It Has A Name

Ok, I am here again writing in my blog on my day off of writing in my blog, but I just read something that has angered me and I feel I have to vent.

It is an article from the UK news called The Gaurdian. The article can be found here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2013/may/12/medicine-dsm5-row-does-mental-illness-exist

Does Mental Illness really exist?

 Is the title.......breathe........breathe.......I am trying to calm down here......give me a second......

There is some debate between the American and UK definitions on whether a child's shyness, bereavement form a loved one's death, and internet addiction can be classified as a mental disorder. I am not so worried about that in the article because I believe that if there are ongoing other issues it could be a symptom of mental illness. In itself these things are not mental illness or at least classified as one. I am not comfortable delving into areas where I have no experience or training. What I am concerned about is some of the other issues they are debating over and I am ticked.

"And now, in a significant new attack, the very nature of disorders identified by psychiatry has been thrown into question. In an unprecedented move for a professional body, the Division of ClinicalPsychology (DCP), which represents more than 10,000 practitioners and is part of the distinguished British Psychological Society, will tomorrow publish a statement calling for the abandonment of psychiatric diagnosis and the development of alternatives which do not use the language of "illness" or "disorder".


My first problem is right there. I have an illness, a mental illness. It is not a choice to be the way I am. I didn't wake up one morning and say," You know I just don't have enough stress in my life, I think I will just start having psychiatric issues and make things more complicated and stressful for myself. I don't really need all these friends I have or this great job that I love,". It is an illness that runs in my family. It is called mental illness for a reason. It is important to me that it is called what it is. I don't want to beat around the bush. It is a devastating, complicated misfiring of neurons in my brain. I have a physical illness in my brain, like the flu but chronic and located inside my head. In my case it is hereditary.

"The statement isn't just an account of the many problems of psychiatric diagnosis and the lack of evidence to support it," she said. "It's a call for a completely different way of thinking about mental health problems, away from the idea that they are illnesses with primarily biological causes."
Psychiatrists say that such claims have been made many times before and ignore mountains of peer-reviewed papers about the importance that biological factors play in determining mental health, including significant work in the field of genetics. It also, they say, misrepresents psychiatry's position by ignoring its emphasis on the impact of the social environment on mental health."

My second issue is the fact that they are overlooking the hereditary implications. They are apparently going on the premise that all mental illness is environmental. I had a a terrific loving home and no trauma befell me before I started having my mental illness symptoms at the age of four. It runs throughout my family history. I suppose that we all just were traumatized and we don't know it? There are some mental illnesses that are caused by trauma but there are also those that are caused by genetics. That is like ignoring that there is a cancer gene and just stating that everyone with cancer got it as a result of environmental causes. Ridiculous assumptions being made by those that are here to defend and treat us!!! I guess we should just stick our heads in the sand and pretend that genes of mental illness don't exist. That tactic worked oh so well with cancer genes, didn't it? No one ever got cancer from hereditary means right?

"But now the DCP has transformed the debate about diagnosis by claiming that it is not only unscientific but unhelpful and unnecessary.


"Strange though it may sound, you do not need a diagnosis to treat people with mental health problems," said Dr Lucy Johnstone, a consultant clinical psychologist who helped to draw up the DCP's statement."

................Are you............flipping............serious???!!...........breathe, I'm breathing....................and shaking with uncontrollable anger.............................

If I had not been given a diagnoses, I would not be writing this blog, because I would be dead. I would have killed myself years ago. You can take that any way you like, but it is the God's honest truth and I own that truth.

Let me tell you a little story. When I was fourteen my mental illness had come back in full force. I was hearing the voice in my mind. I had intrusive thoughts and images. I secretly thought I had gone totally insane and because I was so terrified of voicing what was going on, I suffered in silence for a month. A month of praying, crying and isolating myself from the outside world and the people I loved. I was terrified of their reactions if I was honest with what was going on in my head. Terrified. When I got the courage to finally tell my mother she took me to a psychiatrist and he gave me a diagnosis. He literally saved my life. The beast had a name and it was OCD. That diagnoses saved me. It saved me because I could research it. I could find out what my treatment options were, how it affected the people that suffered from it, and that I was not alone. Most importantly that I was not alone. Because when you think you are going crazy, your biggest fear is that there is no one else on the face of the planet that is going through what you are going through. I have OCD. It is a real diagnoses for a real mental illness and it defines me. Some people say that mental illness does not define them, and that is perfectly acceptable for them. I don't believe that in my case. OCD is part of everything in my life. It has made me who I am. It has shaped my decisions, my life's path, helped form my personality, and has created the passion I have to help other's that suffer from mental illness. I am more than my diagnoses but it has and does define me in ways that I am not able to quite understand myself. I don't look at it as a bad thing, I look at it as this is my life and I will go on. I will struggle but I will persevere. My name is Nelly and I have a mental illness. I have OCD and as such I am a representation of it.

Doctor's don't say, "Well, this is just too much so now instead of diagnosing diseases, we are just going to treat you for them and not tell you what you have. It's isn't important to know that. Just sit down and take these pills like a good little girl."      That would be ridiculous. The problem that all mental illness sufferers have is that mental illness is almost never treated the same way a physical illness is. Cancer has a diagnoses, AIDS has a diagnoses, Diabetes has a diagnoses. You wouldn't tell the sufferers of these that they needed to be treated without a name for their afflictions. Why would it even be conceivable to do that with those that suffer from mental illness? Do you know many people suffer day to day, homelessness, unemployed, and wandering the streets because they have never been diagnosed and therefore lived their lives untreated? Are we trying to add more to that list? Is that acceptable to you? Because it sure as hell is not acceptable to me. Yes, there are misdiagnoses. That happens in every field. You don't stop diagnosing physical illnesses because of it. You work to find the right one and go from there.

Taking away such words as illness harms us more than you think. Mental Illness is important because it proves that it is a real issue. Not something that we made up. Not something that we do to get attention. It is proof that there is something physically wrong with our brains. To take that away from us is to encourage more stigma. My brain is sick and it is not my fault or my choice for it to be so.

Taking away diagnoses smacks to me of the early years of psychiatry. White washed walls and sterilized floor tiles. White lab coats and restraints. Treating people with unknown medications and faulty reasoning. It speaks to me of the time when there was no diagnoses and all generalizations. Words, hurtful and misunderstood words, were thrown around. Words like lunatic, madness, crazy, insane, melancholy, mania, and neurosis. What will they call us if they take away our diagnoses? Because they will have to call it something. I don't know about you, but I am not willing to go back in time a hundred years, fifty years, or even ten years ago and treat mental illness sufferers the shameful and disgusting way they used to. I am not willing to be stripped of my right's as a mental illness sufferer and be swept aside or overlooked. I will not be locked away, confined, or called generic names that do not represent me just to suit the doctors. Doctors who are supposed to be practicing what is in our best interest. Doctor's who take an oath to first do no harm. By taking away our diagnoses and the words mental illness and disorders there will be a much more tough time trying to enlighten others on our suffering and ending stigma. Now we wont be seen as ill or sick but faking it, over exaggerating, or attention seeking. How will we explain to others what we go through if the words we use to explain with are taken away from us? How do we enlighten others with no terms to use? Words are so very important. Taking them away will not only hurt our efforts to end stigma but be catastrophic to our self esteems and self worth. How can we bond with the world if we are muted? How can we unite and learn if we are silenced?

My name is Neurotic Nelly and I suffer from mental illness. My mental illness has a name and it is OCD. I will not accept being told that my diagnoses and my suffering is not important enough to be recognized by it's name. It has a name for reason and I want you to use it. I want you to recognize it. I want you to believe in it's reality. Because it is real. Because it is painful. Because I will suffer from it for the rest of my life and if I can handle and accept that, then you have no right not to recognize and accept it for what it really is. It has a name, use it.

Mental Illness Feels Like...

Many of my posts have humorous undertones. It is not lost on me that I write with funny antidotes  There is a reason I do that. I write that way because laughter tends to make others more comfortable. I am more likely to get my point across and gain more understanding about what the mentally ill go through, if I make the person I am trying to explain it to more comfortable and less afraid. It is common for those that do not understand mental illness to be afraid because they have been conditioned to react that way. They have been taught to fear us. It is our job to teach them how not to be afraid of us. It is our job to enlighten them to the truth. So when I am being funny, it is not because I am not experiencing great pain or sadness. It is just to present myself in a way that shows my good humor and hopefully make others comfortable enough around me to ask questions that I will gladly answer. Questions that can teach them how to understand mental illness and how to break the stigma of mental illness.

