could dance, or sing, or run around in high heels and flapper dresses and not give damn. My God, what would that be like? To not be paranoid, or weird, or terrified, or OCD?

It just stuns me. How other people live their lives so freely and unaware and they seem happy. They seem carefree. They seem sooooo normal and it fascinates me. This normal that I have been told time and time again that I would never achieve. This word that eludes me no matter how hard I try or how hard I play act at it. I know that I can not be free of my OCD. That I will never be OCD free completely. That I will never be normal.......and I know that the tattooed guy probably has a tattoo of Tweetybird on his ass that he got in college on a dare and regrets it, or that the boldly dressed lady is probably just color blind or crazy or both, and that the dinners I heard as a child were probably just mac n cheese and sliced hot dogs and that the conversations were probably about stupid things like what the neighbor said about the guy across the street and that television and movies aren't real and that normal supposedly doesn't really exist. I know all of that and yet I still cant help but wonder what it would feel like or be like or if it had a taste what would it taste like? Would it be bitter or sweet or would it taste like popcorn? Or if i"normal" were a thing, an actual solid thing, could I hold it in my hand? Would it be heavy like a brick or would it be light and fluffy like a marmalade sandwich? Would it be sticky like peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth on a hot day or hard and gritty and substantial? Because I know that fear tastes coppery and metallic, and I know anxiety is bitter and tastes salty like tears, and I know that my fears aren't tactile and my hands are empty yet they feel so very very full of broken dreams and worries and desperation that slip through my fingers daily, and I know how heavy and substantial OCD is on your soul, and so I just wonder....what would, what could, how would it be to finally just live unafraid.... to be different.....to be like everyone else....to be normal.

Neurotic Nelly

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

My First Test.....

People with OCD are fantastic actors. We look normal. We blend into most any situation. We hide our symptoms as often as we can the best that we can and most of the time no one has any idea there is something broken in our minds.

For instance, I may be in an elevator with a group of people. There may seem to be too many people on the elevator but I have to be on it too. I don't outwardly freak out but inside my OCD is freaking out," What if we are exceeding the weight limit? What if this whole things comes tumbling down?" and God forbid, someone sneeze or cough in the elevator with me in it. However, all you see in this situation is me with a fake smile plastered all over my face. You see a polite, normal person. You see a woman, a mother, an individual. What you don't see is that this woman, mother, and individual is screaming inside of her mind.

I have been out of hand sanitizer for two weeks now. I have been out of the house three times. It has been unbelievably hard. My first test was going to the doctors office. I had to sign in with some mechanical machine with a stylus, I damn well know everyone and their dog's have touched. I had to touch door knobs and chairs and elevator buttons (things I usually avoid by using my sleeve instead of my fingers). I searched for any hand sanitzer in the office with desperation and found nothing. Sure, I looked calm on the outside but on the inside I was screaming. I was totally freaked out. The Price is Right was on the office television. The beeps of the wheel turned into a long annoying sound of dings and pings. The audience clapping became a loud obnoxious murmur. The sounds of the people in the doctors office became a background noise. A cough, a sneeze, some woman in tight pants and an animal print shirt continued to clear her throat and make annoying sniffing sounds while she read something on her cell phone....and then my brain took over. Everything faded away and the silence came. I no longer heard or tasted or smelled. The only sense left in my body was feeling the germs. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw my saving grace, a wall with a hand sanitizer pump on it. Hallelujah! I walked quickly over to it and pumped the glorious germ killing miracle gel all over my hands. Relief!

Then a few days later I went to the grocery store. Again this is where I would have used my hand sanitizer at anytime I would feel the start of the OCD contamination and germ fears but I did not have my fall back hand sanitizer. I seemed happy on the outside but on the inside my mind was reeling." Don't touch the cart, don't touch the counter, Leave the package of raw meat alone, germs, germs, germs, germs...tainted, tainted, tainted...dirty, dirty, dirty...."
I was so worried and anxious through the whole experience that I totally forgot to buy hand santizer for myself. I made it through and made it home without touching my face with my tainted hands, and then promptly washed my hands as soon as I walked through the door....Relief!

I need to get more sanitizer but I am kinda stoked I was able to get through both of my major triggers without my trusty hand sanitizer and still made it through with out an outward, ugly,extreme breakdown in public. Which is exciting because a few years ago I am not sure that would have been possible.

Neurotic Nelly

Thursday, October 16, 2014

OCD Awareness Week, Rock It Like It Is 2014!

Yay, the new sign for OCD awareness week is out! And I went to print it and guess what? I am out of ink in my printer....ugh! I am going to put the actual online printout super imposed onto my picture instead. (A huge thank you to my extremely tech savvy best friend!) Since I said I would use the UK sign, I will do both and since there is no "I am a PureO" sign, I decided to make one myself, with paper and pen because I am cheap and I suck at Paint Shop Pro and apparently, I suck at looking to see when I need to refill my ink cartridges as well.

