Help! My Therapist Has Morphed Into Nancy Reagan!!!!

Ugh!!!  So Tuesday's therapy session set me off a little.  Yes, it has taken me two days to even get to the point where I can blog about it.  It started off with the construction in the parking lot.  I couldn't park where I normally do, and there was only one space available.  The problem was that the cars parked on either side of the empty space were hugging the line.  Once I finally got squeezed into the skinny strip of asphalt available, I had a new problem.  I could barely get out of the car!  UGH!!!  Don't people know you're supposed to park in the middle of the space???  Come on people!  Show some courtesy!

Once I finally made it inside, less than five minutes before my scheduled time, the waiting room was crowded.  There was a college student near the door (blowing his nose for five minutes straight) and a flock of other people spread around the room.  I had to wait in line behind a woman who must have thought she had all the time in the world, just so I could sign in.  I finally took a seat as far away from everyone as possible (without being near the bathroom).  Unfortunately, this was right by the reception desk, at which the woman with the temporal issues was still standing.  So, of course, my body automatically leans toward the right and the other empty seats.  But wait...this can't be the end of the ordeal.  In walks a snotty-nosed, hyperactive little boy who immediately leaps into the chairs next to me.  HELLO!!!  On top of all this, my therapist was running late....fifteen minutes late to be exact.

By the time I finally got back to my therapist's office, my head was spinning, my pulse was racing, and I was ready to throw up and run away screaming all at the same time.  Just thinking about it now has my pulse rising.  Whew.....Breathe....Okay.....

So, I finally start my session...fifteen minutes late....and my therapist asks me how I've been doing and what I want to talk about.  The problem is, I can't think straight, because my mind is still out in the waiting room.  So,  I tell her that.  Which sets off a whole, "Why didn't you ask to wait in the back?" thing.  Yes, I get that plenty of people wait in the back.  Yes, I get that it is an accepted thing for them.  Yes, I get that it is more than okay with the staff, that they even expect it.  Still, it's not acceptable for me.  I try to explain this to Rachel, but I'm not sure if she gets it.  Yes,  the waiting room sent my anxiety sky high, but for me, waiting in the back (which I've never done) sets of an entirely different set of worries and anxieties as well as a feeling of failure and "why can't I just suck it up and wait in the waiting room like a "normal" person?".

Rachel tries to explain that waiting in the back is normal, accepted, and even expected and that removing myself from a situation that makes my anxiety flare is not failure, but a positive step.  Cognitively, I get that, but emotionally, I'm not there.  The entire idea of waiting in the back raises my anxiety even more than just waiting it out.  Why in the world is something so simple so difficult???!!!

Anyway...this brings the entire session to the good old conversation that I feel I've had a thousand times within the last few months...putting myself and my needs first.  I just can't seem to get this.  Rachel and I have been over this time and again.  We've talked about voicing my needs and setting boundaries, etc.   I get the need.  I just can't seem to do it.

It is so complicated.  I can't seem to reconcile the idea that putting some focus on my need is not the same as being selfish.  We're always taught to share, to eat what you are served, to give to others who are less fortunate, to be a good sport, to be there for your friends and family when they need you, etc.  Not doing so is equivalent to being selfish.  If this is true, then how is it not selfish when I say, "No, I can't babysit my niece and nephew this weekend" and do so for no other reason than I simply don't want to, that babysitting them drives up my anxiety until I am physically ill?  How is it not selfish to say, "No, I understand that you really want chili for dinner tonight, but I don't.  Let's have something else"?  To me, being unselfish means giving others what they want and need and making them happy.  Taking away what they want simply because I don't would then make me selfish.

I'm sure this is all just some warped idea my brain has conjured up.  I just can't find my way out of it's mess right now.  Rachel asked a question.  Do I give in because it's easier, or do I give in because I don't think I deserve to be happy and have what I want as much as others deserve to be happy and have what they want?  My blunt, truthful answer???  Both.  Yes, it is easier to give in, especially with family.  My family knows how to bully and manipulate to get what they want.  When they do so, they prey on things that make me feel worse about myself.  Of course, I want to avoid this.  If the purpose of "Saying No" and setting boundaries is to avoid things that make me anxious and to make myself happy, then how is submitting to their bullying and manipulation helping???   It definitely doesn't help me avoid things that make me feel worse.