Mental Illness is like......

Feeling foggy and confused. Hollowed out like an empty melon. Tired body and over active thought process. Exhaustion and the loss of concentration. Gut wrenching unbearable pain in the center of your soul. Shame bestowed on us that is not ours to carry. Perception alterations and overwhelming fear of judgement.

Mental Illness is like.....

Wearing clothes three sizes too small. We feel constricted in our movements and are unable to concentrate on anything else. We feel ugly, broken and out of place. We know that something isn't right and that there is something different about us and we are unlike other people around us. We are afraid that we stick out  from the crowd and for all the wrong reasons.We are terrified that not only will others notice but that they will judge us because of it.

Mental Illness is like....

Having a chronic flu, but in your mind. It's a illness, people. It is not something that just clears up on it's own. It is not something that can be cured with a shot or some good ol' antibiotics. You would not say that someone who develops something like M.S. is their fault, don't treat our mental illness as something we have done to ourselves. We didn't choose this and we don't want it. It is what it is, and it is a chronic life long disorder.

Mental Illness is like....

A broken computer. Your brain is basically an electrical pulse powered computer. As all computers there is risk of things misfiring and getting stuck in a boot loop, your mind can too. Neurons are misfiring and looping in a mental illness sufferer's brain. Our computers hard drive has become flawed. We have no way to run a defrag program or a Norton's virus scan. It is just something that we have to live with. Because everyone is different,  much like different operating systems on computers, we do not all have the same symptoms and the same treatments. A Mac can't run the same exact programs as a Windows. You have to treat them differently and what works for one may not work for the other.

Mental Illness is like.....

Loosing your favorite item, only what you have lost is a part of yourself. You are not sure where to look for it or if you will ever truly find that part of you again. Even if you are able to find the old part of you, how will it fit in to the new you. The new person we have to learn to become to overcome the obstacles that mental illness has placed in our path. We feel lost. We feel broken. We grieve our old lives and the people we were before. We have lost something greater than a cell phone or car keys. We have lost friends, dreams, self esteem, and the perceptions of who we thought we would become before our mental illness. We have to relearn our worth in society and sometimes society is very cruel. We have to relearn new dreams and make new friends. We have to reorganize our new lives. The old path is no longer a path we can tread. We now, have to find a new path.



Mental illness is a hard thing to understand for some people. It's a hard thing to live with. Not only do we live the issues that arise from our suffering, we are then subjected to other people's judgments and lack of insight. We are subjected to rude comments and shifty looks in our direction. Soft mumbling of negative connotations that are preconceived and just plain wrong. Discrimination is ugly, whether is is discrimination against race, gender, religion, sexual preference, or mental illness. It has no place and it does no good. It promotes hurtful and hateful depictions. There have been a great many sufferers of mental illness that have become inspiring defining people in our societies. We are everywhere. We are presidents, scientists, composers, musicians, comedians, actors, actresses, authors, writers, kings and queens, philosophers, inventors, politicians, activists, and teachers. People like us have changed the world. They have stood up and created greatness, not just in spite of their mental illness but because of it. What would this world be like if they had believed that they were stupid, ugly, unlovable, incapable, and broken? What would this world be like if they had been told they could not achieve simply because their minds were altered from the norm? Would we have all that we have today if their minds were not altered? Didn't they see things differently because they were? What if Beethoven had not suffered from mental illness? Could he have composed music with such deep emotional feeling without knowing what it was like to be depressed? Would Winston Churchill have been the great prime minster that he was if he did not have the insight he gained from living with mental illness that not only affected his family members but him as well? Would Van Gogh have been able to paint such hauntingly beautiful paintings? Would Shakespear's stories had been so prolific if many of his characters did not suffer from madness, visions, or melancholy?  Would Edgar Allen Poe's works had been so dark and disturbingly addictive? Would Abraham Lincoln been so hell bent on ending slavery if he had not known from his own episodes of depression of how devastating oppression and mistreatment of human beings can be, of how sadness and despair can devastate your soul? I don't know the answers to that, what I do know is that had these great people been ostracized and locked away we would have never had the amazing creativity and direction that these people left as their legacies. These people changed and shaped the world we have today so that we can change and shape the world we leave to our children. We have to stop discriminating and stigmatizing those that suffer from mental illness. It's is not fair and it is certainly not right. As such, we that suffer have to stop allowing ourselves to be discriminated against and stigmatized. We have to stop buying in to the propaganda that we are incapable of amazing feats or not important enough to be heard. We have to stop telling ourselves that we are too broken to be great, too damaged to be functional, and too screwed up to create and inspire. We are capable of anything we want to be and anything that we want to achieve. [tweet this]. After all, so many great people of our past did not allow their mental illness to prevent them from creating the legacies we have today. We can create our own legacies of greatness and we can start by believing in ourselves first.
                     Neurotic Nelly

Too Much Information

As a sufferer of OCD I have problems pertaining to too much information. Really, I do. I don't mean information on stock prices or general information. I mean like stuff that I would have been just fine living my life without knowing.

He who increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow and knowledge is pain are good quotes.

The sorrow is that because of my mental illness I can't process things like normal people. What is a conversation that they can erase from their minds is a jail cell for me. There are some things I rather not know.

Hold on to your hats girls cause here we go, welcome to the insanity that is my life.

Lettuce. I had a conversation with my father about lettuce. Apparently there is some disease that is passed by mice through their poop as they poop on your lettuce in the fields and barns. The problem is that the people that wash the lettuce before they send it to restaurants or fast food joints may not wash it properly. The disease can affect humans. Now, I am pretty sure that I could have done without that little tid bit. I have not had lettuce on my food when I go out to eat for over a year. What he sees as a simple conversation has made a jail cell for me. I only eat lettuce when I buy it from the store and I wash it myself. Sadly, I don't even know if I am washing it correctly either but I at least know it was washed fairly well.

Surgery. My last surgery went well but I had coffee with creamer a few hours before. My anesthesiologist was less than pleased. Apparently I was not supposed to drink anything and they had left that part out of the instructions. She was very mad because they now had to put me out in a more difficult way. Seriously she had daggers for eyes she was so mad. Then she felt the need to tell me that anything on the stomach could make me vomit and breathe it in with the breathing tube. I could aspirate and die.......Thanks I feel much better about the surgery now. I realize that I had made a mistake. I realize that she was angry. I also realize that surgery has risks. I do not think I needed to know that particular one in that great of detail. Mostly, because I have anxiety issues and I was already very nervous about the procedure. To top that I have another one coming up in two weeks. Now, I have more anxiety and fears than I previously had. Lovely.

Flying. I am terrified of planes. I have been in them. I hate them. I don't feel I really need an excuse as to why but I will go ahead and tell you. The are big, metal, heavy, flying cars. Do you know how often cars have issues and break down? Exactly. One faulty rusted screw and there are huge problems when you are thousands of feet in the air. My friend always tells me I am more likely to be struck by lightening twice than be in an airplane accident. I am not sure of the variables in that statement. More likely to be struck by lightening twice while I am sitting on my couch watching reruns of M.A.S.H. or more likely to be struck twice standing in my yard during a thunderstorm wearing a full suit of armor and flying a kite with keys taped to it? I really would like an answer to this, because you can't be spouting of statistics if there hasn't been any good research done. I need to know the ratio of lightening strikes and what variables are used to make an informed desicion.
She also has said I am more likely to have a car accident than be in a plane crash and she is right, because I am not getting on that plane. It's not that I believe that they are totally unsafe. My biggest problem is that the person that drives my car is someone I know. I know what he ate for breakfast (he doesn't like breakfast), what movies he likes (Tombstone), his favorite color (purple), his pet peeves, how much sleep he got the night before, his education, what his first car was, what color his socks are (because I washed them). I trust him. He knows that if he goes over sixty miles an hour that I get the shifting eyeballs and start tapping the imaginary breaks. I have some nerve since I do not drive. All I know about the pilot is that he is licensed and that he looks spiffy in his pilot hat. Again, most of this wouldn't matter to me if I had not watched a show about plane crashes and screws that break off.



