Wednesday, September 30, 2015


It has occurred to me that I have not changed anything on my blog in about year. I have this thing where I have to rearrange my furniture about every three months or things seem dirty and stale. I guess this is my way of rearranging my furniture in blog form. I have a new blog post coming up that I am really excited to share with you guys but I just couldn't stand to post it in the old format. It somehow felt...well dirty and stale. I even made myself change the description because even though the old description was me trying to be inspirational, it somehow seemed to lack the fact that I am a severe OCD sufferer with a sense of humor. (I am not claiming it is a sense of humor everyone else gets, but it a sense of humor of some kind.) Speaking of titles and descriptions,  it really irritates me that the title has to be on the side and  can not placed in the middle. It also frustrates me that I had to put the three dots to separate the "by Neurotic Nelly" because it was all stuck together. Ugh.

I'm just not going to look at it. I refuse to be beaten by Blogger's refusal to make titles go where they are supposed to. This me ignoring it.....after three hours of fiddleling with it and slowly driving myself insane.

I hope you guys like the update and that it is easier to read. Please ignore the fact that my cat's ear seems to have become some odd superhero ear that stretches all the way to the left side. I have the worst luck in figuring out how to make the background fit perfectly. Everyone has a cross to bear...never having a background that fits correctly is mine. What can ya do? I'm just not going to look at it....I am not going to even mention how long I fiddeled with the background. We don't have enough time to go through all that. It was too painful to relive...(place various excuses here).

My new post should be posted in the next few days. I hope you all have a great rest of the week and please let me know how you feel about my blog changes, unless it is about my cat's ear. Just don't look at it and it will go away. That's how I am dealing with it currently...

Neurotic Nelly

Friday, September 25, 2015

It Might Have Been Hobbs.....

                    Last night, I returned from my four mile walk, thirsty. As I opened my refrigerator I noted a pitcher of fresh tea, a half gallon of milk, and a mysterious shiny brown flat Lego piece just haphazardly laying on the shelf. Now as a parent of two boys, I have run across some odd things in my fridge that don't belong. A slinky, a pair of foam hulk hands, a ball, peanut butter, a half eaten cookie dried and gross just to name a few. My oldest likes to put the little rubber holder for my e-cigarette on the back inside of the fridge to mess with me because it is a suction cup....but these things have happened over the years not recently. The Lego placement was new. Mind you, my kids are now thirteen and almost nine. So, I asked each of them separately who put it there. After the foam hulk hands incident, I no longer ask why because kids are weird and there is absolutely no answer they could possibly give you that would make any kind of sense. It isn't really important why there was a Lego in my fridge. It doesn't stop time and open up a parallel universe. I just like to know for sanity's sake, who put it there, because otherwise I am going to think I did it. Like the time I put the block of cheese on top of the refrigerator instead of inside the refrigerator. I just want to make sure I am not sleepwalking or losing what little sanity I have left now that I am homeschooling two children. I know it wasn't my husband and I am certain it wasn't me unless I truly am a sleepwalker, and since I have never woke up in the bathtub after eating a cat food sandwich, I am fairly confident I am not. That leaves the two other humans in this house.

Neither child "claims" to have done it. I tried the parental eyeballing while asking politely. My oldest laughed a bit, something he does when he might be telling me a story. He claims it because my face is funny when I do that. I claim it is because he is a bad liar. My youngest however, offered up fanciful explanations on who could be responsible. His answer? The cats.

Let me just give you a rundown of my four cats my youngest has named as suspects, for a moment.

Higgins is a two year old slightly crossed eyed cat that spends his days laying on homework but only as you try to work on it. He is lovable and funny albeit slightly stupid. I love him but he is not the brightest cat I have ever seen. He isn't completely innocent as he plays with stolen goods. He loves playing with balls but only the balls he has shredded off of my favorite pair of house slippers last year. He plays with them right in front of me too unabashed and unashamed.

Lola is Higgins's sister. She is smarter, goofier, and squshily fat. When she is not catching and eating flies and then throwing them back up in neat tidy piles around the house for me to clean,  she can be found laying around on her back like an overstuffed burrito on my youngest's computer chair. She too is not completely honest as she demands you to sit on the chair with half of your butt hanging off because she has claimed this particular chair as hers and refuses to leave it even if you really need to sit down.

Then there is Marley, who is an outside light orange cat we took in before we moved. He is sweet and very much a lap cat although he has some serious boundary issues. He likes to lay on your face when you lie down, possibly in an effort to suffocate you in your sleep. He has a chubby face though, which makes him irresistible even if does he has a disturbing habit of forcing you to make eye contact while he poops in the litter box....ew.

 And finally that leaves the last suspect, Hobbs. Hobbs is my 13 year old dark orange, great and wonderful, gelatinous ball of flab and fur that insists on being petted constantly especially by strangers that come to the door. He Loves boxes and children and sleeping on your head like a hat. He occasionally tries to eat your hair, has an affinity for licking grocery bags and plastic shower curtains, meows with a meow that can only be described as sounding like an 80 year old woman with a smokers cough, drinks with his paw like a princess, and has an addiction to yogurt and amaretto coffee creamer. Which he does only when you are not looking because even though he weighs twenty two pounds he is somehow very sneaky. He also makes it a point to swipe the inside side of the litter box lid instead of covering his own poo because he feels the rules just don't apply to him.