I know that this is more of my mind's messed up thought process.  I can't keep everyone happy, and I can't keep everyone safe.  It's not possible.  I don't have that kind of control over the world.  Still, I can't wrap my mind around the thought of not doing everything possible.  I can't wrap my mind around the fact that my saying, "No, I can't go shopping today.  I know it's better for you, but I'm just not in a place, mentally, to do it.  Let's go tomorrow instead..." isn't going to hurt someone's feelings and make them upset at me, or if it does, then that's their problem, not mine.  That getting upset over something as little as that is their problem to deal with and doesn't reflect on me.  That they are adults who can deal with it themselves and make their own decisions.  That they'll either get over it and move on, or they won't, and that if they can't respect my needs, then maybe it's better I'm not around them.

All of this has made this week's "homework" overwhelming.  I'm supposed to focus on putting my needs first and setting boundaries.  I'm supposed to work on "Just Say No".  The thought of doing so makes me physically ill.  I literally started crying at the thought of this as Rachel and I discussed it during my session.  Rachel noticed and asked if we needed to back off.  Of course, I couldn't even say no to that.  I smiled, wiped away the tears, and told her I was fine, but for the last two days, I've been in a whirl of thoughts and emotions, sick to my stomach, and just an overall mess.  I know this is something I need to work on.  I know it will be hard.  I know it will eventually be possible.  I'm just not sure how I can do this, if I can do this, especially right now.

Am I Worth the Investment???

Today is World Mental Health Day, a day dedicated to promoting awareness and open discussion of mental health issues.  This year's them is "Investing in Mental Health".

I think that this is the hardest thing about therapy for me.  I have never thought of myself as worthy of an investment.  My focus has always been on making everyone else happy, doing for others as I would never do for myself.  Holidays dinners had to include all my nieces' and nephews' favorite foods.  It didn't matter how many hours I stood over the stove to do it.  It didn't matter how stressed and tired I was or whether there was anything I liked to eat.

School was always about getting the best grades.  Making my teachers and my mom happy.  In high school I felt the necessity to become involved in every activity I thought might impress a college administrator.  It didn't matter whether I chose the classes or paths I enjoyed.  It didn't matter how stressed or overwhelmed I became.

This same idea that I didn't matter spilled over into all my relationships.  I wasn't worthy of good relationships so it didn't matter how friends, family, or lovers treated me.  Because I knew that I wasn't worthy of good relationships, I never really became fully attached to anyone.  I kept a small part of me separate, knowing that in the end, people would hurt me and/or leave me.  That had always been the way my relationships had worked in the past.

Moving past these ideas and realizing that I am worthy has been the toughest thing.  The idea of my limited worth has been so ingrained for so long.  It wasn't until my mom insisted that I take time to get help through Disability Medicaid so that I could receive treatment that I even considered the option.  I had never considered therapy, because I had never considered myself worthy of it.  I didn't consider myself worthy of it, but my mom did.  It took someone else showing me that they saw my worth before I could even begin to see my own.

Through therapy, I have begun to look at this.  I have begun to see that others, not just my mom, do see worth in me.  If they see worth in me, how can I not see the worth in myself?  This has been one of the major eye-opening moments for me, simply realizing I'm worth investing in.  Realizing that investing in my own wants and needs doesn't mean that I don't care about the wants and needs of others.  Realizing that investing in my own needs is a requirement if I truly want to be there for my friends and family rather than be detached from relationships.  Therefore, for me, the first step in investing in my mental health has simply been realizing that I'm worthy of being invested in.

Power Over Poultry

For those who don't know, I have huge food contamination issues.  One of my worst has to do with uncooked meat.  I don't even like to touch the packages in the store.  I've been know to go into full panic attack mode if I do.  Hyperventilating, sobbing, the full nine yards, right in the middle of the supermarket.