So I guess what I am not so discreetly trying to imply is, there are things a person should know and things that a person doesn't really need to hear. At least this person. Hearing things like that is hard for me to digest because most of it is forgotten with normal people. For me it becomes a very real fear and something to avoid. If I am not careful I could end up avoiding so much that I miss out on everything. Avoiding things causes pain and isolation. It's not your fault that I avoid because of my mental illness and it is not my fault that I cant handle certain information without anxiety either. It just is too much information that I don't need. So if you know about things like rat poop diseases, plane screws, and surgery aspirations, or anything else scary  please for the love of all things holy; keep it to yourself or wait till I walk out of the room. Thanks, I appreciate it.
                                                  Neurotic Nelly

Symptoms of Control

I have been trying to deal with some of my OCD issues lately. My house never seems clean enough. I see dirt and grime in places that others do not seem to notice and it drives me crazy. I would seriously like to wash the inside of my house with a fire hose. I know that is bad for walls and floors but I can picture in my head and when I do I see cleanliness. I have struggled with OCD since childhood. My house is my castle and this castle could use some maids. Like forty of them. It is actually clean, very clean even, but never clean enough for me. I also am sensitive to smells and sounds. Apparently I was a dog in a past life. I can not take stinky. I must root out the stench as fast as possible. I will walk around the house sniffing like a blood hound until I find what is making the offending odor and dispose of it. I must use a certain cat litter because perfume or over flowery smells bother me. I also have a problem with certain textures. Oily, greasy, rough, textures can seem dirty to me. Smooth is always best for my OCD.

I can't say exactly why I am like this, except OCD is about control. Controlling one's emotions, one's fears, one's anxiety, and most of all the things around us. We can not control our environments that are outside so we tend to try to control our homes. If one can not control their homes or environments they have a predispostion to become anorexic or bulimic. If unable to have control anywhere OCD people may control the one thing they have power over, their weight. Anorexia and bulimia is all about control of one self. Control of what you eat, how you expel it, and how you keep to a lower size. It is dangerous, it is painful, and it is all about control.

I have the need to control my anxiety. Everyone with OCD does. I clean not because I like a clean house, which I do, but because it keeps the anxiety at bay. It makes me feel less on edge and more comfortable. The only issue with this is it is never clean enough. Quiet like a person suffering from anorexia or bulimia feels never skinny enough. There is something wrong with the way we perceive our selves and our environments. What we see in the mirror or on the floor is not a true representation. Our minds have shown us a circus mirror. Our perceptions are false.

I was almost anorexic. Almost anorexic you ask? What is almost anorexic? I stopped being able to be the clean freak that I am. I lived in an place that was unable to maintain clean. I also was living in someone else's home. Therefore, my cleaning schedule became interrupted. I had been healthily loosing weight and it turned into much more when circus mirror entered my life. At 5'6" I was dropping weight much to fast and I did it by not eating. I would look in the mirror and see fat. I finally got down to 125 lbs which made my dress size a six. Now for some this may not seem very small but for my frame, my ribs were sticking out. You could see them through my clothing. What used to be a cleaning schedule became an exercise schedule. I was doing three hundred stomach crunches three times a day, walking in the summer heat for three miles a day, riding a bicycle three miles a day, and tybo. I was a machine but not eating with it made me a machine with no fuel. My face started to become gaunt. My hair lost it's shine. I was plummeting down a rabbit hole into hell. Looking in the mirror became agony for me. All saw was layers of fat that did not exist. Weighing myself four or five times a day was torture. If I ate anything and my weight was up a pound I became hysterical. The in laws and ex husband didn't seem to notice. I often wonder how stupid they must have been to not notice that I had completely went nuts with my eating and dropped over thirty pounds in two months. Three bites a meal seemed normal to them? My psychiatrist remarked that I had an eating disorder and I thought he was crazy. Looking back, he was absolutely right and I was teetering on being very ill.

Now, this is where my saving grace happened. I moved into my own place. It was a place where walking three miles a day would have become impossible and the best part was that I was able to start cleaning again. All the stress that had formed from not being able to do my "rituals" was able to be released by doing them again. The almost anorexia stopped. Instead of weighing myself I could put all of that focus on controlling the cleanliness of my environment.  I was also still seeing my doctor to monitor the situation just in case

So I believe that I was not totally anorexic in the medical sense, in my case it was the only thing I could control at the time. Once I garnered my regular control back, I stopped. This is not the case for most people who suffer from anorexia and bulimia. Most of these people need  proper help and treatment. I can say that because of this incident that I understand what they going through on a very real level. I know the hell they dwell in and the feeling of loss of control on the world around you.

Anorexia and bulimia are forms of OCD. As all sufferers of OCD will tell you, this mental illness is about control. We obsess to control our anxiety, we compulse to control our anxiety, we starve or gag ourselves to control the anxiety, we clean or hoard to control the anxiety, and we pick our skin or pull out our hair just to control the anxiety. Everything related to this illness is how to control our fears, the breathlessness, the false perceptions we place on ourselves, the sadness, and the pain.
Being anorexic or bulimic is no different than being a germ-a-phobe or clean freak except that you can clearly see their symptoms of control. Having trichotillomania or dermatillomania is no different than being a hoarder except that their symptoms to control are made clear on sight. We all do what we do to control our OCD. We all have our own compulsions or obsessions. We all have our own symptoms. Some of us have several of these symptoms rolled into one. The pain is the same. The false perceptions are the same. Whether the circus mirror is showing you fat that doesn't exist, dirt that isn't there, or blemishes that are invisible, we all have the same false perceptions. We ,in short, believe the circus mirror. And how can you not when the circus mirror is in your brain? The circus mirror is in your eyes. The circus mirror is in your flesh. Showing you things that are wrong. Telling you that things are bad. Making you feel that things are dirty.
False perceptions, people, is what OCD is all about. Anxiety is what OCD is all about. Pain and sufferering is what OCD is all about.

There is hope. There are treatment centers and doctors. There are medications and therapies. I would just like for people to see that although our symptoms may be different, that all sufferers of OCD are fundamentally the same, going through the same hell, feeling the same misery, and dealing with the same anxiety. That no matter what we do to control, we all do something to control. OCD is not a pleasure cruise or a fun time. It is a painful perception altering mental illness that hurts. It can maim. It can kill. The more we stop minimizing it's effects the more chance we have to save others from going down the paths we have had to go down.
                                                 Neurotic Nelly

Perceptions

On my new eight pill a day regimen I feel like I am stuck in Wonderland. If you mean by one pill makes you smaller and one makes you tall, you mean one pill makes you bloated and one makes you choke for fifteen minutes searching for enough fluid to wash it down then just call me Alice. Hopefully this surgery will put an end to the Alice in Wonderland issues. Where's my top hat? It is not really all that bad, it's just my perception.

Today I would like to discuss perceptions an how we wield it upon others, and we do wield it. Like a double edged freshly sharpened ax with a mace attached to the back, a scythe  strapped onto the handle, nun chucks dangling off the sides, and katanas taped to the bottom. Just to make sure our perceptions are heard loud and clear.

Yesterday, my neighbor asked why I was dressed so fancy and if I was going somewhere. I looked at myself and to my horror, I realized that the only reason he thought I looked fancy was because I was actually wearing a tank top and shorts. My usual garb has been a night shirt with jeans and a jacket over it so you can not tell that I have a night shirt on and that I lost the battle of trying to put on the over the shoulder bolder holder. My look has gone from a- la- causal to more a-la-bag lady and I wasn't aware.  I only dress to the point of not embarrassing my kids at the bus stop. It never fails that on days that I do dress up no one I know is anywhere near me to see what I look like on a good day. Not that I don't care what I look like but as someone who almost never leaves the house, I have become more why try if no one really sees me attitude. Apparently I am seen more than I previously thought and I really need to appear decent more often to avoid more embarrassing questions later.

Perceptions can come back to bite you in the hiney.


In high school I had a rat faced, beady eyed, Spanish teacher. I hated his class because I am mildly dyslexic and he would always call on me when I was struggling with something. I couldn't read clocks and he would use a cardboard clock and move the hands and you were supposed to say what time it was in Spanish. I would always shrink down in my seat and silently pray, don't pick me, don't pick me.....He always picked me. I would take too long and get it wrong. There would be jeers from the class and laughs. Their perception was that I was an idiot. The truth as that I was dyslexic and didn't learn how to read a clock until I was in my early twenties.

Perceptions of others can be hurtful to their self esteem.

