In response to my last two posts, a reader has asked me if I can pinpoint the cause for my fear of toilet snakes. After I gave it some thought, I was reminded of a quote from an episode of FOX's sitcom The Simpsons called Fear of Flying. In that episode, Marge realizes that she has an extreme fear of flying. While she and her psychologist explore her cause for this fear, the psychologist says "Yes, yes, it's all a rich tapestry."
I think that I can apply this theory to my life as well. There have been several things that have happened throughout my life that have caused my many fears and worries. Some occurances may have more weight than others, but "I" am the sum of my many experiences.
If I look back at the many experiences that may have contributed to my obsession with toilet snakes, then I can point to the following happenings as major culprits:
1. As a young child (0-5 years)I lived in a very rural setting on a dirt road. The only other house in the "neighborhood" was abandoned and resembled (in my mind) the spooky rundown mansion that is shown during the opening of Scooby Doo episodes. In my memory, this forsaken area was teaming (or so it seemed) with large black snakes. Every nook and cranny either harbored a slithering creature or threatened to. Even the inside of my house was not safe from intrusion. Snakes would appear in our washing machine, often in the basement, and at least once in my toy box. I used to scream at night for my father to come and rescue me from the imaginary snakes crawling under the covers on my bed.
2. In those early days described above, my grandparents house was between 1-2 miles away. It resided on 40 acres that had been owned by my family for three generations. While my father was growing up, the old things of the earlier generations (outdoor shower, outdoor toilets, oneroom school house, hand dug well, hand dug septic system) were still in existence and were still being used. Their property was crawling with snakes, too. I can remember stories of my father taking an outdoor shower and looking up to find a snake hanging from the shower head. I found a few snakes there myself, usually sunning themselves on rocks in the pasture.
3. After my family moved to the city, we would still visit my grandparents on the farm. The outhouse was no longer in use, but critters still prevailed. My grandfather found a bat in the toilet one day. I'm not really afraid of bats, though. However, if a bat could get into a toilet, my young mind told me that a snake could get in as well.
4. I have kind of a macbre facination with snakes overall. I love to see them when they are behind glass at a zoo or behind the glass of my TV screen. Therefore, I have induldged every opportunity to gawk at them and marvel at the shivers that they provoke in myself and most of our population.
While writing and looking through this list, one thing strikes me as being odd. I've never actually encountered a snake in my toilet. Yes, the thought of such an occurance is traumatic. The possibility of it happening is extremely slim. I've never had the pleasure and have never heard of anyone meeting a toilet snake. Yet, I've wasted emotion and energy on fear that will never be realized.
Even though my many experiences have added up to this particular fear....and the fear is real and has real effects....the possibility of the compenents of my fear ever becoming tangible is nearly ZERO.
Hmmm...this equation is not blanced.
Showing posts with label psychology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label psychology. Show all posts
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Dog Fighting and Depravity
Caution: This post is off-topic a bit, possibly.
There have been a lot of images and reports recently in the media about the world of dog fighting for money or entertainment. This type of activity sickens me!!!
I know first-hand how dangerous and disturbing two fighting dogs can be. Unfortunately for my family, our two beloved corgis began to fight each other about a year ago. The occurrences started with a growl and a nip and ended (most recently) with blood and eye surgery. We decided to give away our female and keep our male (pictured above) for their safety and for my 4-year old son's safety.
Keep in mind that the dog fights I was witness to were between two household dogs that (for all other purposes) loved each other. The fights would only last a few seconds before we had to physically rip them apart amidst an unsavory spray of blood and saliva. Dogs can do a lot of damage to themselves and to others in a short period of time when their teeth and claws meet flesh. I suffered some severe (but not permanent) tissue damage from one dog bite that occurred when I tried to break my sweeties apart. (My vet says to never become mixed in a dog fight, but what can you do when you see your pets tearing each other apart and no other method is working?)
The thought that there are people that intentionally antagonize dogs to orchestrate a dog fight is a thought that victimizes me. When I hear about the incidents or see videos that precede a dog fighting ring being reported on the news, I want to vomit. The people that are involved in such an atrocious activity as dog fighting and derive some sort of pleasure from it are depraved. The pain that the act elicits is akin to torture. The individuals that take part in such psychotic acts are like the ancient Colosseum organizers that doomed Christians and gladiators, with the exception that these modern sadists lack creativity.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Morphing Obsessions and Getting Needed Help
Even though OCD can be nauseatingly repetitive, it can also throw a few curve balls. The obsessions and compulsions are somewhat akin to mutating viruses...once the original virus/obsession becomes manageable it will morph into something completely new.
