Selfless

I read a post a post the other day I felt I just had to comment on. Mostly, because I have felt the same as this person had. When I was depressed I felt very selfish. I felt selfish because I was unable to connect with others or truly listen to conversations. I was unable to enjoy time doing anything that I had previously loved doing. I was totally numb except for the excruciating pain that seemed to dwell inside my soul. I was exhausted and so distraught. I was a shell of my former self and felt powerless to do anything about it. It was then that I contemplated suicide.
Suicide is a selfish act. Even considering it was very selfish of me. It would have crushed my family and friends. It would have been a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I was in so much pain that I simply failed to see that.
I am very glad that I got help. It was the only way to pull me back from the cliff of pain I was falling off of. I am thankful everyday. However, it bothers me when I hear or read that some think they are selfish for not being able to feel. Some think they are selfish because they are hurting and can't seem to snap out of it. Mental illness is an illness not a choice. No one chooses to hurt or suffer. No one chooses to be numb.
Being selfish is a choice.
Selfish is hurting someone for your own personal gain. Selfish is taking advantage of people because you want something for yourself. Selfish is stealing or "borrowing" without asking. Selfish is not caring who you push down because you only think of yourself, your wants and your needs.
The author of this post was asking if selflessness was possible for her. I had to state the truth. Somehow we picture that selflessness is only when you do something insanely heroic. It seems we equate it with things like jumping in front of a bullet for a stranger. Yes, that is selflessness, but selflessness is also doing something for someone else and not expecting any thing back. You do it because you are nice. You do it because you care about their feelings. You do it because you love them. We do selfless things everyday with no ticker tape parade or banners proclaiming our good deeds. Listening to your significant other's  problems when you are tired is selfless. Going over to someone's home when you would rather stay home, but you do it to make them happy, is a form of selflessness. Taking a few extra minutes to open a door for a stranger is not only being kind but being selfless. Putting ones needs or wants in front of your own, no matter how small is being selfless. It doesn't have to be news worthy to be anymore important. .Any time you give your time, money, or help and ask for nothing back you are being selfless. Many times we as mentally ill people, give and give. Right or wrong, we often  put our illness in the background and try to do the things that makes the loved one's in our lives happy. One word, selfless.
Maybe it is because as a mentally ill person we tend to be so critical of ourselves. We tend to self hate or at least judge ourselves more harshly than we would others in the same position. We have to realize that we are ill but we are not defunct. We are selfless everyday. The fact that we are honest about our mental illness is being selfless. We know that we could be judged, but we want to help others like us. Guess what? That is selfless too. So let's take a moment and look in the mirror. We are may not be everything we want to be but we are definitely what we need to be. We are strong. We are caring. We are humble and most of all we are selfless.
                                          Neurotic Nelly

Worry Wart

Worry Wart. That was my pet moniker given to me as a child by my mother. Before we knew I had an actual mental illness. I worried about everything, hell I still do. She used to say that I would have a heart attack by the age of ten if I didn't stop worrying about everything. If only it had been that easy to just stop. My life has been riddled with just stop, just stop already. Unfortunately, you can not will OCD away. You can not will away any mental illness.

She used to buy me worry dolls. Tiny dolls with yarn dresses made of paper and string. I loved to play with them. I ended up with about twenty. They were fun to play with but did't help my worrying at all. I am not sure why they didn't ease my thoughts, after all they are called worry dolls. Maybe I didn't have enough? Maybe I didn't use them the right way? Who knows. Actually, I would have needed more than twenty to help. I could have had a box truck full of the brightly colored worry dolls, deposited on my lawn ever day and I still would have been a basket case. The folklore of them is beautiful though. The dolls folklore originate in Guatemala. I would like to have a few nowadays just to look at them.

My mothers next step was to buy me worry stones to get through the day. I liked the feel of the polished stone under my thumb. I would rub my thumb over the little bumps and creases on the stone until the pattern was familiar  It was slightly calming but it didn't really help with my OCD. Still I had a worry stone in my pocket for a long time. It's folklore is also beautiful. The stones folklore originated in Ancient Greece.

I liked both the dolls and stones very much. Although they did not help my mental illness, they do speak to how much my mother tried to ease my pain. At that time children really had no treatment for mental illness that was very helpful.
There was no amount of worry items that would have eased my suffering. There wasn't anything my mother could have given to make my OCD better besides therapy and I was already getting that. I am thankful that she tried.
I continued to be her "little worry wart". I worried about health issues  loosing loved ones, contamination, was I being a good girl, and  did people like me? The list goes on and on. It is a lot of stress for a four year old to go through. I made it through with the help, love, and support of my family. I made it through because although the dolls and stones didn't ease my pain, they proved that my parents cared enough to try anything to help me, no matter how far fetched the ideas were.
I believe that is what helps the mentally ill. Going out of your way to try anything to support the person suffering. Being there for them and holding their hand when life gets out of control and scary. Offering them solace. Offering understanding. It means so much more than you know.
Am I still a worry wart? Yes, but now I have it under control. I may worry, but it does not make it impossible for me to get things done. I am not crying and rocking back in forth in my room. It has taken years of therapy and support from my loved ones to get this way and I am thankful that I am able to function. Besides, there are so many beautiful things in life to let worry take over everything.
Today is a good day because I want it to be. Today I may worry but I will turn up the music and just disintegrate into the lyrics. Today I will not allow OCD to make me a worry wart. I do have a choice: stand or fall, live or suffer, worry or get up and move. Today I am going to get up and go to the store. Maybe I will come across a worry doll or stone and smile.