This class was also the only D- I ever received on my report card. I once was called on to read my homework where I mistakenly said I talked to my television. Another round of laughter and comments on how dumb I was. What the kids and teacher did not know was that at home my mother had become very ill. She was unable to get out of bed and the house smelled like the sickly sweet smell that only permeates the house when someone is very ill. That every night I was washing the dishes, cleaning the house, making dinner, doing laundry, making sure she was eating, doing all of my homework with no help including the stupid Spanish homework that this completely sadistic teacher gave us. That I got little to no sleep listening to make sure she was still breathing. The perception that I just didn't care about my studies was totally false, I just had no time to give to them.

Perceptions are really just one sided judgments.

I often heard that people on welfare shouldn't have kids. They shouldn't get assistance, they are all lazy and uneducated. I would have to bite my tongue. My mother who not only had major mental illnesses of her own managed to raise me, a woman with severe OCD, and hold down two jobs, until she was struck down by Lupus at the age of thirty five. She always paid her taxes and gave what little we had left to charities. We were never late on our bills or utilities.  Their perception that we were on welfare would of been that my mother just didn't want to work and wanted a free hand out. No one really gets the shame of going from being employed to standing in the food stamp office begging for mercy because you have to feed your child because you are very ill, unless they have been through it. It truly is heartbreaking. Do some people take advantage of the system, yes but not everyone does. We didn't and thankfully we were able to get back on our feet a few years later.

Perceptions can be based in reality and also in fantasy.

Because of us falling from grace, if you will, a newspaper printed our story on how my mother got sick and we needed help. Unfortunately this kid I went to school with had read it. He was obviously an alien from planet Douchebag and so I forced to listen to such douchebaggery as " Hey, Nelly where is the silver platter you were born with? Oh, Yea you can't afford to buy one. Maybe you sold it so you could eat.".........Lovely right? Like I didn't have enough problems in high school I had to listen to this little chump. Maybe he hated poor people, maybe he was angry because he was shorter than everyone even me, maybe he had angry little man syndrome. I have no idea why this kid wanted to be such a douche, but alas he was and I endured.
His perception that we were some how less of people because of our financial status was a bunch of crap. I was and am just as important as anyone else regardless of the amount of money I make.

Perceptions can hold you back.


 I could have perceived myself as unworthy because I have mental illness or because I was poor growing up. I could have perceived that I am not as important as everyone else because occasionally I do not feel up to dressing up just to be seen at the bus stop or on my porch. I could perceive a lot of things about myself but I don't.  I am the way I am for many reasons. Does that mean I don't need to improve somethings? I absolutely need to try to improve on a lot of things. I am not however, required to please everyone. I am not required to be someone I am not. There are many people sharing mental and health issues. We should maybe stop wielding our perceptions against them and see that more may be going on behind the scenes in their lives. There may be reasons that person is acting the way they are, dressing the way they do, and doing the things they are doing. Like dreams perceptions can be just a one sided blurry version of the truth. So, my post is really about understanding that many perceptions we have about people are true and many of them are not. Wouldn't it be great if we took the time to get to know someone before we judge their circumstances? Wouldn't it be great if our perceptions were wrapped in compassion instead of judgment? Perceptions can hold you back. You can miss out on a terrific friend or a moment that could change your life. So maybe next time when we feel like beating someone down with our preconceived notions and perceptions of them we could walk in their shoes first and then make an informed decision instead.
                                                           Neurotic Nelly

I Named Him Jonathan

I usually do not write on Sundays and Mondays. My husband is off work and I try to spend as much time with him and my children on on those days, but today in my google plus group we are discussing agoraphobia. I was agoraphobic for about three months and I would like to write about it but my story is too long for a comment and too much pain is held within that I thought I would just make a post.

It was January sixth, my grandmother's birthday. My ex husband and I had been married for around four months. We had rented a trailer in a tiny town that consisted of a post office and feed store located in the same building. January sixth is the day I stopped teetering on the cliff of insanity and plunged head first into to it. I stepped off of the cliff and was unable to stop my decent. It was the day I became insane.

The day started of fine enough until night time. It started. I had extreme abdominal pains and bleeding. I had been three days late for my period and this was more than just cramps. I was sweaty and weak. The pains came in intervals like contractions. I knew something was really wrong. I am not going to go into extreme detail here; those that have experienced this, know exactly how this works. This was the night I lost my child.

I had not known I was pregnant although I had been desperately trying to become pregnant for almost six months. I was only about a month along. An E.R. visit was vague. I was given a catheter and tests. I was told that I was not pregnant but my gyno had stated that it was a miscarriage and that often times the hospital will lie to you. They can not stop a miscarriage and protocol is usually to say it was a bad period so as not to traumatize the woman. Too late. I already knew. There are things that are different than a regular period and I was aware of what was going on.

My issues were compounded by the fact that my ex had convinced me that I didn't need medication or a psychiatrist for my OCD. That I should just take St. John's Wort. I was unmedicated, away from my family, and not receiving any treatment for my mental illness. All I needed was a push to come undone and this was it.

I was devastated, full of grief, and angry. The anger had seeped so deep into my soul that I could feel it in my bones. It was bad enough that my mind had left me when I was a child but my body betraying me as well was too much to handle. My ex was not affected by the loss of our child. He was indifferent and told me that it didn't bother him. I began to hate. I hated him for not caring, myself for loosing the one thing I wanted so desperately  and hated the world for allowing things like this to happen. I specifically, hated  my body whom I deemed the ultimate betrayer. I hated and hated, and hated. I was slowly going through the motions of life. Flowers had lost their heavenly scent. Food had lost taste. Music had lost the ability to touch my soul. I was unable to feel anything but rage, hatred, and pain so deep and raw I could feel the whole where my heart used to be. The final blow was my ex's father telling me I didn't need a child anyway. Something inside me snapped. I actually heard it snap in my head. I felt it snap inside my body. I had completely become broken.

I found a stuffed baby toy in the store and I bought it. I had picked it up and was unable to put it down. It was like I had something to represent what I had lost. It was all I had to show for what my body had flushed away. I held it while I cried hysterically.  I held it when I sat in the dark letting the numb overcome my senses. I held it while I slept fitfully. I held it when my ex took me to the mental ward and tried to have me committed. The  lady processing my mental state tried to touch it and  I flinched away from her. I had been institutionalized before and anyone familiar with the system knows what key words to use to get in and what words to avoid to stay out. I heard the large metallic lock click behind me and I started to panic. I talked my way out of being admitted. I was convincing and told her I just wanted to go home and think about it. I never went back. The mental ward of my childhood still terrifies me and I was unable to take being put back in a ward.
  I became agoraphobic. Leaving the house was impossible. It got so bad that him leaving to go to work would trigger me into a panic. I would clutch him and beg him not to leave me alone. I would cry and beg. Scream and beg, and sometimes I wouldn't even acknowledge him leaving. My innocence had been ripped away form me and I now realized that the people you love or the things that you want could be torn from you. Outside was evil and dangerous. To try to go anywhere was sweaty palms and choking breaths. Panic and the world swirling around me until I felt dizzy and sick to my stomach.

There was a wedding coming up. My ex's cousin was marrying his eight months pregnant fiance. I could not go. I couldn't leave and even if I could leave I could not fathom seeing her with her belly so full of life and mine so utterly empty. I hated life. I hated her happiness and my despair.

The only time I have ever been violent was when in my numbness he started arguing with me. I took a large glass of water and threw it at his feet. When it shattered in a million pieces I felt satisfied that finally something could break like I had. That something could shatter like I had shattered. He was unharmed, mostly. The only pain I inflicted on him was that he was now scared of me. Sweet little Nelly was no longer just sweet. I was possessed by my own demons and they were running the show now. He became so frightened of what I would do that he took his guns and put them in his trunk to prevent me from shooting myself while he was at work. Little did he know that the pain had rendered me unable to lift my arms let alone load a gun and hold it. The anger had made me unable to kill myself because all I wanted to do was reflect on the world and how much I hated everything about it. I was not suicidal and yet, I wished all the world would fall away from me like leaves in the Fall. I held my baby toy and prayed, cried, wished, hated and tasted my own tears and drank down my own shame. I named my lost child Jonathan after a ceramic angel I had as a child. I gave him a name because my ex wouldn't. Because he didn't care and it was all I cared about. It was a few cells but they were my baby and I was grieving him. I felt that it was a boy. No way to know because there is no funeral for miscarriages. There are no tombstones to visit and quietly reflect. There are no places to lay flowers and grieve. There is no closure or kind words to say. Just emptiness and grief.