I mean, none of these cats seem like putting a Lego in the fridge is beyond their pattern of behavior. I might even consider it as a strong possibility if the fact that cats don't have opposable thumbs didn't keep getting in the way.... Sure they are sneaky, and rude, and selfish but that is all cats.

I don't know does this face seem guilty to you?

On second thought, it might have been Hobbs.....

Neurotic Nelly

Monday, September 7, 2015

The Right Choice...

         I have begun to dread bedtime for my kids and the morning time right before we have to leave the house. Waiting to see if anxiety is going to plague my youngest child and make it impossible for him to go to school. I had once thought that having the same diagnoses and issues would make it easier for me to know how handle this.  I now know better. What I have learned through all of this is I now see both sides of the coin. I see what is like to be the parent of a child with extreme anxiety but I also know what it is like to suffer from the extreme anxiety my child suffers from. Neither side is pleasant. I thought it would make it simpler to deal with. That it would offer some unforeseen help in this matter. That I would have a better handle on things because I can relate. It was supposed to make this easier. It doesn't. What I have found, is that I think it in some ways makes it harder. I do not have the luxury of pretending I don't know what he is going through. I do know and it guts me every single day.

The decisions I have to make are  like a weight hanging over my head, threatening to crash down on me at any moment. Do I make him go to school through his horrid panic attacks or do I give in? When do I make this decision? What do I do with the disapproval of others thoughts on the matter (the school) that don't have to look at his tiny little face welling up with tears and agony? How do I wade through all of the over emotion and mental baggage while still holding my child's hand as I plaster on a brave face and not get frustrated because I do not have the answers I once thought I would have? How do I do the right thing when I am often unsure of what the right thing is? It feels like every decision I make is of monumental importance and yet has perilous consequences all at the same time. What if I make the wrong choice and it causes more anxiety? What if I home school but it damages his future to be productive because he becomes unable to leave the house at all? What if I force him to go to regular school and it scars him further? What if? What if? What if? Which do I choose? What is the lesser of the two evils?

Where as I am more than comfortable talking about my thirty two year struggle with my OCD, I am left paralyzed by my son's. Frozen with the fear of the things he will go through and the struggles he will have to deal with. I know the suffering too well, too intimately to pretend it does not affect him the way it does. I am crazy not naive. I am frustrated by my lack of being able to help him with something I have immense experience in. It is a great irony that I should know so much about my OCD and yet feel completely helpless on how to help him with his. I am afraid of the anxiety stealing away parts of his life. Small bits at first like it did with me. So small one doesn't pay much attention until it is too late. A day or two of school. Then a few weeks, then months. Having to drop out because you have missed so much or are too overwhelmed to walk out the front door. The slow but deliberate taking of dreams. The loss of going to college, the loss of going out freely in public, the inability to finish any trade school and get a license. The taking of the ability to work part time and then eventually the ability to work at all. The loss of being able to leave the house without a great amount of discomfort and stress.  The gross amount of time it took from me, pilfered from my existence, stole out from underneath my clinched hands as I tried so desperately to hold onto it, is not what I want for anyone let alone my own child....I don't think even then, I really appreciated the extent of anxiety''s hunger. It is always waiting, it is never full. Once it gets a taste of your dreams, hopes, and desires it becomes a ravenous beast, devouring everything in it's path.

I go on and try and portray positivity to my son. I make his lunches for school each night and hold back the tears of feeling completely defeated. Will he even be able to get to eat this today? Will he even be able to smile again in the mornings? I miss that. His smile before heading off to school with his friends. Anxiety has stolen that from me as well but even more, it has stolen it from him and that is unacceptable.

We have made appointments for more therapy beyond the school therapist, because the school therapist is not able to help him like he needs, but there is a wait. One for almost a month away and one for an actual month away and I can't help but wonder what we are supposed to do in the mean time. Do we keep going on like there isn't a big pink thieving elephant in the room taking up space in our lives and grasping away bits and pieces of my son's life? Do we just keep calling the school and saying he had a panic attack and couldn't make it in again? I feel so helpless, so stupid, so unprepared. He needs more than what he has right this second and he needs it yesterday, not a month away. What happens when the negative self talk starts in? Because it will. Is he going to think badly of himself because he has this? Is he going to hate himself and think of himself as weak or broken like I did at his age? How do I combat that? How do I stop that from happening to him as we wait for more time pass before we can get the help he needs?

 I have been open and honest with him and told him he is like me, we will do this together, he can do it, and how much I love him and yet I feel like a complete failure as a parent. Your one job as a parent is to protect your child and be there for them. To be their champion. The only thing I am the champion of right now is a bunch of unanswered questions and a whole bunch of fears that somehow either path I choose to help him is fraught with disaster. I just need someone to tell me what to do...which is the right path....because there is too much riding on has to be the right one.

 Monday he had a two and half hour long panic attack at school and they did not let him go home. I am over this. I have decided to pull him out and have him home schooled for the rest of this year as we get him the help he needs. We can try regular school again next year but he can't go to regular school, which is his biggest trigger, if he doesn't have the therapy and support he needs to get through it. I just hope I am making the right choice for him. I hope I am doing right by him not only as his mother but as a fellow anxiety OCD sufferer. I hope I am picking the right path for him to take.....because it is all about him and what works for him and what helps him. Everyone else's opinion, including the school's, at this point has lost it's validity and is background noise to me. I must do what I feel is best. Just please, please, please God, let this be the right choice....

Neurotic Nelly