Nine Years Ago Today

Nine Years Ago Today

TW: Medical imagery, mentions of death

When I was driving to pick up my family’s first post-Passover takeout meal, an ambulance passed me on the left. It darted into the fast lane, lights spinning - but no sirens blaring. As it sped off into the distance, I couldn’t help but remember my own ride in a silent ambulance nine years ago today, the day I was sure I was going to die.

I was loaded into the ambulance in a small town in upstate New York, to get care in a larger hospital better equipped for vascular emergencies. The sirens were so loud that I couldn’t hear myself think, and considering exactly how fast my mind was going, that was saying something. Before I was wheeled in, I asked the driver to turn them off.

Inside the ambulance, there was a friendly EMT who joked around with me and a student volunteer who was 19 and a freshman like me, who was there to be my buddy. But still, my heart rate was 120 the whole time the ambulance careened off towards the larger hospital.

I’ve recounted on this blog what happened before: the longest night of my life, the question of whether my foot would recover, the three surgeries while I was awake that I still remember, the weeks afterwards where everything hurt and nothing in the world felt stable anymore.

But this year, nine years to the day after I was first admitted to the hospital with a life-threatening blood clot, I feel very stable. Yes, COVID-19 has changed the world and everyone in it, but thanks to the therapy I received two years post-op, I am able to deal with fears, especially medical ones, in a healthier way.

When I first went to cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), I was told that I was letting April 4, 2012 define me like I had not done with anything else. I never let OCD define me in that way - I always said that I was a daughter, friend, nerd, etc. before a person with OCD. But I was seeing the world through the lens of a blood clot survivor as if there was nothing else in my life and to live for - as if it had actually killed me.

I made the conscious decision to not let that one day dictate the rest of my life, and I spent a year in intensive cognitive behavioral therapy to help me make that choice a reality. But every year, on April 4, I recognize how far I’ve come and how much better my life is now than my hospital stay, and how much I have to be grateful for.

As I saw the ambulance pass by, I smelled the amazing baked ziti take-out on the seat next to me and smiled at the thought of eating my favorite food right after Passover ended. I was grateful that I was driving myself, and the ambulance was far away. My quality of mental health had increased to the point that I could see an ambulance resembling the one I was in - the lack of sirens - and not descend into flashbacks. I was even tapping my left foot - the one I could have lost - on the floor of the car as I listened to music.

Nine years later, while I can’t say everything is the same as it was before my blood clot, I can say that the cliche of “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” does actually work. Nine years later, I know I am stronger for having survived that horrible night and all the nights after, during my recovery from the blood clot and my trauma response that took years to overcome.

There are some things I don’t think will ever be the same. My outlook on physical and mental health, advance directives in medical emergencies, faith, and even my sense of humor have changed (I have certainly acquired a taste for blood puns!). But it no longer needs to be the one thing that defines my life. Just like I can expand the scope of my life beyond OCD, I can be more than a blood clot survivor, while still taking pride in my survival of a physical and mental horror.

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.

No, OCD Isn’t Why Passover Is My Favorite Jewish Holiday

No, OCD Isn’t Why Passover Is My Favorite Jewish Holiday

After my family’s first Seder - held in my parents’ home with my vaccinated grandma, just the four of us - I remembered seeing a funny Passover picture earlier that day. I took out my phone, Googled “Pesach funny,” and the first thing that popped up was a comic depicting an OCD support group where everyone was saying that Passover is their favorite holiday because it normalizes obsessive cleaning.

At first, I could only see red, especially when my mom and I were on Facebook later and saw similar “jokes” from extended family. It’s not that I am unused to insensitive jokes that make fun of OCD based on stereotypes, but every time I see them, it reminds me that we as a society have a long way to go in terms of understanding mental illness, which is a key step of destigmatization.

The people who share jokes like these only have a surface understanding of what it is actually like to live with OCD. Back when I was little and had compulsions about hand-washing, I used to wash my hands until they were red and raw because I was afraid there was even a single germ left there. That’s not something cutesy to put in a comic - it’s horrifying, and should not be the butt of a joke.

Literally only one thing in that comic made sense to me - the sense of community. Even though I know the comic wasn’t meant to empathize with this, I did connect in terms of feeling better when the “weird” things I do are normalized. It’s the main reason why I love fan conventions like DragonCon - I can show off every one of my positive obsessions to a degree I would never let myself normally and make friends instead of repelling people, because that’s the expected behavior in that space.