Finally my ex had decided that I needed to see a psychiatrist and we went and I was given meds and someone to talk to. Finally there was a glimmer of hope. I might be able to heal and leave the house. The agoraphobia left me as quickly as it came. The pain of loosing Jonathan took many years. I missed him even after my marriage ended. I missed him until I was blessed with my first child. Finally I got this one right. The pain eased and ebbed away. I still think of him. I always will I suppose. Now, I can think of him and not feel like the scab has been ripped away from a festering wound. My wounds with the help I needed no longer fester with the infection of anger, pain, and grief. They have healed into scars. Scars that will be with me for the rest of my life. I had agoraphobia and made it through. I have OCD, and am making it through. I lost my baby when I was twenty years old and I have made it through. I named him Jonathan and he is never forgotten.

Stigma

Many of those who have never suffered from mental illness might not be certain what stigma is or if they are placing stigma on others. I do not blame them, for they know not what they do. It really isn't their fault either. The media has deemed all things mentally ill to be bad, dangerous, and something to fear. With the images and stories portrayed about us how could normal people really understand what we go through on a day to day basis? In a world where people want to feel safe and secure it is easier to blame mental illness for the cause of all evil doings because to not have a scapegoat, would make them realize that normal people can do bad things, and do them much more often than mentally ill people do.

I would like to take a second and ask a question. If you or someone you knew had the flu would you blame them for getting it or being sick? Then why would you blame someone for having a sickness in their brain?

I believe that stigma exists only because people allow it to. They make judgments because they are afraid of what they do not understand. They may not realize they are perpetuating it. That the things they say are discriminative and hurtful. They may not understand stigma when they see it.

A few common stigma phrases are:

You can just get over it.

There is nothing wrong with you physically, you are faking it.

You are just being difficult because you want attention.

You are crazy.You are dangerous. You are scary.

We hear these things everyday. If we do not hear them we can sense the changes in other's body language towards us. We can tell that they do not understand and it is crushing. I can not change the reactions of individuals if I choose to grace them with the knowledge that I suffer from mental illness. What I can do is explain it in a way that, if they are willing to listen, will help put their mind at ease.

That being said there are a few key words normal people respond to in negative ways.
Words like psychosis, schizophrenia, and personality disorder. These three words strike fear in people. Mostly because the media has placed very negative connotations on these three specific disorders. They are scared because they have never been taught to not be.
Psychosis, schizophrenia, and personality disorders do not make a person a crazy ax murderer. They do not make you a serial killer or someone who blows up train stations. They are mental illnesses that can be treated and the people that suffer from them can lead productive happy lives with medication and therapy. You do not need to run screaming to hills when you meet someone with these disorders. It makes them embarrassed and it makes you look like an ass.

Another form of stigma is getting the illnesses mixed up and backwards. If a person has mental illness it does not automatically make them psychotic. I have been called that by misinformed individuals. Psychosis is a mental illness that makes it impossible for the suffer to understand what is real and what is just in their minds. I suffer from OCD. OCD is an anxiety disorder. I am firmly aware of what is real and not real. I am scared of everything, I am not unsure of reality. I know that the things I do seem off, I am unable to stop doing them. I am also not crazy, delusional, or inept. I can function, just maybe not the way a normal person would.

Stigma is also presented in the form of shame. Being told or hinted at that mental illness is a sign of weakness or somehow our fault. Mental illness like OCD and bipolar have been thought to run in families. They may have genetic components. Illnesses like PTSD are caused by environmental developments. They are caused by damage inflicted upon you from things like abuse, war, and traumatic events. Some illnesses you are born with and some just pop out of nowhere. This is not our fault and the shame does not belong to us nor should it be fashioned into a crown and be placed on our heads. We did not want this and we sure as hell did not choose it.

Stigma is also is bullying. Laughing at someone because they are different. They do odd things. Most of us know our outward symptoms and are embarrassed enough, we don't need them to be pointed out to us and laughed at. It's cruel.

Telling someone that their phobia is stupid is a form of stigma. I can tell you up front that my phobia of rabbits is bizarre. I am aware that it is not going to hurt me. However, it does nothing to stop the overwhelming panic when I am faced with one. It does not make my phobia any less. Your judgment on what is scary and what is not does not help my fears at all. Thank you for your input now shut up. Phobias are real and trying to minimize them because you deem them to be silly is hurtful and wrong. I do not tell you what to be afraid of, do not try to tell me that my phobias are silly or not real. They are real to me and that is all that matters.

Stigma is displayed when telling a depressed person to perk up. Yeah, like that idea never occurred to them. Don't you think that if there was a choice of happy go lucky and soul shattering despair they would choose to be happy?


Stigma is punishment. [tweet this]. Stigma is hurting those that need support and understanding the most. Stigma is an uneducated response to a complicated problem. Stigma is hurtful and devastating. It needs to be identified and rooted out. It can only be stopped when we no longer are willing to accept it and all of it's misconceptions. It can only be stopped by educating the public that mental illness does not make you anymore dangerous than the average person. We have to educate people on what they are so dearly ignorant of. That we are people, good people just like everyone else. We just need a little understanding and respect.

Here is a great video with the mental illness advocate/comedian Ruby Wax explaining mental illness and stigma. For those of you can see the video the link is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbbMLOZjUYI. Have a great weekend all and thanks for reading.

                                                               Neurotic Nelly

Confined

In third or fourth grade I had a chorus teacher that my mom affectionately dubbed the fire breathing dragon lady. She was tall and slender and kind of resembled Skeletor. She had bright red hair cut in a style only acceptable for the late eighties and early nineties. She had this insanely gross habit of talking to class while dipping her contacts in her coffee, placing them in her mouth, sucking on them, and then putting them back on her eye balls. She was strict and quiet frankly mean. I have no idea why she is so firmly ingrained in my mind, except that later that year I was placed in a mental hospital. I don't remember her after that year, though I am sure she was still teacher there. I may have some things in that year blocked out still. I am not really sure because repressed memories are well, repressed. I was not abused but apparently the trauma of the being ripped away from my parents and institutionalized can cause damage to your psyche. Especially, if you do not need to be hospitalized and your doctor is a fraud and terrifying and lying to your parents so he can use their love for you to get insurance money. May he burn in hell.

I have a fragmented mind. I have missing memories. It irritates me because as someone with OCD I can recall memories from before the age of two, but I can not remember things when I was around ten. I didn't even realize that I hadn't told my husband of almost twelve years that I had been in the mental hospital until I wrote a post on it a few months back. I also had not told my friends. In fact I never talked about it. Never. I never even discussed it with my mother, whom I tell everything.

So what I am left with is odd fragmented visions of that time. I remember now the hospital and all that happened there, but almost nothing about when I got out. It is frustrating when I have always prided myself on remembering my childhood in a detailed degree. Almost the whole year is gone. Why can't I remember? Why?

It speaks to me that not only was I born with a genetic mental illness but I was then punished by this doctor for having one. Then he caused more damage to my already fragile mind by removing me from the people that supported and loved me.

Sometimes we are born with the illness and sometimes it is inflicted upon us. A whole year gone so he could live in a nicer house and drive a fancy car.

The repercussions of what he did to me is catastrophic. I can not go to a place with locking doors that slam and lock behind you. My palms get sweaty and I start to have trouble catching my breath. When I was admitted to the hospital twice this year for surgery I freaked. It was the all confining I can't leave feeling. I had panic attacks, which I never have. Now before surgery I also have them, because I can't get up and leave. I can't take the feeling of being not allowed to leave.

I can not do routines of doing something I am supposed to over and over again. It  is like when we had to do their schedule. Basically I was in a lightly decorated prison. We were inmates but with nicer rooms. I have no idea if the medication they gave all of us has caused any health issues. We were never told what we were taking. They never even told my parents that I was taking medication.

What does that mean for me today?

