OBSESSED

Obsessed

Every time I hear the word, a shiver goes down my spine.

I usually find myself facing an impulse to negate it as soon as I hear it. Usually, it comes in a context like “I’m so obsessed with this new TV show” or “I’m obsessed with your nails, they’re so pretty!” It’s not presented in a negative way in the slightest, and it’s become so ubiquitous that when I type the word into a Google doc, the autofill suggests that I say I’m “obsessed with” something too.

The dictionary says that to obsess over something is to be preoccupied with it, potentially to an extreme degree. There is a connotation of worry or trouble, and even some language similar to definitions I’ve seen for intrusive thoughts. Synonyms range from thoughts that are frequent to thoughts that occupy, like an enemy invasion. It even goes so far as “besiege,” my favorite synonym because it comes closest to what I feel obsession is truly like.

No one would say they are “besieged” by thoughts of their favorite new Instagram account, book they’re reading, or fashion accessory. But it’s perfectly acceptable - if not common - to say that they’re “obsessed” with these things.

To me, using the word “obsessed” in a context that is solely a hyperbole of liking something demeans my experience of - as the dictionary says - living with “a personality characterized by perfectionism, indecision, conscientiousness, concern with detail, rigidity, and inhibition.” It makes people take people like me less seriously if I say I have an obsessive thought, since the idea of it seems quite normal. To people who don’t know better, there is no difference between being “obsessed” with a favorite movie and the way the “Lord of the Rings” movies were front and center in how I fight back against tidal waves of obsessive thoughts when I was little.

For me, an obsession about a positive thing is not a “want.” It’s a deep need to twist the negative elements of my mind into something positive and stop myself from spiraling out of control. It’s a coping mechanism I barely accept in myself even after being told by multiple therapists that it’s the best thing I can do to keep myself happy. It still feels bad to me, though, because all my life, I’ve associated the word “obsession” with negative connotations.

To me, it’s only a step away from someone saying they’re “so OCD” if they wash their hands before they eat or alphabetize their bookshelf. It’s making my entire lived experience seem like a joke, which only makes it harder for me and people like me to seek help and get taken seriously by those who we confide in.

My family - small, close-knit, and extremely supportive - knows how I feel and never uses the word. But when I’m out and about, even with my closest friends, I run into it constantly. Every friend of mine except for my best friend from college has used it around me for a positive thing that makes my skin crawl, but I never want to say anything in the fear of looking like I’m too sensitive or needy as a friend.

And so I bite my tongue. I let people talk about all the things they’re “obsessed with,” but I never join in on the conversation. I instead let my mind drift to the things I am legitimately obsessing about, or have obsessed about in the past. I space out from the present, and I fight the impulse to distance myself - even if just a little - from a friend who I suddenly wonder if they can understand me at all.

After all, no one would really understand if I were to say something like “I’m obsessing about whether I remembered to bring my keys when I left my apartment today and checked my purse pocket at least twice.” No one would know what to say if I mentioned any of the phobias I obsess about or any of the traumatic memories in my head that cycle around thanks to the repetitive nature of obsessions.

In my opinion and experience, using words that relate closely to mental illness to describe everyday experiences makes it harder for a person to admit that they have a problem or get a friend to understand what they’re going through. If I told a friend I was having an “obsession problem,” they might simply assume that I have been procrastinating on my chores and work to binge-watch something on Netflix. Then, the fact of how much an obsession disrupts a life could make the sufferer look needy, dramatic, or high maintenance.

For me, even just hearing the word brings back years of therapy visits and coping skills, fears I learned to overcome and others that still have a chokehold on certain parts of my life. It’s a reminder - even in a conversation where I am with friends and feel accepted and loved - that I am different and can’t see the “normal” meaning of the word when it carries so much more weight for me. It reminds me that my lived experiences are so different from my friends and sends me on a very familiar spiral where I doubt my ability to blend in socially and form friendships that are true and deep and meant to last.

It might seem like such a little moment in a big conversation or a word casually thrown aside as part of a common expression. And yet, I urge everyone reading this to consider the language you use. I’ve had to do the same multiple times, especially when I started writing my blog for No Shame On U and was educated about the different words that could evoke a response like this in others.

I’ve been told many times that I’m too sensitive for feeling this way. After all, it’s only a word - what can it do?

In the moment, the word brings me back to my worst moments and makes me wonder if my OCD is “showing.” I feel the urge to hide, to withdraw from the conversation and potentially even from the person saying it.

In the moment, even though I understand that “obsessed” is just a word in the dictionary, I feel so much more, and it’s not up to someone who doesn’t have OCD to tell me how to feel about it.