OCD awareness week means so much to me. After having this illness for over 31 years, I can not explain how wonderful it is for it to be recognized and talked about. Growing up, I thought I was crazy. Now, I know I am crazy but I also know that I am not alone. There are thousands of us. Thousands of crazy, beautiful, magnificent, wonderful people just like me and I am not sure that there is anything more powerful than learning you are not alone. You do not suffer alone. You do not worry alone. That there are people who may not have the exact same rituals, compulsions, or obsessions that you do but yet they still know exactly how you feel. It is amazing and comforting and even, dare I say calming? It helps to know that I am a part of such a terrific group of individuals.

Thirty years ago, twenty years ago, hell even ten years ago, OCD was a nameless mental illness only known to those of us that had been diagnosed with it. There was no fanfare or special weeks set out for it. No t-shirts or banners to hang. It wasn't uncommon to have explain your diagnoses over and over again to the same person until they understood that yes, it was a real thing and that yes, you, in fact, suffered from it. Now days, people use the term OCD like it is the most fashionable thing in the world. They use it to describe everything from being neat and tidy to quirky and organized. This is probably the most insulting and irritating thing an actual OCD sufferer can hear but at the same time if people are willing to incorrectly label themselves as OCD than I am going to take their faux pas and turn it into a discussion with them of just why they are not sooo OCD and I am....I believe everything can be used as a teaching tool and we now have the voice to speak, teach, and educate just what OCD is about and how it affects us and the ones that we love.

Anyway, Happy OCD Awareness week my wonderful peeps! Hold your head high and be proud of not just what we have accomplished but who we are as people. Because honestly, we might be a bit different than the rest of the world but we are makes this world diverse and unique and beautiful. We rock, so let's rock it  like it is 2014! Yeah!

Neurotic Nelly

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Things To Rant About....

I am thinking of occasionally talking about things that really piss me off. There is a bunch of them. I don't always rant about them, and I  don't always write about them, but they are there and they irritate me to no end. Here is this month's installment in no particular order....

OCD week....
I love OCD awareness week. It is my mental illness and I want to be a part of it. Last year I was bummed because I didn't have a printer and couldn't print the offical "I am So OCD" print out and take my picture with it. I went out and got a printer specifically, so I could participate this year and what happens? The site that usually has these printouts keeps saying that the new pic is coming soon, a week before OCD awareness week. Well, it is the second day of OCD awareness week and still no printout!!!! I am now obsessing about my OCD awareness printout. So yes, I am having OCD about my OCD. Wonderful....Guess I am going to have to just print out the UK one and take my picture with it. I love the UK but I am from America and I would like to have support from America about my mental illness as well. It baffles me as to why a simple printout is so hard to create. I am going UK this year so check out Thursday's post with me holding my OCD UK printout! And although I am happy to support OCD there it pisses me off there is nothing here to show my support....

I was just diagnosed as having vertigo due to my ear drums and ear canals being severely scarred from tubes in my ears when I was a child. I no longer am able to drain the fluid out of my ears so every time I get sick or have bad allergies, my ears ears fill up with fluid leaving me to feel dizzy and unfocused. I now am taking 3 extra pills to combat this until the fluid dissipates. That means I now have to take 11 pills a day and I hate taking pills! I can't move my head without feeling weird and when I lay down the world spins like I am on some horrible theme park ride. Now, not only do I have bad eyesight that leaves me with poor depth of perception, I cant even tell now where the object I am reaching for actually is. I tried to grab something handed to me yesterday only to find I was grabbing for it about two inches to left of said object. I got up from the table at a restaurant and collided with an errant chair and table on the right side of me. Thankfully, no one was sitting there at the time and I just acted like it didn't happen but the thought of being even less able to walk and function on top of my blindness scares the shit out of me. Basically, I stagger around like I am drunk but without any of the pleasantries of being drunk. It makes me feel even more vulnerable, clumsy, and more of a burden than I have ever felt in my whole life. It sucks and it pisses me off.....