It means that I no longer allow myself to be confined in a stigma that I do not own. [tweet this]. I have mental illness but I am not a fault and I refused to be punished for it again. I refuse to be taken advantage of again. If someone is uncomfortable with the fact I have issues than they don't have to be around me. I am not going to apologize for being sick. No one apologizes for having the flu, why should I because my brain is sick. Maybe just maybe, had that doctor not been so damned worried abut a paycheck and deceiving others, I could have gotten the help I needed at that time. Instead of making me feel guilty because I had OCD maybe he could have actually given me therapy or sent me to someone who actually treated OCD. Now, I have become the voice for those that were unfairly committed for insurance money. I have decided that my illness is part of my life and I refuse to be shamed. I refuse to be put down. I refuse to be confined. I will not accept being treated like I am not a worthy individual. I lost one year of my life because of one unfit doctor and his goonies. The only memory of that year is the chorus teacher that I didn't even like? It is not fair and it is not right. I will not give anymore of my life to those who are manipulative or negative because of my illness. You either take me as I am or leave me be. Your choice, my decision. I no longer am accepting applications for fair weather friends.

No More Apologizing

 It has come to my attention that many people that suffer from mental illness feel inferior. We often apologize for our feelings and beliefs. We apologize for possibly offending someone when we disagree with something said or done. Why do we do that? I want you to really take a second and ruminate on that question. Why do we feel our opinions and beliefs are something to apologize for? Do you see normal people going around apologizing for having an opinion? No. They don't. They don't because they have self confidence and we tend to lack in that department. We tend to feel not good enough and it's crap. Stinky smelly crap. There I said it.
I used to apologize or feel guilty because I had a different opinion or belief on something. I do not allow that anymore because I realized that it is my right to think and feel the way I do. I feel the way I do because of the things I have gone through in my life and I am predisposed to feeling that way. And you know what? I don't feel bad or guilty about it.
If you burned your hand on the burner of a stove , do you forget you burned yourself? Not likely. Afterwards you will always be cognizant that the stove can hurt you. You will always be careful to not touch the stove when it is hot. You will always make sure that you will not get burned get again.
Mental illness is the same way. If someone has hurt you or you have been hurt by something, you are not likely going to  trust easily. You will always doubt that everything is as it seems. Since mental illness hurts us, we doubt our emotions and our opinions. We are unsure of our worth and our validity. So let me just say this, we are valid. Our opinions are ours and we have nothing to feel guilty about. We do not have to agree with everyone else. We should stop apologizing for our feelings. They are ours and we have every right to feel them. We should stop minimizing our opinions. We think this way because of the things we have been through. It is our right to feel,think and believe the way we do. Our thoughts and opinions are valid. They are worthy to be heard. They do not need to be followed by "I'm sorry" or "I apologize". We do not need to apologize for what we believe.
The difference of opinions are what make us look at our lives in a different light. It makes us think about things in a way that we may never have thought of before. Different is glorious. I am not saying we don't have to listen to others opinions, I am saying that we have to have ours heard as well. We have to speak up and stop being sorry.
When we put down the niceties and window dressings we have nothing left but honesty. When we stop playing dress up with lies, we become our own true self. We stand, we are counted, and we matter.
The best friendships I have had in my life are the ones that are based on honesty. If I look like something the cat dragged in, they would tell me. If we disagree on a point, we talk it out. Neither of us may change our opinion but we respect each other's view. That is because we respect each other. My wish is that we start to believe that what we think is important. Because it is important. My wish is that we start feeling like our opinions are valid. Because they are. My wish is that we all understand that it is perfectly acceptable to be who we are, right now at this moment in time. Because we are just as worthy as everyone else. My wish is that we stop apologizing for our beliefs when we think we are not good enough to have any or talk about the ones we have. Because our beliefs are ours and they are just as valid as anyone else's. My wish is that we stop worrying about offending and insulting others and realize that when we minimize our feelings or apologize for our opinions we are offending and insulting ourselves. [tweet this]. That we are saying that they don't mean anything. And they mean absolutely everything. They are a representation of who you are and what you stand for as a mental illness sufferer, as an individual  and as a person. You have the right to believe and think and have opinions. You are valid and what your feel is valid. You have the right to feel the way you do and not be sorry or scared that what you have to say is wrong or not good enough to be said. It is good enough. It matters. It is perfectly ok to agree, disagree, or be undecided. So let's put down the window dressing and get real. Let's start to believe in ourselves and our words. Let's stop putting ourselves down for being different and start accepting that what we have to say is necessary for us to say and necessary for others to hear. Words are powerful and we need to stop apologizing for using them.
...................
I would like to ask you to please take a moment and watch this video. A few posts back I wrote about wishing there was a more accurate film depicting OCD and I have found it. I think that it represents not only some of  the common compulsions of OCD but more importantly the pain that is living with this illness. When I see shirts and memes making light of my mental illness, I tend to get upset. Because OCD is so not funny. Because OCD is a debilitating disorder of the mind that can, if allowed to, take over your whole life. I have not seen this movie. I have not seen it because I am afraid I will see to much of myself in it. That I may pick up compulsions again and I do not want to live that way. Not that watching a movie can make me start to compulse again, but I am scared of the possibility. I think I might just rent the movie later when I have time to watch it alone. I may cry if I watch it, because I feel like it is somehow a mirror to some of the things I have lived. The excerpt of the film is good enough for me right now. The pain is so readily available in this clip that I just felt I had to share it. I feel that maybe , finally some people will get just how devastating OCD really is to your ability to function, your relationships, and your life. OCD is not obsessive coffee disorder or obsessive corgi disorder as some shirts make light of. OCD has a broad spectrum of symptoms as this clip shows. From being a complete clean freak to a hoarder type. If untreated OCD can become a living hell. If untreated it can turn from carrying soap in your pocket to well, peeing in jugs, No one wants that. I certainly don't want that. What is so upsetting is had Howard Hughes been alive in this time, his life could have been less painful. There is help now and unfortunately in his time there was nothing to be done. He suffered needlessly and was taken over by his illness/my illness to the point of him living like a hermit alone and  It makes me sad.
For those of you who can not see the video the link is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dR8xVqSfXc

Advice

In honor of mother's day I would like to share with you guys some quotes from some of the amazing women in my life. Below each quote I will describe how these quotes helped me not only with everyday life but also how I apply it to my own mental health issues.

My great grandmother ( Old Grandma) not only taught me how to snap beans, make chicken and  dumplings, which soap operas were her favorite, and that hard work is essential to get anything done, came up with such intriguing advice such as:

"Close your eyes and go to sleep before the bears come in and eat you."

Life: This really doesn't apply to my life situations or mental health. This was told to my mother all through her childhood whenever she spent the night. Thankfully, this was not ever told to me as a child or I would have not slept.....ever. It did not help that she lived in the country by thick dense woods.
Probably why, when my uncle decided to scare my mother and aunt spending the night at my great grandma's house by scratching on the screen at night was so successful. Ahhhh he was such a jokester.

.............................

Great Aunt Lorena (Aunty pronounced Ainty)

"I never would want someone that didn't want me."

Life: Some people are not worth your time. Let it go, move on and find someone better.

Mental: Some people will not understand or care. Don't worry about it. There are always more people to talk to about your issues and make friends with.

..............................

Grandma (Red Headed Grandma/Grain Grain)

"Don't look at them or they will come over here and talk to you."

Life: Sounds like odd advice but if you make eye contact you are opening up yourself for conversations you may or may not want to have. Case in point, back when there was a scare of terrorists using anthrax, I was at the Goodwill. I was aware I was being stalked by a very strange woman. I did not heed my grandmother's advice, I looked at her and made eye contact. Thus, opening the door to a conversation. She didn't bother with the normal greetings. She walked over to me and asked if I thought terrorists would put Amtrak in our water. I assured her I believed we were perfectly safe from that.(I have no official knowledge on such things, but I was pretty confident terrorists had better things to do than poison our water system with trains.) I didn't have the heart to correct her. If I had listened to my grandma's advice I would have missed out on what is probably the oddest conversation with a stranger I have ever had, and I have had some whoppers.

Mental: Only look directly at things that you want to delve into. If you are not ready to really examine a certain problem then don't look at it. When you want to fix the things going wrong, you need to really look at them. They will open up and come talk to you.


"Fried potatoes go with anything"

Life: Can you think of one dinner that couldn't use a heaping spoon of fried taters? Nope. Potatoes are marvelous.

Mental: There is always room for things you like. Too much of a good thing can be bad, however. Moderation is the key to dealing with mental issues. I make room for things I like as long as I do not stress myself out by doing them too much.


"Everything Comes out in the warsh."

