Since my mother died I have been weird. I admit this now. I was reluctant to admit that I had changed, but finally after being told I was different than I had been for about the last year and a half by my husband, dad, a few of my friends and my step-daughter I figured that maybe there was some validity to their “complaints”. I never fully re-bounded to regular “Amy-ness” after I lost my mom. I don’t know what it was, but some things just… Changed. I kind of turned in to a recluse for a while the summer mom died. It sucked. I stayed home. I cried a lot. I avoided people. I didn’t want the pats on the back and the “I’m sorry’s” everyone was bound to give me. So I avoided them.
But it was more than just that. First thing I admit that has changed is how I’ve developed a really unusual case of OCD. It’s not really OCD I’d say – but that’s what I’m being treated for by my therapist…
Here’s how it goes – there are a few different levels of this obsessiveness. It’s not the “crazy” OCD you think of when you think of OCD people. I wasn’t spinning to the left 4 times on my left leg then stomping 3 times with the right foot and then coughing 12 times in a row to ward off evil spirits or whatever – but I had this skewed sense of organization in my mind – and it is rooted within the confines of the walls of my home. I became obsessive with the condition of my home and organization. After mom died, I became increasingly worried about everything having a place but ONLY within my home (my desk at work is a freakin disaster). I was obsessed with organizing. For example, I spent an entire Saturday afternoon last summer finding every single pencil, pen and marker in the house AND garage and separated them in to individual bins based on pencil/ball point/gel pen/marker/permanent/etc. Another example: Laundry became an obsession. I was PROUD of how efficiently and well I got the laundry done. I wasn’t only wasting water washing the 2 things that were unwashed in the house, but I was pissing everyone IN my house off by constantly nagging them to keep up with all of my obsessions. “bring your laundry to the basement please” when there was a t-shirt in the hamper – and that was it.
Granted, my house looked great. I felt good about it. I would go to sleep re-capping all of the things I got done throughout the day. It was comforting! It was how I was coping with my job working me to death and missing my mother and constantly worrying about my husband’s job prematurely ending for one reason or another by controlling something among all of those things that were uncontrollable. Classic, if you ask me. Like organizational bulemia or aneorexia. It was more about the control aspect than it was about wanting things to look clean or tidy (or thin, if you see the comparison here).
Then my job started sucking hard core. When work got harder, the OCD got bigger. I’d come home from a hard day and…. Well… I’d not even sit down. Many days I would walk right in the back door and straight to the laundry room to do laundry or something like that. Mr. Man and I began to bicker about this. I’d move something of his, he’d get increasingly pissed when he couldn’t find things. Furthermore, I nagged, nagged, nagged – and I caught myself nagging and feeling bad about it because – I knew I was over-doing it. I wanted to stop being so damn weird about it. I started to get disgusted with myself.
After about a good solid 4 or 5 months of LOTS and LOTS of arguments – I realized someone had to make a change. I FELT like it was Mr. Man, but I KNEW it was probably me.
I called a therapist. It pissed me off to do it. I’d only ever seen a therapist once before – when I was going through trouble with my ex-husband and his suicide attempts – and marriage counseling when I was trying to decide whether or not I should stay with him. I didn’t really like doing it, but I was out of control sad and upset with the situation and even though I hated going back then I did because – well – because people told me I needed it.
And that’s where I’m at. I’ve seen a therapist twice now. She’s alright. I like her. I can talk to her. I’m still looking forward to the appointment that I can completely spill my guts to her because until now, I haven’t quite been able to.
And on her suggestion – I’m trying to not be so weird about all of this. I’m trying to be honest. Let people know. Explain to folks what’s going on. Gain advice through sharing my story. USUALLY, this isn’t a problem for me, but recently – I’ve not really had the courage to explain to people how “crazy” I feel I am. But as I get older I realize that most people are kind of nuts – so I guess I should just get over it and start being more honest with myself. 