The best way to learn something like this is by reaching out the community in question. The stereotypes we live with every day are defeated just the littlest bit every time we meet someone with a lived experience that looks different from our own and it is in this way that the stigma against mental health can be shattered. Even though I feel like walls are built around me every time I hear the word “obsessed” misused, there is an opportunity there for growth and learning, if people are truly interested in helping people like me feel accepted no matter what.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

NOT PERFECT

Not Perfect

Today is December 31, 2020 - and yet, in my post last week, I wrote that it was going to be my last post of 2020.

This might not seem like a big deal, but when I found out that I’d done this, I instantly felt ashamed. I wondered if I should write a new post immediately and ask to switch that post with the one that ended up getting posted last week, so I wouldn’t be lying. But in the grand scheme of things, I wasn’t worried about lying - I was worried about making a mistake.

As a child, my perfectionism - a common comorbidity with OCD - took the form of wanting to get straight A’s in school. This meant everything from taking notes “perfectly” - including rigid rules about things like skipping lines, using bullet points, and using both sides of certain kinds of paper - to worrying during a test itself, if I didn’t know an answer, how that particular question would affect my score. My standards were so exacting that I saw a B as a failure, any feedback about improvement was insulting, and yet, somehow, it worked.

At least until I got to geometry, that is. It was seventh grade when I encountered the first class I struggled with to a large degree, where I was getting actual failing grades on quizzes and tests. I had no idea what to do with myself - I’d never made mistakes like that before. None of my coping mechanisms worked either - it’s not like I could suddenly write on a different kind of graph paper and understand the formulas and shapes.

I ended up going to a tutor for geometry, a decision that I doubted a lot before I even went to the first session. I thought that, by admitting I couldn’t be perfect on my own, I was a failure. After all, I didn’t just want to succeed - I wanted to get the same straight A’s that I did in my other classes, with the same methods I always knew. Anything less than that was not only a failure in school, it was a failure for me as a person. These “all or nothing” thoughts that I later learned about in CBT quickly faded when my grades improved drastically as a result of the tutoring.

Thankfully, I found 8th grade algebra easier, and by the time I got to high school, I was getting better with the idea of an occasional B. I thought everything would be okay from then on, but as I started taking harder classes, I ended up using my old methods of taking notes obsessively (writing every word I heard in class until my hand cramped many times a day, keeping meticulously organized binders and folders that had to be done a certain way or I would get upset, etc.). It worked again for a while, and I thought my perfectionism was what guided me to passing AP exams.

And then, AP Calculus appeared.

For the first time since I took geometry, I was failing a class - and this time, it was much worse. I always tried to stay on top of any negative thoughts by telling myself that I could do badly on one quiz or test and still get a good grade in the overall class, but I failed the first eight or nine quizzes. When I decided to try tutoring again, I showed up at the tutor’s house with a dejected look on my face and told her that I was so confused I didn’t even know what to ask her about first.

She stayed calm, even when I couldn’t, and she told me I had to reframe the way I was thinking about my grade in the class. I couldn’t expect to be perfect at everything, and complicated math is a place where I may not be as strong. She showed me how to be proud of getting a D on a quiz, then a C, then a B. I think I still have the first quiz I got an A on somewhere in the house, because it meant so much more to me than an A that I had earned more easily.

While the tutoring helped a lot, my grade was saved in the end by a project requiring more creative skills than math (something I wonder if my teacher put there to help kids like me who were having a much harder time with the actual tests). When I took the AP exam, I stressed myself out so much that by the time I left the building, my mom said I was white as a sheet. Somehow (divine intervention is the likeliest explanation, in my mind), I passed the exam - not with a perfect score, but enough to not have to take any more calculus in college.

I haven’t studied math since AP Calculus in 11th grade, but its lessons carried onward. In college, I caught myself trying to be too much of a perfectionist about grades and things. I learned very important lessons - including the time I got a B- on a paper, but I was so proud of that grade because that was my first paper in all my years of academia where I wrote something that I saw no evidence had ever been written before. I didn’t mind a B anymore like I used to, except in one specific circumstance where an A was the only way to gain honors in a special class (which I didn’t, a failure I still blame myself for, although thankfully much less than I did at the time).

After I got my master’s degree and left school for good, it became harder for me to be a perfectionist. Sure, I could organize things in my house, but that didn’t speak to me as a person. Nothing I do is getting graded anymore, so it’s up to me to come up with standards for what I feel is successful.

I still do some things “perfectly.” I would never commit to National Novel Writing Month and not finish the 50,000 words in one month - in fact, I completed for the tenth year in a row this year. At my job, I turn in my work early and am always eager for praise. But, without being graded, it feels weird to have perfectionistic impulses and nothing to do with them.