Life: Yes, I said warsh because that is how she says it. It means everything will be fine, don't worry about it.

Mental: With my OCD, I can get bogged down by worries that are not that important or are blown out of proportion  It will turn out to be nothing, later. Nine times out of ten it turns out just fine and I wasted time fretting over nothing.

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Mom (Mommy)

"Beautiful is a state of mind."

Life: Beauty is subjective to the beholder

Mental: I am beautiful not just in spite of my differences but because of them.


"You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar"

Life: Be nice

Mental: Even when frustrated try to be polite. People will like you more. No one wants to hang out with a complete jerk. You can't like yourself if you are mean to everyone. I want to and need to like myself.



"Never Be ashamed of who you are."

Life: I don't have to be perfect

Mental: I am not perfect and I may have mental illness, but I will never be ashamed of it. I can not help what is wrong with me. I didn't choose this, but I can choose to live my life to the best of my ability. Shame is not welcome in my life, anymore.


......................

Sister In Law (NoNo)

"Always carry an umbrella."

Life: Umbrellas are good for protection. It protects you from the rain but also rabid dogs and maniacal attackers. It can be a weapon of protection. Not to mention it can match your outfit.

Mental: Always be prepared that things can quickly turn into a situation you did not see coming. Always have a back up plan so that if you encounter something that knocks you on your butt, you can smack it in the face and say I am not going down like that. Be prepared to have mental preparation in case you need it.

 
So in all of this advice and quotes we can learn to help ourselves. We sometimes forget that others might know more than we do, because they have gone through it first. They have taken the time to share their lives and truths with us and we should be grateful.  Whether we need to hear that we are worthy, we are strong, or how not to worry, we should appreciate what we are given. They know what they are talking about. So as we think of our mothers, lets also think of their mothers and so on. The women that taught us all how to be the people we are now. And always believe it almost always comes out in the warsh.  Now as you go to sleep tonight and your all comfy and warm under your covers, and your about to nod off to dream land, just remember close your eyes or the bears might come in and eat you.....Night all.
                                   Neurotic Nelly

Juggling

Life is like a crazy circus. We are all crazy clowns attempting to juggle our own balls.

............................Um, that didn't sound quiet like I thought it would....................Let me try again......

Life is like a crazy circus. We are all crazy clowns trying to juggle crazy balls.

.............................Erm....No that doesn't sound right either.................................


Ok, life is like a crazy circus. We all have a roll to play. Some of us are lion tamers, ticket takers, high wire acts, and some of us are clowns. We all are jugglers. We all juggle the things we hold dear in our lives. Family, careers, our hopes and dreams.  We juggle them and hope for the best. To not juggle them would be to drop them onto the floor and no one wants to drop the things they love.
Having a mental illness is like trying to juggle with only one arm. To keep the things important to you from falling, you juggle faster. You juggle longer and if not careful it will catch up to you. At some point you have to make a decision. Which ball are you going to put down? Your family, your job, your dreams, your responsibilities? Which ball are you willing to let go of? Not that we want to let go of any of them, but the harder and faster you juggle the more exhausted you become. The more exhausted you become , the more likely you will end up dropping all of them. So it becomes a choice. Try harder and faster and fail, or take a step back and examine your life.
Many people go through their lives juggling all of their issues and desires at one time. They forget to take a break. They forget to take stock in their mental and physical needs.  Mental illness is a brick wall. Some are doing so well they do not see the brick wall before they slam into it. They are so stunned by the wall that has appeared, that they drop all of items they were juggling onto the floor. They are so confused and exhausted they are unable to pick them back up. They are not sure how to proceed and become angry that they can not do what they once were able to.  They do not know yet, that you have to relearn how to pick up things and juggle them.

When I was in the mental hospital I wanted to learn to juggle. I tried and tried and all I could keep in the air was two balls. I was never able to juggle three. It took me a while to get that I was too uncoordinated to juggle three. That all I needed at the time was to be able to juggle two, and that is perfectly acceptable. I don't need to get ahead of myself. I can do only what I can do, and that is just fine. My mental illness has made me unable to juggle everything at once. I can juggle some things most of the time. I can juggle more things on a good day, but I am not able to juggle everything at one time. I don't need to. I just need to make sure what I am juggling is where it needs to be. That what I am juggling is the important things and all the other things can rest at my feet. I juggle family, responsibility and my daily routines that need to be done for my home to work the way it should. I had to drop a couple of things because in the scheme of things, the most important to me is my children, my husband, my family, and my friends. They have to be my first ball to juggle. I took stock and I am fine with the decisions I made. If I juggle too much at once, then I never get to fully experience the moments that matter. A quiet morning coffee with my husband. A lullaby sung to my kids. If I am constantly trying to keep everything going, I am not truly present in the moments I want to be present in. And I so desperately want to be completely present in them. I don't want to be too exhausted to participate in them. Life has no do overs and I want to do the best that I can. I want to be the best mother and wife, daughter, and friend that I can be. I will make mistakes but, hey,  life is full of mistakes. So if I need to drop something, I drop it. If I need to put down an issue, I do. I can always pick it up later and juggle it when I am able to give it the time and attention it needs. Not everything has to be done at the same time. [tweet this].  I can choose to not do it that way.
                                                        Neurotic Nelly

Breathe

Last night was a pain in the butt. I had insomnia, as usual. I went to bed around two a.m. only to be woken up by drunk neighbors down the street. Now, I am all for fun and laughs, but holy God, can you please have that fun and laughs in your house? Sheesh. I mean, you don't see me hootin' and hollerin at three in the morning in my driveway do you? If I don't start getting some better sleep I may end up getting slap happy and doing that, see how they appreciate it. I wanted to yell out a stream of obscenities at them and stamp my feet shaking my fist in the air. I ,however, chose to do the smart thing and hold my breath. If I can't breathe than I can't say something I will regret.  I don't know maybe I am just old.

I have realized that lately I have been under a lot stress. I have been obsessing about my medical tests for my next surgery. Turns out they came back excellent. I worry about my health and yet I smoke. I am pretty sure that I am a hypocrite, either that or I am in love with the term of irony. I am in the process of trying to quit.
I am also dealing with anxiety with the thought of my next surgery sometime in June. I know that I am going to have an anxiety attack right before they wheel me back in the operating room. I always do.They usually put me in the hall right before the operation, to keep my crying and breathing funny from disturbing the "normal" patients. Not that I blame them, I hate having those and the loss of control over my emotions. I have actually gotten to see how they prepare for my surgery. Not something I needed or wanted to know. It  is scary enough without having OCD play a part. Are those machines cleaned regularly? When was this floor last mopped? Why is it so damn cold in here? I don't ask these questions but they do go through my mind. And, yes, I know why it is cold in there. To prevent bacteria. I have OCD, do think I am not firmly aware of bacteria? I have to control my thoughts so I hold my breath for a few seconds.
Last night I sat alone on my porch in the dark. The air was warm and balmy with a slight cool breeze. It was quiet except the sounds of the leaves rustling and the tree limbs occasionally squeaking with the wind. It was peaceful and I felt calm and relaxed. It was nice, because although, I seem to be laid back, it is really an act. Always under the surface is a current of anxiety and stress. Coiling underneath the skin like a snake just waiting for the right opportunity to strike. I can rarely totally relax. I am always concerned about something or worried about an issue. The what if's and why not's are slowly driving me insane. It was nice to be able to breathe and just listen to the world outside my mind, even for just a second. I decided that I seriously have to let go of somethings in my life. I have to relax a little more. If I don't allow myself to enjoy the moment then I am missing out on to many moments that I can't get back. I need to learn to stop holding my breath and learn to breathe deeply. Say whatever I need to say and stop holding back. I need to give myself a break.
I don't take myself too seriously, so I should be able to let the stress go every now and then. I am not Atlas, and I do not have to hold the world on my shoulders all of the time. I can allow myself to drop the world for a few moments, after all I can always pick it back up tomorrow. I am only responsible for myself. I have no control over the world around me. I want to be able to relax and breathe in the world rather than trying to hold it up. Breath in the scents of life. Breathe in the warmth of the sun. Breathe in and let the stress out. Breathe and let myself actually experience myself in the moment. Take a damn breath already. I am taking a breath. I am breathing. This is me breathing. [tweet this].
                                Neurotic Nelly

