My Confusing Loss of Direction. What is my Goal in Life?

I can’t believe how long it has been since I last posted. The months have blurred together and my mind is mush. Because it has been so long since I last wrote, I’m struggling to produce coherent sentences which is confusing and depressing. I’ts as if I have lost a part of myself and I’m struggling to get it back. Over the last few months, every time I tried to write my mind would go blank and force me to quit. I was scared to write.  Scared to break my obsessive schedule. And scared that I would lose control and be consumed by my obsession for success. So instead of going through the painful process of obsession, I decided to quit and avoid the “unnecessary” struggle. Herein lies the problem: I don’t know how to do anything without completely obsessing about it. Everything I have done over the last decade has been a result of mania and obsession, which has always caused me to become mentally and physically sick leading me to quit whatever I was doing (yes graduated college, but I wasted my three years there trying to graduate early instead studying and learning).

As such, I’m currently struggling to figure out how I can do something without over obsessing about it. Also, I’m no longer manic so I can’t do as much as I want (when I was manic, I was able to handle numerous jobs and produce a tremendous amount of work. Although, the mania ultimately landed me in the hospital). Thus, I have been avoiding everything the last few months. (Rest of post after picture)

(wikipedia.org)

You might be wondering why I’m writing. Although I don’t really know why, I’ve been trying to push myself to post the last few months. Everyday I log onto my blog, check the stats, read the comments and then log off. Sometimes I would create a new post and sit there staring at the blank screen. But for some odd reason, today I decided to finally write a post. I don’t know if this means I am going to continue writing, or if anyone is even reading this. But I have realized once again, that I love to write and it makes me feel good.

On the positive side I am no longer depressed or manic (although I’m still struggling with severe social anxiety, it is not present everyday). In fact it has been over a year since I was hospitalized and my mind is finally clear. On top of that I’ve been sober since February 3rd, my longest period of sobriety since 2005.

To end this post I was wondering if any of my readers have suggestions on how to overcome obsession. Also, what are your obsession/mania stories. How has mania and OCD impacted your life?

I hope you are all well,

Dave.

Ps. Has anyone used Squidoo or Hubpages? I’m thinking about joining and trying to produce various articles.

My Struggle with Anxiety/OCD- An example of my Confusing Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

*Thank you so much for all of the comments and support. You have helped me so much and I hope you also feel better being able to comment and talk about your stories. My goal is to read all of the comments and respond to as many comments as I can. Further, if you like this post, please visit my latest post: Again thank you for all of your comets and I look forward to our future discussions

Although I’m moving closer to stability, my anxiety refuses to go away.  Last week was an anxiety filled nightmare. I made myself sick (something I used to do as a kid), convinced myself that someone or something was following me and I almost collapsed from fear of germs. It’s frustrating because every time I get closer to “normality” I end forcing myself to fall apart (well I don’t know if I’m consciously doing this, but something deep in my psyche is working against me). In fact, even with my medication my life is consumed by my obsessions…

For me to leave my apartment or go to sleep, I have to check everything to make sure it’s in the right place. I walk in circles examining various things because I’m convinced that if I don’t I will end up dying. If the word “off” on the oven knobs are not evenly split by the line marker (I don’t know what the line is called, it’s the mark you use to determine the level of heat the oven produces), I fear that the oven will turn on and fill my apartment with toxic gas causing me to suffocate in my sleep (or create a combustible environment where the apartment would explode when I open the front door). I then check all of the items on my kitchen counters out of fear that they will fall onto the floor, causing me to trip and break my while walking to the bathroom (during the night). From there I go to the bathroom and make sure that it is exactly the same as it was the day before (oddly, there is nothing that causes me fear here, it has just become part of my obsessive routine). Once I’ve checked the bathroom I then examine my TV, making sure that my protective movie stacks are in place so that my cat won’t jump up there and knock the TV over (I sleep on chair in my living room and the TV is right in front of me).

At this point I usually realize that I have wasted a tremendous amount of time, so I force myself to rush towards my next task: checking the front door. I have to touch each lock and door chain, making sure they are in place. I then relock the door handle, grip it and turn it 12 times. For me to be able to release the door knob it cannot make any noise, as I’m convinced that if it does the door is not really locked and someone could walk into my apartment and slit my throat while I was sleeping. This process usually lasts 10-15 minutes and always makes my anxiety worse. Once I’m satisfied the door is locked I move on to my last task: making sure the window blinds are fully closed. I walk back and forth while counting to three. I then move to the middle of the window where I look up and down making sure that the top, middle and bottom are closed. By this point I’m usually ready to pass out, so I go to my chair, sit down and look backwards to make sure everything is truly closed. (I apologize for this confusing/jumbled paragraph, as my anxiety has increased causing me to struggle with my ability to write. Hopefully it was readable).