I do love to cook, and this has made it really hard for me to do so in the recent years.  I'm the wash the hands several times, every minute or two, kind of girl.  Crack out the Clorox wipes and scrub down the kitchen a few times as well.  Yes, it makes sense and is important to wash your hands and disinfect surfaces when working with raw meat, but for goodness sake, it takes me 45 minutes to prepare a meatloaf for the oven!???

I understand why I have these food issues.  It's a complex combination of things.  We had to be extra careful with cleanliness and food prep when my brother had cancer.  On top of that, I have had food poisoning three times (thanks to two restaurants and a boxed food item).  One of those times, I ended up in the ER and my mom ended up hospitalized.  I've also had an uncle get E.Coli from a restaurant in Chicago.  It nearly killed him and he hasn't been the same since.  So, you can easily see where my food issues come from.

Last night, I decided to make roasted chicken legs for dinner.  It was a challenge to myself.  About a week and a half ago, I roasted a whole chicken.  Poultry is usually a HUGE issue for me.  As soon as I know I'm going to work with poultry, the OCD voice in my head starts chanting "SALMONELLA...SALMONELLA".  It starts out slowly and quietly at first and builds in both speed and volume.  Usually, by the time I finally get the bird (or bird parts) in the oven, I'm frantic and hyperventilating.  Still, I go through it, because I love chicken.

Preparing that whole chicken a week and a half ago was different though.  I prepped in advance as Rachel and I had discussed I should do when working with raw meat.  I had the oven preheated, dish out and sprayed, everything ready in advance.  All I had to do was open the chicken, remove the giblets, and get it into the dish before I could wash my hands.  All of this went off without a hitch.  The first part of Battle Poultry went as planned.  (I will admit one squeamish moment when trying to tuck back the wings.  The stupid things just didn't want to cooperate, and I felt as if I was torturing the poor creature.)  Next, I prepared the olive oil and my homemade seasoning salt by removing the lids and setting them to one side.  This allowed me to pour and season with one clean hand while rubbing the olive oil and seasoning into the bird with my second hand.  Once that was done, I used my clean hand to open the oven and stick in the bird.  Done!

All that was left, was cleaning up the mess.  I resisted the urge to wash my hands first before picking up the chicken wrappings that were laying in the sink and tossing them in the garbage.  Why I ever thought I needed clean hands to do so is beyond me.  Once the mess was out of the sink, I washed my hands, washed the kitchen shears used to open the bird, and wiped down the sink, faucet, countertop, etc. with a Clorox wipe.  I washed my hands again for good measure and left the kitchen.  I didn't return until the bird was done.  : )

You might still think that is a lot of hand washing, but really it is greatly pared down for me.  Only one Clorox wipe to boot!  That's not the biggest deal, however.  The biggest deal is that there was no panic mode, no hyperventilating.  I think the OCD voice must have taken a vacation that day, or possibly had a sore throat.  I'm not sure.  Either way, there was no chanting of "SALMONELLA...SALMONELLA".

Needless to say, I was so proud of myself that I did a little happy dance.  When I told Rachel during our last session, she said that I had every right to be proud of myself.  It is a big deal.  Yet, my OCD voice (obviously fully recovered and/or back from vacay) kicked in and told me, "It's just a one time thing.  There's no way you can do that again.  You're not strong enough."

So, last night's chicken legs were a challenge to myself and my OCD voice, a way to prove it wrong.  I'm happy to say, it went relatively well.  Was there panic?  No.  There was a moment when one of the drumsticks flipped out of my hand, flew across the counter, and came to a rest on the lid of the container to my homemade seasoning salt.  (The seasoning salt itself remained unaffected as I'd opened the container earlier.)  My first thought was, "CRAP!!!  Now the entire counter is dirty and full of germs, and I'll definitely have to wash that lid.  Will the lid dry enough to be able to put back on the seasoning salt without making the seasoning salt clump???"  Still, that was the extent of it.  They were valid thoughts.  They were reasonable and there was no repetitive chant of "SALMONELLA...SALMONELLA" and no panic.  Just annoyance at having to wash the lid and deal with the mess.

Therapy Anxiety

I have to say, the last week has been a relatively good one.  Despite the allergies, I've been relatively upbeat and have even seen a slight decrease in rituals.  The weather has been abnormally cool, rainy, and overcast.  It's more like late October than lat September.  I LOVE IT!!!!

