Fighting The Machine

Hello, friends! Thanks a million for stopping by again. I found these musings I wrote not quite a year ago. Reading over them, I see again how far I've come in the last few months, and I am grateful:

On a visit with my parents recently, it hit me with a mixture of astonishment and disappointment how much this disorder has changed me. I have become inflexible, easily thrown off by the unfamiliar; whereas change and newness used to thrill me. I miss my old self--my parents’ daughter. They say my lily reminds them of me: her exuberance for adventure, her joy in the out-of-doors, the way she loves to play in the mud! None of those parts of myself have survived the illness.

I’ve become stiff and proper, even stern--a perfect old matron. I, who Pan-like swore never to grow up. I, who feel underneath it all not a day over 16, but trapped, not so much in an older body but an old old mind--a mind knowing too much of fear, and not enough, snagged on its gears and circuits of anxiety and responsibility: circuits that never end or slow down.

Learning new pathways, ways to get off or short-circuit the typical thought patterns, is a slow and awkward re-wiring. The fear-gears on the other hand snapped so easily into place, as if pre-fitted to my brain. Or was it my brain that was pre-fitted to them? What tripped the wire for the waiting blazes of terror? What were the triggers, where are the buttons, and how can I prevent them from being pressed?

Circuits, gears, levers, buttons; machinery--it’s a cold, ugly metaphor for the human brain. But sometimes I do feel so cold. Frozen, paralyzed by the overwhelm of decision-making.

It doesn’t seem fair. Of course it isn’t, to be so prone to these vicious cycles of worry, this clogged-gear paralysis, but “it is what it is” as my psychologist says. The reality I must learn to live within. I pray for the grace to learn well. Yes, grace. God’s grace--more than sufficient to compensate for any “unfairness”. Ah! The grace of God’s unfairness! My only hope after all: that God would not treat this sinner fairly.

Transition's in the Air--J

It’s been awhile since I’ve had time to work on a post. I’ve been writing, but in spurts. Life has moved from one thing to another at mom-on-caffeine speed since we moved in November. Travels, holidays, family get-togethers, not to mention Christmas and a fourth birthday for one very special lily-child!

I will see my psychiatrist soon, and was just beginning to concoct an answer to her predictable question, how are you doing. Then I realized: no concoction necessary; the straight-up truth:  I am doing fantastic. I am generally happy and relaxed. I am less irritable. I have motivation and energy--feelings so new to me that I wouldn’t have recognized them if they hadn’t reintroduced themselves so gradually. Why, I do believe I am better than ever before in my entire adolescent through to adult life. I’ve even seen changes in my thinking happen without a ton of ERP: a thrilling realization, because up until now, I have had to fight with teeth gritted for every ounce of brain-shift. I am doing fantastic.

I am in the process of editing some old posts I never published. It has been enlightening and encouraging. I found one post I wrote about this time last year, reflecting on relapse, and it reminded me of how I felt after our recent move in November. Come to think again, the move was a more significant transition than the ones I’ve described below, and my ‘relapse’ around the move was shorter and not nearly as serious as the one I experienced at the time of this post. I hope it might be helpful just to know that relapses do happen, and they do get easier and less world-shaking.

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I’ve been struggling. I thought it might help for me to write down the reasons I’ve identified for this relapse. Could any of these explain something for you? Whatever your struggle and whatever the factors that brought it on, be assured, be validated: your body and your brain have their reasons!

The first reason, probably the most obvious, is that my meds have decreased. I’ve been on the highest dose of Prozac recommended since partway through my pregnancy, about three and a half years ago now. My psychiatrist thought it would be a good idea to get back to my pre-pregnancy dose. I’m there now! But weaning down this medication comes with a nasty side-effect: brain shivers. They’re hard to describe. Like being dizzy, but different again. You move your head, and even though your vision stays clear, you feel like you left your head behind you. It’s similar to the stomach sensation when you ride one of those dropping fair rides--like you left your stomach (in this case your brain) up in the air. Maybe somebody else would find that fun? But I’ve always been a wimp when it comes to fair rides. Anyway, I had a few days of that, and extra fatigue, and I was a bit teary, but I think the worst of it is over. Still, I’m sure the medication decrease on its own could account for this bit of a relapse I’m experiencing now. It is weird to discover how dependent I am on these meds. I feel so normal when I’m on them that they begin to seem redundant. It would be easy, if I didn’t understand a bit about how the meds work, to think, Well, I’m better now, I don’t need these pills anymore. But if I don’t take them, then I know.

In addition to the change in meds, there have been a lot of changes in our lives. All relatively insignificant changes on their own, but put them together and couple them with a brain suffering from OCD, and they make for an uphill slog. First, I started the new job I wrote about here. The time came to toilet train Lily. Our fish died.  A change of seasons is upon us, which always means more illness. Jem has been ill almost continuously for the last two months, and I always feel like I am fighting off something. Lily-girl has had three or four bouts of illness (all blurred together) that involved fever and sleepless nights.

I noticed something else dreaded about season changes: I start worrying about new ways to contact germs. With the arrival of winter, I worry about “smearing” germs through the sleeves of my coat when I put it on. I worry about touching my hair when I put on my hat. But just as soon as I get a handle on the challenges winter presents to my OCD brain, spring comes along and now I have new ways to worry: about not having those gloves that provided a convenient barrier between my hands and the germy world. That I can’t just take all the out-of-the-house germs off with my coat when I get home. I worry that the germs are no longer frozen, and that cats are back outside pooping in gardens. Does anyone else worry about these things? No. Should I worry? NO. Can I help it? Not really. Not for a while anyway, until I have practiced going out without my coat and not washing my arms when I come back inside.

Then there’s toilet training. Don’t even get me started--never mind, I’m started. I have honestly been dreading this stage ever since she was born. It takes all my courage to take my pristine lily-baby into those filthy public restrooms. Plus, her skinny legs don’t fit on most toilet seats--they slip in between the gap and she ends up sitting on the rim of the toilet instead of the seat. AaUAurRgh! The first time that happened, I obsessed about it for days, not sure whether it would be safer to let the germs stay dry on her legs, or to risk reactivating them in the bathtub. I sound insane even to myself right now. I think I’ll just keep her in diapers until she’s fourteen.

And then my new little fish buddy died. I’d sort of been expecting it, and didn’t think I would find it so traumatic. But when I saw him nose-down in the gravel, my stomach sank to my toes, and when I jiggled the bowl and saw his body’s involuntary sway, I felt dizzy, disoriented, like I was the one upside-down. I screamed like a girl. (I am a girl. I mean, I screamed like a little girl.)

Aside from grief and guilt (I figured I probably hadn’t changed his water often enough--so, another exercise in giving myself grace), I was very anxious about what he might have died from, and whether those germs could affect us. When Jem dumped him down the toilet, I was worried about splashing, and about what Jem touched before he washed his hands… It was really hard to get my mind off of ”fish germs” that night.

So there you have it. Changes in meds really do affect me big time. And so do little life changes that probably shouldn’t be a big deal. Now that I’ve thought through all the factors, I’m not worried about his little set-back. I know that it might take me a little longer to get settled after change, but I will, and I will have gained some resilience by pushing through.