Although the ending part deals with me going to sleep, the process is essentially the same when I try to go outside. When I’m really, really, really anxious/nervous this process can last for over an hour and a half.

—–

This obsession drives me crazy because it’s completely irrational. I’ve been doing this for over a year and although I feel better, I can’t get rid of this pointless process. No matter how much I try to convince myself that I won’t die I can’t seem to stop myself.

Well that is all I can write at the moment. This post was hard to produce, as it forced me to confront my anxiety and obsessions.

I was wondering if any of my readers have had similar experiences and stories? Further if you have dealt with anxiety, do you have any tips to overcome these obsessions?

I hope you are all having a great week

Dave.

Ps. My cat domino says hi and hopes everyone is doing well

My Life is Ruled by Obsessions and I can’t Stop Them!

Every time I think I have something under control another problem arises. About two weeks ago my psychiatrist put me on lamictal for depression and as a replacement for Seroquel. I had been on Seroquel for over two years and at my peak I was taking 900mg a day. The problem was that the side effects became unbearable. In fact, it got so bad that I lost my short term memory and my motivation. This made it almost impossible to converse with other people because in the middle of speaking I would forget what I was talking about and struggle to remember basic words. During this period I would spend hours doing nothing, staring at my computer screen in a complete daze. This period of  my life lasted for over three months, until I realized that Seroquel was the cause of my problems. When I dropped my dosage, the side effects began to disappear and eventually my short term memory returned. However, another problem arose- depression. By decreasing my  Seroquel, I no longer had the ability to control my depression and as a result, I fell into dark emotional hole.

Fast forward six months and my psychiatrist and I finally found a way to stop the depression: lamictal. As I noted above I have been on lamictal for about two weeks and amazingly it has reduced my depression. I no longer feel the deep dread and mental darkness that had consumed me for the last six months. Instead I am now consumed by extreme anxiety and OCD. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, because every time I cure one problem another one arises and it’s driving me fucking crazy. Everyday I do the exact same thing (more after the picture):

(http://knowocd.wordpress.com/)

I wake up between 5 and 7 pm (I sleep during the day and stay up at night), roll up my blanket, put my chairs away (i’m afraid to sleep in my bedroom, so I sleep on a chair in my living room) and put my blanket in another room. I then make a cup of coffee,  turn on laptop and sit down. I first log into my blog and bemoan the fact that I  no longer  write, I beat myself up for being a waste of space and then close my blog in disgust. Next I search for Kotaku (a video game website) and from there I start reading their articles, which usually sends me to other articles on other sites.  For the next 5-6 hours I read countless articles, journals and papers on a wide range of topics, the only time I leave is to go to the bathroom or make a cup of coffee. I forgot, about 2 hours into my reading, I realize that I have yet to take my pills, so I search for my trileptal (a mood-stabilizing drug that  is also used for anti-convulsion)  and subutex (a generic semi-synthetic opioid used to stop my cravings for pain killers) which is taken sublingual and dissolves in one hour. During that time I am still reading. After six hours of reading and 5 cups of coffee, I realize that I have wasted most of the early evening and I start beating myself up. As I do everyday, I complain to myself that I spend way to much time on the internet when I could be doing other things. This usually goes on for 20 minutes, during which I get dressed to go out and get food.

By this time it’s usually 12:30 or 1 am. There is only one restaurant that is open, Alerto’s Mexican food.  They only take cash, so I have to go to 7-11 to buy a breakfast bar and receive cash back. I then race across the street, enter the drive through and order a burrito, a cheese quesadilla and a torta. I pull up to the window and hand the money to teller making sure I do not make eye contact. I’m to scared to look someone I don’t know in the eyes. Out side of saying thank you, I do not speak to the teller, it is way to scary to make small talk. About 10 minutes later I receive my food, race home, wash my dishes, make another cup of coffee, put out towels in front of my computer, turn on netflix and watch a TV show while eating. When I finish eating, I throw everything away and return to watching my show. When the show ends I have two options, continue watching the show for the rest of the night or play video games. The decision is usually based on how depressed I am- if I’m extremely depressed I watch TV.  This goes on till around 7:30 am, at which time I realize I have to go to be.

This is where the next obsession starts. I turn off my computer.  I then collect all of medication bottles place them in a circle on my desk, in front of my computer. I then go to the bathroom, wipe the grease off my face, complain that I don’t brush my teeth, which then causes me to beat myself up again. After a few minutes, I collect my clothes which are on my floor, go into my bedroom, put on some shorts, exit my bedroom and walk towards my table. I then make sure everything is in its right place. I then go to the oven and make sure every dial is set at off, where the line goes evenly through the word off, because if its not perfect then I am convinced it will  turn on while I’m  asleep and I will suffocate and die. From there, I make sure every object on all of my counters are in the right spot, because if  they are not I’m afraid they will fall and if I have to go to the bathroom I will trip on them, fall, break my neck and die. I then go back into my bedroom and get my blanket. Afterwards I check the window in my bedroom, making sure its in the right place because if it’s not, then someone will break in and slit my throat while I’m sleeping.  I then make my way out of my bedroom and recheck everything I had previously checked, because if I don’t I will die.