Internalization

I Internalize. I admit it. I am not sure why I do this. I am sure it has something to do with my OCD. I am positive it is damaging to my self esteem.
I rarely get angry, but when I do I do not react right away. Instead I internalize to see if somehow I am at fault or if I am going overboard with my emotions. I have to process how I feel first. I have to dissect every moment leading up to the upset. It's kind of like holding poison in your mouth. You want to spit it out but first you need to really think about why you have poison in your mouth to begin with. The longer you think the more risk of some of the poison seeping into your bloodstream by dribbling down your throat.
Case in point, I have a dear friend who is like a sister to me. She has a very exhausting work schedule and a family life. Sometimes we do not speak for a couple of weeks. It is understandable that she is busy. Last time I talked to her she seemed distracted and I let her go. I debated on whether to call her today because I internalized. I started to feel like maybe I was being a burden. Maybe I offended her in some way. Maybe she and I are growing apart and she isn't interested in talking to me. Maybe she is tired of me.
Now, I know that is most likely not the case as we have been like sisters for over twenty years. I know that this is just my mental illness showing again and yet the feelings are still there. It hurts me and it is silly because she would never treat me like the way I am treating myself.
I internalize every situation and take stock of if it is my fault. Everything always feels like it is my fault. Maybe I am too self involved. I do not control the world around me ,after all so how could it possibly be my fault for everything. It is an struggle not to fall into old habits and self hate.
I know a couple of people who don't like to call people because they feel like they are being a burden or interrupting something important. My dad used to do that. He was always unsure of calling me, which is silly because I love talking to him. It took almost a year to convince him that I would take time to talk to him even if I was having dinner with the pope. Because I love him and what he has to say is important to me. I don't know why we think like this about ourselves. Like ,somehow, we are not good enough for even just a five minute phone call. That we bother people by calling or saying hi.
It is self damaging to allow these thoughts in our heads. We have to realize that it does not mean that we are disliked or bad. We are not burdens of offensive. Sometimes other people are just really busy and need to call us back. Sometimes we need to just stop internalizing and taking it out on ourselves. We wouldn't allow someone to talk to us like we talk to ourselves. We wouldn't allow others to treat us the way we treat ourselves. We deserve to treat ourselves the way we want others to treat us. [tweet this]. We are not responsible for every wrong that happens in the world, but we are responsible for how we view ourselves. I am not going to beat myself up because my friend is too exhausted to talk to me right now. I am just going to let her call me when she is ready to.
                                        Neurotic Nelly

Drowning

Drowning, gasping for breath. Sometimes my mental illness makes me feel like I'm drowning in it. It feels like the air has been sucked out of my lungs. Panic tightens my throat. The fear rushes in my ears. I am in danger. I am in danger of drowning here. Drowning in my own confusion. Drowning in a sea of emotions. Drowning in my own mental illness. It threatens to swallow me up whole. Then what will I do? Who will I become? Will I have anything left?

When I was five my mother, father, and I went to the Gulf of Mexico. We had decided to have a day at the beach. I remember the day being sunny and the sand was hot on my feet.  The water was cold and refreshing. My mother and I waded in the shallow part because neither of us could swim.  I was a very small framed child. Somehow the current carried me away. Before I knew what happened, I was unable to touch the ground beneath me. I would bob up and down. The water over my head was brown from my splashing and the disturbance of the sediment underneath. The sea weed was flowing in the waves. The muffling sound of water roared though my ears.When I was above the water I could see the white fluffy clouds and gorgeous blue sky, and a woman that is burned into my memory. She was a woman about my mother's age. Blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and evenly tanned skin. She was wearing a bikini and on her stomach laying on an inner-tube with her hands tucked under her chin. She had pretty sky blue eyes that blankly stared at me as I was drowning. We actually made brief eye contact. She was close enough to have plucked me up from the water or at least grabbed my hand to keep me from going back under, and yet she did nothing. She just watched me as I struggled and failed to stay above the water over and over again. I was going under and back up so quickly I only had time to take a deep breath and try to yell for my mother. (Inhale), Mo..(gurgle)...(Inhale), Mo..(gurgle), is all I could get out before being sucked back into the depths of the sea. I was sure this woman would help me and I tried to reach for her but she didn't respond.  I was getting very tired but I kept struggling and trying to breath and scream at the same time. I didn't understand and I still don't. Who watches a child drown and does nothing? She was choosing to not help and instead just watch me die.
Then I was pulled one last time into the water's depths by my feet. The next thing I remember was holding on to my dad and crying. My dad had been a lifeguard when he was young. My mom had been screaming for me the whole time and pointing where I was. He swam underwater and grabbed me by my feet and pulled me out. My father saved me by swimming for me and my mother's quick thinking saved me as well.
Remembering this memory has always made me aware of certain beliefs. I have come to believe that there are two kinds of people in this world. Those that try to help you and those that do nothing and watch you drown.

 When I say that mental illness can feel like drowning I don't mean just metaphorically. It can actually physically feel like drowning. It seems like it swallows you up and the more you struggle the more you go under. I think part of me recognizes that some people, like the woman on the inner-tube, do not know how to help or worse don't care enough to try. Many people have the bystander syndrome, where they assume others will help so they do not have to. Many people would rather not get involved in other's troubles, problems, or issues. What I learned from this whole ordeal, besides how to swim afterwards, is that I am a person of action. That to deny someone help or understanding is wrong. To deny someone suffering especially when you know exactly how their suffering feels, is unacceptable. I will always ask "What can I do" and "How can I help".While I can not promise that I know everything or can save anyone, I can damn sure promise that I am  not going to sit back, do nothing, and watch them drown.
          Neurotic Nelly

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

Crossroads

Yesterday, a local teenager went to school and shot himself in his home room class. As I write this, he is in critical condition. I have to wonder as heart broken as I am, what is wrong in his life that this seemed like the only option. I don't have to wonder very hard because I have been there at that crossroads before. I think many have. My heart aches for him and his family and friends. I pray that he gets better and the help that he so desperately needs. I sat there watching the news crying, not because I know him, but because I am a mother. Because at one time I was so very close to being just like him. Because there are so many who are like him and feel trapped and alone.

I was asked once why do I write about about mental illness. This is why. I believe that honesty is the only way to help others. I don't just put myself out there because I like to hear myself type, I truly believe that if we stand up and say, "I have mental illness", we are saving others. We are showing them it is ok to suffer from mental illness.That we can have good decent lives. We are not doomed to live in caves or asylums drooling on ourselves and banging our heads on the walls. That we are not dirty, shameful, dangerous creatures. We are like everyone else and we don't have to suffer in silence. There is help. I truly believe that we are doing the best thing that can be done. We are shining our lights on the stigma. We are shining lights on the pain and suffering.  We are guiding those that need us, to an enlightened truth. We are worthy and strong individuals. That there is a possibility of a different tomorrow.
There are so many ways to get help today. There are websites, communities, phone lines, doctors, hospitals, blogs, online references, organizations, and charities. There are movies and t.v. shows. Mental illness is no longer the dirty little secret, because we as those that suffer from it, are not going to allow it to be anymore. There is nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing to hide from. We are so many and we deserve to be heard.
I was reading on TMZ that a famous actress was going to treatment for bipolar. I scrolled down to the comments and I was flabbergasted.  Out of the twelve comments, only two were negative. The rest were supportive and understanding. I was so proud. Not because I had anything to do with their opinions. None of them have read my blog or even know I exist.  I was proud because through all the hard work of those that suffer from mental illness and their organizations, people have listened and learned. It is a beautiful thing.
So, when I say we can change the world, I mean it. If we all stand up and are honest, people will learn. People suffering will get better.We can offer them hope when they are at the crossroads because we have stood where they stand. We have had to make a choice and we can help them to see the right one. We can offer something that others can not, promise. Promise because we are proof that there is a better path. That the fight is worth fighting. That we can and do live productive and meaningful lives. That we can still be what we want and we can fulfill our dreams. That we matter.
Promise of a future is what we offer to others. Will life be easy? No, but it will be worth the struggle. Will it be everything a person could want? It will be whatever we choose for it to be. Will it be different than normal people's future? Probably, but isn't different an amazingly beautiful thing?
We stand united. We stand for what is right. We stand at the crossroads and we are choosing. We choose for ourselves but also for others. We are going to be the examples of mental illness the world needs. Examples of strength. Examples of wisdom. Examples of kindness and compassion. Most of all, we are examples of honesty and hope.
                          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.