I'm a fall kind of girl.  I love the crisp, coolness and the breeze filled with the smell of bonfires.  I love brilliance of the leaves finally showing their true colors.  I love that it is the season of pumpkins, apples, and sweet potatoes.  I am happiest in the fall.

Given the unexpectedly fall-like weather, I've been on cloud nine.  I've been curled up with a cup of tea, my dog, and a good book.  Nothing could be better.  Heck, I've even felt so energized that I've been jumping on the recumbent bike with my book, pedaling out 16-17 miles while enjoying the unusual love story between a vampire and a witch.  (Yes, I am rereading "A Discovery of Witches for the fifth time.  Don't judge me!)

Until yesterday afternoon.  At first I thought it was do to the little pop-up storm we had that turned the sky black and sent everything in my backyard swirling in circles.  But the storm passed, and despite that fact, I'm still anxious beyond belief.  Then it hit me.  Today is therapy day.

It does seem that I always get worked up the day of therapy.  There is a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and my heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest.  It's more than just the fact that going to therapy means leaving the house.  I occasionally have to leave to go shopping, and while I do get anxious, it's not this level.

I think it's a combination of knowing that in reality, I don't really control my therapy, no matter how many times Rachel tries to tell me that she works for me, and knowing that I will have to address issues that I just don't want to address and feel emotions that I just don't want to feel.  I adore Rachel.  She is a great therapist and I feel more comfortable around her than I do most people (including half of my family), but sometimes I just wish she'd get horribly lost on her way to work, blow a tire in the middle of nowhere, and have no cell phone signal, so that they would call and cancel my session.  I know.....it's terrible!  Yes, it makes me feel guilty to even think that.  (God forbid she actually gets lost, blows a tire, and has no cell signal.  I don't think I'd ever be able to face her again.)

Still, I have never cancelled or walk out of a session.  That's a good thing, right???  Despite that, I'm worried about why therapy makes me so anxious.  Is this normal????

Wonder Woman I Am Not

Today, I had someone tell me that I was their hero on a discussion board pertaining to a book I've been reading, and rereading, and then reading again.  (It's titled "A Discovery of Witches" and is by Deborah Harkness.  I love it because there is so much history, mythology, etc. embedded and so much to research to do.  The lead character also deals with some anxiety issues of her own, which I can definitely relate to.)  Several of us have been discussing and researching the book for the last few weeks and have been doing a real-time read for the last week or so.

So, why was I suddenly considered a hero???  Because after discussion about the difficulty of sifting through all the threads to find all the research everyone had done, we decided we needed to make a new thread and compile it all there.  When no one else did so, I decided to go ahead and do it myself.  Why not, I have the time and it's just the kind of thing I like.

So, with that I was suddenly a hero.  Which reminds me of something Rachel is constantly telling me during our therapy sessions.  "You are not Wonder Woman.  It is not your job to save the world."

I think this is something that a lot of us deal with.  We want to make sure everything is perfect for everyone.  Sometimes, that keeps us from taking care of ourselves and focusing on our wants and needs.  It is such a difficult, constant struggle to decide, "Am I being a kind, supportive friend/family member, or am I trying to be a superhero?"

When this woman said I was her hero, I immediately had to stop and think about it.  Was I creating the thread and compiling the information because it was something I wanted to do or was I doing it to please everyone else?  Was I doing it simply because everyone wanted it and no one else wanted to do it?  Was I doing it because I felt it would make others look up to me with added respect?  Was I doing it because it actually interested me and made me feel fulfilled?

After stopping to sort through all of this, I was secure in my choice to do it.  I really did want one centralized place to put all of my research and be able to look back on everyone else's.  That's the main reason I love this book and this discussion group.  I also love the "tedious" task of sifting through it all.  I actually find it mentally stimulating.

Still, the entire event brought to my attention the fact that I don't think through these things as much as I should.  I really need to get back to taking a breath and thinking things through in advance, figuring out what I'm doing and why I'm doing it.  I've been focusing on this with some of my rituals, such as hand washing, but haven't been applying it to these types of situations.  Who knew such a little thing on a discussion board for a piece of fiction could cause me to have such an epiphany?