But Passover isn’t my favorite Jewish holiday because it normalizes cleaning or eating strangely or anything else that I or others with OCD do.

It’s my favorite because some of my earliest memories are showing up at Nana’s apartment early to cook for the Seder, practicing our songs together, chopping apples and nuts for the charoset (pre-allergy), and finding all of our favorite mistranslated text in our Maxwell House haggadahs from before I was born.

It’s my favorite because I love eating garlic Tam Tam crackers for 8 days straight, asking the Four Questions even though I’m in my late 20s, and setting time aside in a busy world to put away everything else and just focus on family.

It’s my favorite because it’s a holiday built around a story of redemption and survival, and whether we’re telling it from the Haggadah or watching “The Prince of Egypt” for the umpteenth time, it’s inspiring every year.

In addition to all of these wonderful moments, I also do some cleaning, either in my pantry or helping my parents with theirs. I make a game of finding the oldest expired thing from the back to make it more palatable as I am not exactly someone who enjoys cleaning.

I have OCD - 300.3 in the DSM, with basically every symptom in the book - and I’m not a cleaner. I pile my papers in a way that only makes sense to me and allow clutter to pile up on basically every flat surface I use frequently. I’m not dirty, but I’m also not going to have a perfectly neat and tidy apartment or work desk. My OCD never got in the way of keeping my home this way, and there are many other people who have similar experiences.

Even as someone with the disease, I didn’t realize there were so many different kinds of OCD until I started researching things after my junior year crisis. I learned that even though I knew what OCD meant for me, I had no idea what it meant for other people, and even sharing my story isn’t akin to sharing the story of all sufferers. Everyone’s obsessions and compulsions are a unique product of their environment, life experiences, and whatever the neurons in their brain are doing.

In other words, yes, I am a person with OCD whose favorite Jewish holiday is Passover. But I could take or leave the cleaning - for me, it’s all about family time, reenacting our favorite rituals while spending time together. As this year’s Passover wanes, I hope that next year, there will be even more awareness of mental health conditions and less offensive comics that reduce people to inaccurate stereotypes.

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.

I Don’t Mean To Make Things Hard

I Don’t Mean To Make Things Hard

TW: Emetophobia

I don’t mean to make things hard, but there are things I can’t make easy.

Case in point: I absolutely love my family’s dog. He’s the sweetest, kindest pup who is known for couch snuggling, lap warming, injury healing, and squeak yawning, before he hurt his trachea.

Therein lies the problem - not only does he not make adorable squeaking noises anymore, but he also makes horrible noises instead, noises that would signal vomiting from any other animal. It’s like a wet cough, grumbly and gargling. He hacks away several times, sticking his tongue far out of his mouth and smacking his lips.

In the beginning, I thought that every time I heard the sound, it meant that he had thrown up, and my instant response was to get away from wherever he was as quickly as possible, even if I felt very guilty about it. I soon realized that even though he makes the sound many, many times a day, it is rare for something to actually come out of his mouth. By dumb luck, I tend to actually see when things come out of his mouth, which is always the worst.

His problem is closest to reflux - if he eats or drinks too quickly (which he does a fair amount, as he’s part Golden Retriever), he might cough some up. Rationally, I’m completely aware that that has nothing to do with the stomach, nor would anything he does ever get me sick since A. he’s not actually sick and B. he’s a dog.

Still, though, whenever I hear my dog make that sound, I instantly get out of the room or turn away as quickly as possible so I don’t have to see anything. Once it’s done, I hesitantly look over at the floor in front of him - usually, there’s nothing, but I’ve wound up in a position before where I’m either alone with him when he does it or I’m the first one to discover the mess.

Even though I know that he wouldn’t be able to make me sick, I still instinctively feel fear when I hear the noise. It feels like a fight-or-flight response, even though I know there’s nothing he can do to hurt me. And after he’s done coughing and looks over at me with his big brown eyes, usually wondering why I’ve stopped petting him, I feel very guilty. I feel even worse when I’m home alone with him and he does spit something up, and I literally can’t get closer to him.

If I’m not home alone - or the second either of my parents gets home, if they’re away - I call for them to take care of the mess. I’m ashamed of it, even more so because my mom is also emetophobic. As someone who tries to make things easier on people around me by doing the best I can with what’s going on in my head, I feel awful when I have to share the burden with those around me. I’m sure it would be a lot easier for my parents if I could stop myself from flinching or being afraid or making them clean up a disgusting mess, but so far, I haven’t been able to.