They come out at times like this, when I made a simple mistake and didn’t realize that the 31st was a Thursday. This post is my actual last post of 2020, and one of my last posts before my 2-year anniversary of blogging for No Shame On U. When looking at the big picture, it doesn’t really matter that last week, I said it was my last post of 2020. I don’t need to listen to that impulse to “fix” things and try to regain control. Instead, I need to listen to what my calculus tutor said and listen to what really matters - the fact that the world didn’t end because I made a mistake, and I can move on.

Right now, I’m feeling proud that I’m not beating myself up over this tiny mistake I made. I’m sure that if anyone who read last week’s post realized my mistake, they only thought about it for a second, and it didn’t diminish their opinion of me as a person. After all, what matters most is that I put forth my best effort, whatever the results. It’s hard to accept that, and I’m definitely not perfect at accepting my own flaws - but hopefully in 2021 and years to come, I will make it to the point where my perfectionism is a thing of the past. 

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

TRIGGERED

Triggered

Trigger Warning: Blood, Emetophobia, Suicidal Thoughts

It’s a word used increasingly more often. But what does “triggered” really mean?

In technical terms, the word describes an experience where an outside stimulus causes a person to react in a certain way based on past experiences. When I add a “trigger warning” to the top of a post, it’s my way of saying that I am about to talk bluntly about a topic that may be hard for people to read about directly. If someone finds a particular topic triggering, it’s easier to skip thinking about it, so these warnings help people avoid a reaction.

Being triggered emotionally, to me, feels like having an allergic reaction. Instead of physical symptoms of my body going out of control, however, it’s in my head. I can be having a completely fine day, doing whatever I was doing at work or at home, and I see, hear, or somehow experience something that reminds me of a very negative experience in the past. Thankfully, this doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I feel like my thoughts skip so far ahead that my usual methods of controlling them with CBT techniques doesn’t work.

For example, if I am watching a TV show and a character vomits blood, I remember the time when I was in the hospital and a similar thing happened to me. I can suddenly think something’s wrong with me even if I’ve felt fine all day and have literally only had that happen to me once in my entire life. Or, I’m playing a video game that deals with suicide, and I am reminded of the negative thoughts that plagued me junior year and instantly become afraid that even thinking of it will bring that time back. Anything like that sets a panic in me that is irrationally high compared to the stimulus and, like an allergic reaction, continues to spread.

In the moment, I tend to skip ahead to a worst-case scenario, and plan for that. My planning can get quite obsessive, and it isn’t until later - sometimes a few hours, sometimes even longer - that I realize that things aren’t necessarily as bad as I thought they were. At that point, it’s a lot easier to spot holes in my logic, pick out where my thinking went awry, and fix it. But in-between, it’s very hard to interrupt what feels like a wild train ride with no one in the conductor’s seat.

I’m very thankful that this doesn’t happen very often. I do look to the past a lot for cues, but I have mostly gotten used to things that have happened to and around me. I try to keep my defenses strong, but I’m always ashamed when something from my past affects me in an abnormal way. I feel like a failure to cope, a weak person, and I get angry at anyone who comments on how poorly I’m handling things.

It’s not that I don’t recognize the thought patterns are going awry. It’s not that I think of myself as special and that having a mental illness gives me a free pass to freak out whenever I like. But, at the same time, I need people around me to realize that I am not necessarily able to stop being “triggered” at a convenient time, and bringing attention to it only makes things worse by reminding me how bad of a job I’m doing. At some point, sooner or later, I will be back to my normal self.

This week, I’ve seen a lot of year-end recaps where people are looking back at a very stressful year. It’s been hard for everyone I know to cope with the pandemic in a variety of ways. I’m sure people will experience memories of 2020 differently than other years, and some people may even find new things triggering.

My New Year’s resolution is to try to, while remaining cautious of things that I know bother me, try to look to the future instead of the past. This week, I’ve caught myself getting caught up in the past in a variety of ways. But with a vaccine for COVID-19 on the horizon heralding the promise of things returning to (or at least getting closer to) normal, I want to find a way to look forward to happy experiences instead of reliving old ones. It’ll be a tough thought pattern to break, but I hope to accomplish it this year - and I hope all of you have a wonderful 2021!

 Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

The Real Harm of “Obsessive Christmas Disorder”

The Real Harm of “Obsessive Christmas Disorder”

Now that December is in full swing, I’ve started seeing one of my least favorite holiday expressions on shirts, memes, and beyond: “Obsessive Christmas Disorder.” Although I know that it’s intended to emphasize how thoughts of and regimented preparations for Christmas take over many people’s minds in December, seeing the phrase still bothers me immensely.

Over the years, friends and family have told me to ignore this. “It’s just a saying - misguided, sure, but what harm can it do?” I am often asked this whenever I express my displeasure at the saying or other expressions about mental illness.

It’s true that, on the surface, reading “Obsessive Christmas Disorder” on a cutesy sweater doesn’t actually hurt me. On the surface, it’s just three words put together in an order that displeases me. But when I think about the mindset it came from and the mindset it encourages, it’s a lot harder to ignore the phrase’s implications.