Birthday Ban....
An elementary in Kentucky has banned cupcakes and cake or anything edible on children's school birthday parties. Nothing says fun and birthdays like the erasers, pencils, and bookmarks they suggest you give your students instead. Yum. I know as a kid I would be so excited to receive such yummy treats as a graphite lead covered in wooden tubes with brightly covered paint or paper pressed book marks! Not....They claim it is to curb obesity but let's call a spade a spade shall we? One cupcake or piece of cake will do nothing for obesity. No one is one cupcake away from being fat. ( Gee, I was so skinny until I ate that one cupcake. Sheesh now I am 300 lbs over wieght just from that one afternoon in science class, said no one ever.) This is not alcohol addiction where you are one beer away from losing sobriety. It's a fucking cupcake for God's sake. These are children. Can't children just be allowed to be children without people pushing their odd personal political agendas and overall ignorance all over them? If you are worried about children being fat then increase their gym time and recess. Don't feed them lunch at 10:15 a.m. right after they just had breakfast at 7:45 a.m. Make them eat lunch at 12 like normal people. That way they don't come home at 4 p.m. starving to death and raiding the kitchen. It isn't a school's decision on food anyway. That is the parent's job. A school's job is to teach. Teach about health and healthy eating habits and exercise. Anyone who has ever dieted knows that diets don't work because you can not possibly hold up to never eating a cupcake or a piece of candy. If you refuse to let a child ever eat such things then they will gorge themselves on it when they become adults because now they finally have the option to try them. In short, leave the damn cupcakes alone and let the kids be kids for God's sake and do the world a favor and get over yourself.

Welfare Ignorance...
If I had a nickle every time I have heard some blowhard say that welfare recipients on food stamps waste their food stamps on booze and cigarettes I would be able to take all of the people on food stamps out to breakfast. Listen, I know this is hard to understand but try and keep up. Food stamps buy........food. And only food. No paper products, or alcohol, or tabcco products. It does not pay for laundry soap, or the pencils you may be forced to give your kids at school for thier birthday parties. It pays for stuff that you eat and that is all. If you had the runs and were out of toilet paper and had no money but $400 in food stamps, you would go home without toilet paper and try to figure out how to drum up enough money to buy toilet paper or try to wing it with using banana peels or the plastic bag that bread comes in because food stamps pay for things like bananas and bread but not for things like the magical fluffy white paper you wipe your butt with. Hence why the word Food is in the word "food-stamp". There is no cigarette stamp or booze stamp so stop it already. Just stop. If you have never been on food stamps than you have no idea how hard living on such things are. I have been on them twice and not for very long, but each time it was a hard and embarrassing experience. The way people treat you and look at you is mortifying. The judgments you receive because maybe you lost your job, or your loved one was too sick to work is unbelievable. It hurts. Sure there are people that abuse the system but that is not everyone and no one wants to be hungry or starve. Not all people who are obese are on food stamps and not all food stamp recipients are obese. I wasn't. And as for the "you should buy healthier stuff when on food stamps" comments you see all over the place, that would be doable if the healthier foods weren't almost twice the price of the cheaper fattier options. It must be nice to have never been on food stamps or have struggled to feed your family, but unless you have been on them you really have no idea how hard it is to try and live on them. No one buys cigarettes and booze with food stamps, it is impossible. Could the welfare system be better and more functional and less costly, yes, but don't blatantly lie about what food stamps can be used for. That is just ignorant and when you say things like that it makes you appear ignorant and it makes you appear to have a strong lack of compassion.

And finally the last thing that is pissing me off right now is:

Columbus Day....
I refuse to acknowledge this day. Christopher Columbus was not a brilliant, brave, fearless man. He was a murderer, thief, swindler, and liar. The reason this day is a supposed holiday here, mystifies me. Banks are closed and the mail doesn't run all because he "discovered" America. How in the hell do you discover a place that already has people living on it? That is like me going over to my neighbor's fenced in  yard, hammering a wooden stake in the ground and claiming that I have discovered their yard and it is now mine. Then we could have Nelly day and people could build statues of me and change my history around in the history books so I come out smelling like a rose and not be remembered for the things I actually did and how I actually did them. The only thing redeemable about there being statues of Christopher Columbus anywhere in this country is the fact that birds get to fly over him and defecate on his head everyday....He didn't discover land, he stole it. He found indigenous people on his "discovered land" and those people were raped, murdered, turned to slavery, and had all of their gold taken from them. Their lives were destroyed because he was greedy and corrupt, not to mention a tad bit full of himself. Wow, if that isn't someone to look up to and call a hero, I sure don't know what is. (That's sarcasm, folks.) I mean the man thought that he had reached India instead of America which is why Native Americans were called Indians for a very long time, and even the Caribbean Islands are often called the West Indies. But yea, he was sooo intelligent and an overall nice guy....cough...cough...bull shit...cough. Columbus day is a farce and I refuse to lower myself to the regurgitated bologna they try and teach about such a man and I certainly refuse to act as if what he was, is in anyway noble or worthy of being celebrated.

These are just some things that really irritate me and make me annoyed or trigger my OCD and make me rant. They aren't the first and I am sure they won't be the last. So, it got me to wondering what really bothers you guys?

Neurotic Nelly