When I was a kid, I was always conscious of making other people’s lives harder. I knew, even as I spiraled out of control again and again, that there was only so much I could do, and that there was a burden to people around me. I could trust that the people who really loved me - like my family - would be willing to deal with it, but somehow I convinced myself that I needed to be the least burdensome person possible in order to be the best version of myself.

Now that I’m an adult, this has somehow translated into needing to feel unburdensome in order to make the people around me happy. I do my best to hide if there’s anything abnormal going on in my head, and things only tend to bubble over if it’s something extreme - 99% of the time, it has to deal with either medical things or emetophobia. I’m ashamed and embarrassed whenever this side of me comes out, but I know that I have people on my side who are willing to listen and care.

I’m also blessed to have my almost-15-year-old dog still in my life. I try to cherish every moment with him, even if his noises frighten me, and for his sake, I do my best to get back to petting him as soon as I can after one of his spit-up incidents. Even if this isn’t the kind of exposure that will help me fight my fear of vomiting, it’s still worth it to have such a loving and kind dog who accepts me, even when I make things hard.

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.

GUEST BLOGGER....Don't Understand Suicide? Then Learn About It.

September 6 to the 12th, 2020 was National Suicide Prevention Week. Raising awareness for this other pandemic that pre-dates COVID-19 cannot be overdone.

132 people in the U.S. died by suicide daily in 2018, and those numbers are rising during Coronavirus. Lost among the daily reported COVID cases and death count is the collateral damage.

In August, Forbes cited a report from the United Nations and World Health Organization:

“Suicide is likely to become a more pressing concern, as the pandemic spreads and has longer-term effects on the general population, the economy and vulnerable groups.”

But we’re also seeing the short-term impact, as the same article notes:

“The CDC conducted a survey of 5,412 people between June 24 and 30 and the collected data on suicides is alarming. Roughly 25% percent of young adults between the ages of 18 and 24 say they've considered suicide because of the pandemic. About 30.9% of the respondents said that they ‘had symptoms of anxiety or depression’ and about 26.3% reported trauma and stress-related disorders caused by the outbreak. Over 13% said that they have used alcohol, prescription and/or illegal drugs to deal with their pandemic-induced stress and anxiety.”

Relegating one week to Suicide Prevention has never sat well with me because the case couldn’t be stronger now to focus every day on the matter.

I wrote the following article in June of 2018, and I’m re-publishing it past September 12th because I didn’t feel the need to crowbar it into such a short window for an issue that deserves more attention than one week.

_____________________________

Last weekend, I was out to dinner with my boy, and two parents with their college-aged son sat at the table next to us. Anthony Bourdain died by suicidetwo days earlier, and the father shared his thoughts.

“I don’t understand how someone could kill himself,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s gotta be the most selfish thing you can do.”

His son spoke up. “Dad, it’s a clinical problem.”

“I still don’t get it,” Dad said.

“Often, when people die by suicide, it’s because they are struggling with a mental illness,” his son answered.

Dad shook his head.

“It’s comments like that, Dad, that make it so much harder.”

It wasn’t my business, but I addressed them. “By the way,” I said and pointed to the son, "He’s right."

It’s been eight days since Anthony Bourdain took his life, and during that time 984 more Americans have done the same. In the wake of Bourdain’s suicide and Kate Spade’s before him, the Centers for Disease Control heartbreakingly reported that since 1999, the suicide rate has increased by 30%.

Saying you don’t understand suicide is as tired a response as “thoughts and prayers” following a mass shooting. It’s not the responsibility of anyone, particularly those who are suicidal, to explain it to you.

But I’ll do you that favor because I’m worked up enough.

The short answer if you don’t understand something is to learn about it. Before becoming a home inspector, you trained and earned your American Home Inspection Society certification. Prior to trying your first case, you studied law, prepared for and passed the Bar exam.

If you don’t understand suicide, then learn about it.

The information is at your fingertips, and it’s free. (The same can’t be said for the high cost of law school tuition or the price tag on the drone for aerial condo inspections.)

Fire up Google, search “suicide causes”, and you’ll find helpful information from resources like Healthline, Psychology Today, and The National Institute of Mental Health.

If you don’t understand suicide, then learn about it.

But since I can’t get the image of that dad shaking his head out of my mind, I’ll provide you with the key messages from this excellent Healthline piece. Suicide is one of the leading causes of death in the United States, taking the lives of about 43,000 Americans each year. Roughly 50 percent of people who die by suicide have a mental illness at the time of their death.