By using the same acronym as OCD and associating with one typical behavior of people living with OCD - organizing - the phrase draws an association between the pleasurable behavior of preparing for a joyous holiday and the reality of living with OCD as a condition. OCD is far more than the need to organize everything and make sure things are ready to go for December 25. It’s more than thinking a lot about something you’re looking forward to. Thinking of it only in these terms minimizes the lived reality of many people for whom OCD feels like an endless slog, a monster inside, or torture.

The consequence of this is that people don’t take actual mental illnesses seriously when they’re thrown around in phrases like this. If someone hears about a person struggling with OCD after hearing a phrase like “Obsessive Christmas Disorder,” they might think that the person with OCD is just exaggerating, and that it might even be fun, just like the hectic times before Christmas.

These tiny moments can add up, and together, they form the building blocks of the stigma against mental illness. Every “Obsessive Christmas Disorder,” “everyone’s a little [insert mental illness here],” and more contributes to the strange dichotomy where mental illness is either something blown way out of proportion to garner sympathy or legitimately dangerous for society. It takes away the middle ground where people like me live our lives, and reduces people to little more than stereotypes.

I understand that it’s difficult to speak out against something like this. The reality is that, for people who don’t know anyone with OCD, the phrase may seem like nothing more than a slightly distasteful joke. This is what inspires me to share my story, both here and in the autobiographical manuscript I’m working on. More visibility for people living with mental illness - and especially seeing us as human beings with many facets of our lives and personalities beyond the disorder - is key to removing phrases like “Obsessive Christmas Disorder” from the vernacular.

As I write this post, I think of a friend who is currently struggling with his mental health. He struggles a lot with getting help, even from friends and family, because his experiences have been trivialized in ways like this. I write this post for him and for so many people - some of whom I may even know, but not in this context - who feel forced to keep their problems to themselves because an admission of mental illness makes them either a joke or a threat.

“Obsessive Christmas Disorder” might seem innocuous and simple, but it’s not funny. If you see phrases like this about any mental illness, please speak up. It can make a huge difference for 2021 and beyond!

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

FINDING THE LIGHT

Finding the Light

As this year has felt unexpectedly dark, due to the pandemic - among many other global and local things - I’ve found myself really looking forward to Hanukkah this year.

Usually, for my family, Hanukkah comes in the context of our annual trip to Florida where we do and see the same things we’ve done and seen for the last decade, at least. Our traditions are set in stone and it feels at once like an adventurous vacation and a warm cocoon where everything is safe and expected.

My family’s usual travel plans have been ruined - like basically everyone’s - and it  feels so strange to me to look back on the blog I wrote last year about how I loved the comfort in consistency that I found in the trip each year. It seems like last year’s world was a completely different place, and there are so many things now that I could never have imagined.

Strangely enough, however, I find myself looking forward to Hanukkah not as a break from a dismal world but as a continuation of the love and comfort I’ve experienced with my family these last few weeks. Ever since I returned home after Chicago’s second lockdown, I have experienced all the same things I love the most about my family’s annual trip, even if we’re not actually there.

Instead of the trip I’ve always loved, I am getting to spend time with my parents in the everyday sort of way I’ve missed so much since I left for college. Every moment with Nana means so much more when there are things we can’t do, like hug. But even if we’re sitting six feet apart with masks on, it still feels like we’re bonding just as close as always. Even if we’re not dipping our toes in the sand or eating my favorite French fries (with a fork!), we are enjoying the togetherness of family for a duration unlike anything I’ve been able to experience before.

This happiness, however, is mingled with various fears. My family and I are still very afraid of the virus, of the state of things in the country, and a world not operating by its normal rules. But even though I’m afraid of all these things - and more - I plan to light my Hanukkah candles this year with hope in my heart. Even if the light of the candles is shining on my old kitchen table instead of a Floridian beach, and even if my family is standing six feet apart, we can still bring light to dark times both literally and metaphorically. 

At times like this when the world feels overwhelming, I like to think of one of my favorite quotes of all time, from the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy (big surprise there!). At a particularly hard time for Frodo towards the end of The Two Towers, Sam offers these words of wisdom that I hang around my walls and save on my computer and remind myself of whenever times are bad:

“It’s all wrong.

By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are.

It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered.

Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened?

But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass.

A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer.

Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now.

Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something.”

As the pandemic drags on into the dark days of winter, it’s more important than ever to find time for self-care and adapting beloved family and holiday rituals to the new normal. It may be stressful and difficult, but in the end, I believe that - just like Samwise Gamgee said - the sun will shine out the clearer, and finding our own light this Hanukkah is a wonderful way to start finding the light in the world beyond our front doors.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.