From there, I go to my front door, check spend the next 10 minutes checking my door knob,  making sure the door is  really locked, because if it’s  not perfect someone will break in and slit my throat. From there I check my blinds, over and over and over again, making sure they are perfect, because if they are not someone will break in. Finally, I make my way to my chair, fall into it and pass out.

As you can see, all of my obsessions revolve around the fear that someone or something will kill me. Because of that, I do the same exactly thing everyday, in the exact same way.

My life is completely fucked. I’m sorry about the really really long post, but I needed to talk about this, because everything seems to be falling apart. The reason why I was able to motivate myself to post is because I spilled coffee all over my laptop. Its fucking dead, I killed another fucking laptop and I don’t know why I keep doing this.  My life is completely ruled by my obsessions and they won’t stop.

Dave.

Manic Depressive Illness: When Depression hits Like a Ton of Bricks- My Therapy Session

I saw my therapist yesterday and it turned out to be a very difficult session. I’m not used to having a therapist who pokes and prods and takes an interest in my mental health- my previous therapists were crap and rarely cared about my progress (this will be the topic of a later post, detailing the potential damage psychotherapists can cause). So when Dr. J started digging into the root of my depression, I was not ready for the outcome…

The first part of the session was spent talking about various aspects of the mental health world- in a previous session I had told Dr. J that I was writing a blog about my struggles with mental health, so he was updating me on various topics and studies. This lasted for a few minutes, until the conversation began turning towards my life. We started talking about how my week went and the fact that I’m still isolating. However, that was not my main concern, so I shifted the conversation towards the subject of mixed episodes. Dr. J asked me a few questions about my episodes and we began discussing how my emotional state has changed over the last few years (a lot of it due to my drug use. This will be the topic of a future post). It was around this point that I began to fall apart. The more Dr. J dug into my mental state, the more I started to loose control of my mind. I don’t know what the breaking point was, but something he his said sent me spinning.

The walls started closing in and I felt myself shrinking into my chair. A wave of darkness washed over me and the only thing that I could think of was, get me the hell out of here! I could see Dr. J sitting across from me, trying to engage me in discussion, but my mind had other plans.  I could barely move, I could barely think and the walls continued to close in. The depression was growing and I couldn’t fight it; instead I spent all of my energy trying to stop myself from crying (I do cry, however, it embarrasses me to cry in front of other people, shit it embarrasses me to just be in the presence of other people). What the fuck was I going to do? How the hell did this depression start? Why am I acting like this? Why am I being tortured by my mind? I hate myself! I hate myself! I hate myself!  The mental screaming only made my situation worse, as the darkness began to tighten its grip. I still could barely understand Dr. J and although I wanted to speak up, my mind was occupied. As I stated in my title, the depression had hit me like a ton of bricks.

Eventually the depression began to weaken, and I was able to regain control of my mind (I know this was a quick leap from deep depression to stability, but I didn’t want to ramble on and on about my depressive state. That could have taken up hundreds and hundreds of words). I could finally hear Dr. J clearly and we began discussing what I had felt. He determined that a lot of my episodes are situational, as exemplified by the episode I had just experienced. The session ended a few minutes later and I was happy to leave (well happy that I had survived the session). By the time I made it home, I was exhausted. Although I wasn’t completely depressed I was lethargic, un-motivated and stressed.

End-post questions:

Have you ever experienced an episode during a therapy session? If so, would you be willing to share.

How do you keep your therapy sessions on topic? Sometimes I struggle with going on random tangents that take away from  my session time. Does anyone else struggle with this?

Are your episodes situational? Do events, memories or actions cause an episode to start?

 

I hope you are all having a great weekend.

Dave.

Manic Depressive Illness- How Anxiety & Paranoia Control My Life Part 2

Although I was diagnosed with manic-depressive illness I also suffer from anxiety and paranoia. At times it feels like my life is being controlled by my anxiety.  Most days I feel like some unknown entity is out to kill me, other days I’m convinced my mind is a living being that is trying to fuck with me and make my life miserable. Actually this is a major issue for me- as I have gotten older and my mental illness has evolved, I’ve become convinced that my mind is trying to destroy me. I know this might seem crazy, but it’s a real issue for me and one that I struggle with everyday. The problem is I can’t take anti-anxiety meds because of my addictive nature (when I left the psych ward I was give a bottle of ativan. Instead of following the directions I ended up snorting 6 pills, almost causing myself to overdose. It fucking sucks that I can’t take anti-anxiety meds to combat my paranoia, panic attacks and anxiety). So I’m stuck.