Other risk factors include:

• previous suicide attempts

• substance abuse

• incarceration

• family history of suicide

• poor job security or low levels of job satisfaction

• history of being abused or witnessing continuous abuse

• being diagnosed with a serious medical condition

• being socially isolated or a victim of bullying

• being exposed to suicidal behavior
  
  The demographic for those most at risk for suicide are:
  

• men

• people over the age of 45

• Caucasians, American Indians, or Alaskan Natives
  
  

Warning signs to look out for include feelings of hopelessness, avoiding social interactions, substance abuse, and expressing rage or intentions to seek revenge.

Now you know that people die by suicide for many reasons, including mental illness, pain, loneliness, isolation, and not to mention, our broken media culture.

If you don’t understand suicide, then learn about it.

Both are choices: understanding and learning. If you can still do neither--if you continue to keep your head in the sand--then you are actively choosing to not feel empathy or compassion.

And I can’t help you with that.

If you or someone you know needs help, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

About the Author, David Telisman

David is the founder of David Telisman Communications. He's a Writer and Content Creator with a passion for mental health awareness and advocacy. He has written extensively on the subject, in addition to serving clients in other verticals. David understand that you deserve to feel proud of how your content marketing looks and what it says, and he delivers by providing expert copywriting and digital marketing solutions. Contact David at david@davidtelisman.com and davidtelisman.com

THE DEEPEST APPRECIATION

The Deepest Appreciation

This week, I’ve had the privilege to dive into one of my favorite movies in an obsessive way - but instead of the negative, cyclical way that brings me down, my dedication to this movie has made me feel amazing.

Every night after my parents go to bed, I take my laptop into the room with the family computer and set myself up: laptop on my lap as I sit in Dad’s office chair, one foot on the ground, the other on the keyboard of the family computer. I start playing “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey” and about two seconds later, I tap the space bar with my big toe, turn to my laptop, and write down everything I’ve seen and heard.

When I started last week, it took me an hour to get through eight minutes. Now, I can do over ten minutes in an hour, as I’ve settled into a comfortable rhythm after 94 pages of writing. I am writing this project for a movie script project many of my friends are involved in, but it’s also giving me a chance to examine a movie I love frame by frame and draw smiles out of tiny moments I may not have noticed before.

I’ve gotten some reactions of confusion, especially since there are some partially-completed scripts online, but none of the extended edition (what can I say, I’m a purist), and I found errors in the ones I located online. I also couldn’t find one that included background information like scenery, what the characters looked like, or what actions they were taking during the complex battle scenes.

Even though some people are confused, I love doing a deep dive like this. I love taking a movie that many people I know consider inferior to the three “Lord of the Rings” movies and giving it time to shine, finding the humor and the little moments that made me feel like I was in Middle-Earth with my favorite characters. I still remember crying my way through the White Council scene the first time I saw it, and feeling that same way last night as I stayed up extra-late to not miss a moment.

I’ve never dived so deep into a positive obsession before, and while some people question my patience to pause a movie every couple of seconds and write everything, I am truly enjoying it. If there’s a way to embrace the way my head works without hurting anyone including myself, I see it as pure positivity. It’s far better to be thinking about this than COVID or the things I’m missing that I can’t do.

Watching the movie in such detail has made me think about the Tolkien universe cosplays I’ve done. They reminded me of how amazing I felt walking through crowded halls to meet movie stars (including Dean O’Gorman and Graham McTavish, both of whom are in this exact movie) and dancing at the elf party until I’m too exhausted to move.

The best part is, I’ve found people who I can share these memories with, about both the movie and the conventions I hope to attend again one day. I am at the point where I can share a steady stream of memes, jokes, silly lines, and observations as I watch “An Unexpected Journey,” and I know who to send it to who won’t get bothered, overwhelmed, or annoyed. Even though I’m sitting alone in the room when I watch, I feel like I’m part of a community of people who know that I’m thinking obsessively about something, but are encouraging and kind instead of judgmental.

I never considered doing a project like this before, but watching a movie I love in such little bits and pieces instead of watching it all in one setting has inspired me to look deeper at some of the other things I’m passionate about. It can sometimes feel boring to be stuck at home during the pandemic, and when I’m bored, my thoughts tend to wander, sometimes in unsavory directions. But if I’m focusing on something like this, something productive and enjoyable and allowing me to bond more closely with my friends, I think it’s a wonderful way to spend the waning pandemic time.

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.