I know that it will be tough to do this, but what isn't tough when dealing with anxiety disorders?  I'll try to take it one day and one decision at a time and keep reminding myself that I'm not a superhero and don't want to be one.  Being a superhero is too hard for a simple country girl like me who can't fly and doesn't own a lasso of truth.  I'd rather just be me than hide behind a mask and a secret identity.  Besides, no one would want to see me in tights and a cape.  ; )

One Of Those Days...

So....today is one of those days.  One of those days where it seems like everything goes wrong.  One of those days when the anxiety and frustration are already sky high and thus everything just seems to add up faster.

First, I've been on pins and needles because of Hurricane Irene.  No, I don't live on the east coast.  No, I've never been through a hurricane.  (Heck, I live in Northern Indiana.  Hurricanes aren't really a part of our normal weather patterns.)  Still, I've been more than a little anxious.  You see I have many friends who live on the east coast.  Yes, they are Facebook friends who I have never actually met face to face, but that doesn't make them any less important to me.  They are always there when I need them.  They support me, make me laugh, and deal with my frequent funks.  They are some of the best people I know and some of the most important people in my life.  I spent days watching CNN and waiting, impatiently, to hear of their safety.  I'm happy to now know that they are all safe.

Second, I've just felt like crap lately.  My bursitis has been acting up as have my allergies.  It's either go about my day unable to breathe or doped up on Benadryl.  Neither works well for me.  Especially when coupled with the fact that my Zoloft has been making my blood pressure run low.  It just seems to take everything I have to drag my butt out of bed and do my daily chores.

So, with all this I'm already way up to the top of my "fight or flight" threshold.  Then I log into Facebook.  They have been "updating" and "making improvements".  Some improvements.  First, I can't do anything without it begging me to take a tour of their improvements.....three times.  Next, my buttons to post links or videos are gone.  The one to "ask questions", which no one really uses anymore, is still there.  I'm just not quite sure what sense this makes, but then again, I'm not Mark Zuckerberg.  Then, out of nowhere, all the posts on my feed disappear.  There are no statuses, no links, no pictures, no nothing.   Ironically, just as I go to report the bug, they miraculously reappear.

This doesn't even take into account the fact that I've already blown a breaker, burnt my toast, and lost the sound on my tv for about 10 minutes this morning.  What a day!

This is where my outlets are supposed to come in handy.  Obviously, I won't be baking a cake today when my elbow feels the size of a basketball.  So, I turn to the next best thing:  Angry Birds.  There is something very cathartic about slingshotting birdies into fat little piggies.  In between shots, I focus on my mindfulness techniques, using my relaxing breathing.

Still, I just feel off...off the charts when it comes to my anxiety and frustration.  "Why?" my therapist would ask.  Well, the easy answer is because I'm not in control.  I can't control nature.  I can't control Facebook.  I can't control whether or not the household appliances work to my expectations.  But, why do I need to control these things?  Obviously, I want to control the weather to keep those I care about safe.  I want to control Facebook so I can easily connect and be sure that those I care about are safe.  I want to control my appliances because, well, I hate burnt toast...and also so I can watch CNN and keep tabs on the aftermath of the storm so that I know those I care about are safe.

For me, control equals safety.  I grew up in a household where I had neither, a household where being perfect was the only way to keep everyone safe.  Twenty-five years have passed, and while the man who made that household what it was is no longer in my life (for the most part), I'm still emotionally living there.  I'm still trying to make everything perfect.  I'm still trying to protect everyone.  I'm still looking for that elusive sense of safety and security that I've never been able to find.

This is what I have to remember.  When it's one of those days, it's not one of those days.  I'm not five-years-old.  I'm not in that same household.  I'm safe.  My family is safe.  No one is going to get hurt over some burnt toast or a few missing Facebook tabs.  Scrap the toast and start again.  Copy and paste the links directly into the status line.  Go on with life, enjoy breakfast and friends' status updates, and know that no one was harmed in the process (or the making of this post).