Even worse, my anxiety and paranoia usually morphs into a manic or mixed episode (manic and depressed at the same time. This is one of most dangerous states because you no longer care about life and your only goal is to destroy everything. I will come back to the topic of mixed episodes in the next few posts) making my life even worse. At times I truly believe that I’m a slave to my anxiety and paranoia- I can’t function, my thoughts race and my mind is usually out of control forcing me to believe that I’m worthless piece of shit. As a result, I’m scared to death to ask for help. I’ve been struggling with my mind for years, but due to my fear and embarrassment I’ve kept this problem a secret.

It fucking hurts. But I can no longer stay silent.

I’ve been struggling with this issue for so long that I truly believe my mind is creature that is trying to devour me. But I’m hopeful. I know that if I raise my hand and ask for help I can finally get rid of this paranoid thinking. I need to remind myself that I have made a lot of progress the last few weeks: I’ve been sober 22 days, I’m getting out of the house more, I spent a week in a psych ward which has helped me gain control over my mental state, I’ve met new people and I’ve gotten rid of all my drug friends and dealers. This is the most stable I’ve been in 7 years.

But my life is still being controlled by anxiety and paranoia. Every night before I go to bed I wash my hands at least 5 or 6 times, I check my front door and turn the knob at least 5-10 times making sure it is truly locked. I turn the lights on and off, making sure everything is in its place. Some nights I enter my bedroom and I have to go back out to make sure the front door is locked, even though I had checked it a half dozen times. My life is controlled by even numbers, because I am convinced odd numbers are evil. Although my apartment is messy I’m scared to death by other people’s “diseases.”

Last week my toilet broke. It was one of the most stressful periods in my life, not only did I have to use someone else’s toilet, but people I did not know entered my apartment. It got so bad that I made myself sick and constipated. For two days I couldn’t function because I was so paranoid and convinced that my body was going to die. Although I survived, it was still a very scary experience that took me awhile to get over.

I have to stop writing. This is a very hard topic for me to discuss because it’s unnerving as well as embarrassing. But I realize that I am not alone.

Dave.

Manic Depressive Illness: How Anxiety can Take Over Your Life

My anxiety has increased exponentially over the last few weeks. Well actually, it started while I was in the psych ward (side note: I’m extremely ashamed and embarrassed about my anxiety. I do things that are illogical and sometimes crazy. I make myself sick as well as unstable. However, I want to write about this so that if someone out there suffers from anxiety (or OCD or panic attacks) they will realize they’re not alone). Although my apartment is a mess and I don’t sh0wer sometimes , I’m deathly afraid of public toilets and showers (the list doesn’t stop there- used cars, hotel beds, door knobs, other people’s hands. The list goes on and on and on). So when I was put in the psych ward, not only was I scared of being hospitalized, I was beyond scared of having to use a communal toilet.

For two days I didn’t go to the bathroom. I held it in, praying that I would make it to the end of the week. By Thursday (I entered the psych ward on Tuesday) I was in so much pain I could no longer sit. Pacing up and down the hallway I tried my hardest not to cry. My mind was racing, my palms were sweaty and my legs were numb. Finally I decided to go to the nurses station and ask for help. The nurse’s first reaction- they brushed me off, claiming it was not a valid problem. I asked again and they told me to stop complaining and just go to the bathroom. I begged them to have someone clean the toilet. I must have looked pathetic because one of the nurses finally listened and called a house keeper. A few minutes later the toilet was clean.

Unfortunately, my mind was not satisfied. I put 10 seat covers on the toilet and covered the back area in toilet paper. I washed my hands at least three times and still tried to convince myself not to go. Eventually I went and the horrific experience was over. Thankfully I left the psych ward a few days later. But my paranoia didn’t stop there. At one point I was convinced someone was sleeping in my bed, so each night I would sleep in my clothes on top of the sheets and blanket. It was fucking cold, but I didn’t care. I was too worried that I would get a disease, rash or some other horrible ailment (yes I know it’s beyond irrational but my mind makes me believe its real).

I must have washed my hands an average of 20 times a day while I was in the psych ward. The problem was that the soap was alcohol based, so my hands dried and cracked. There are numerous other instances where my anxiety took over, however, I’m too ashamed to write about them.

Before I left the psych ward, I asked my doctor if he had anything I could take for my anxiety, so he prescribed me ativan That was a mistake. He knew I had a history of addiction and yet he still prescribed me a benzo (as I pointed out in a previous post, two hours after I left the psych ward, I crushed up six ativans and snorted them).

I’m going to stop writing. I still a ton of anxiety related stories, however, this post took a lot out of me. I hope that you are all doing well.

Dave.