In my last post, I covered in depth the ritual I developed with checking locks and alarm clocks. Over the years, these obsessions and compulsions changed to include checking my parking brake, reopening and checking sealed letters, reopening and checking e-mails, checking to make sure that I hadn't run over someone with my car, going over past conversations to make sure that I hadn't said anything offensive, mentally repeating phrases, obsessing about events and decisions at work, the list goes on and on. I won't even go into intrusive thoughts at this time.
I was able to live with these things, even though I didn't know that my problem was OCD at the time. Eventually, however, my obsessions and compulsions became so pronounced and disturbing that they took over my life. I stopped eating and sleeping and ceased to function in a normal sense. At that point, I finally decided to seek help from a professional.
My first therapist visits were free through a corporate mental health program. This therapist felt that I had generalized anxiety and panic issues. He felt that in my case, medication would be helpful and pointed me toward a psychiatrist. My psychiatrist indicated that I had OCD and finally the pieces of my jigsaw life began to fall into place.
My medication (Paxil at the time) and cognitive therapy did wonders to help me learn to manage my issues. I will go into both medication and cognitive therapy in future posts.
I want to end with this post with two of the many important things that I learned about OCD from my psychiatrist.
1. OCD is like pressurized water that will seek out a crack (stress or anxiety) and leak through.
2. Traditional anxiety and depression medications (Paxil, Zoloft, Prozac) can and will be used to treat OCD, but often in higher dosages.
And now...the moral of the story: If you feel that you may have OCD, please seek professional help even if it is not causing unmanageable distress. Tame the cat when it is still a kitten and before it becomes a full-grown lion.
In my last post, I covered in depth the ritual I developed with checking locks and alarm clocks. Over the years, these obsessions and compulsions changed to include checking my parking brake, reopening and checking sealed letters, reopening and checking e-mails, checking to make sure that I hadn't run over someone with my car, going over past conversations to make sure that I hadn't said anything offensive, mentally repeating phrases, obsessing about events and decisions at work, the list goes on and on. I won't even go into intrusive thoughts at this time.
I was able to live with these things, even though I didn't know that my problem was OCD at the time. Eventually, however, my obsessions and compulsions became so pronounced and disturbing that they took over my life. I stopped eating and sleeping and ceased to function in a normal sense. At that point, I finally decided to seek help from a professional.
My first therapist visits were free through a corporate mental health program. This therapist felt that I had generalized anxiety and panic issues. He felt that in my case, medication would be helpful and pointed me toward a psychiatrist. My psychiatrist indicated that I had OCD and finally the pieces of my jigsaw life began to fall into place.
My medication (Paxil at the time) and cognitive therapy did wonders to help me learn to manage my issues. I will go into both medication and cognitive therapy in future posts.
I want to end with this post with two of the many important things that I learned about OCD from my psychiatrist.
1. OCD is like pressurized water that will seek out a crack (stress or anxiety) and leak through.
2. Traditional anxiety and depression medications (Paxil, Zoloft, Prozac) can and will be used to treat OCD, but often in higher dosages.
And now...the moral of the story: If you feel that you may have OCD, please seek professional help even if it is not causing unmanageable distress. Tame the cat when it is still a kitten and before it becomes a full-grown lion.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Back In The Day and Feeding Your OCD
OCD is sometimes called the "Doubter's Disorder" or "The Doubter's Disease". These phrases seem to sum up both the cause (in part) and the effects of OCD.
As a young person (and as an adult), I was riddled with self-doubt. I had very few friends and my self-esteem and self-confidence were very low. Once I became old enough for important responsibility my basement low self-confidence would bar me from ever believing I could perform a task without error. I had to do and redo simple tasks such as locking the front door or setting my alarm clock in order to convince myself that I had done them correctly. When my Mom noticed me doing these things she would say "Just don't do it anymore!" Why not! Shouldn't not relocking a door or not resetting an alarm clock be easy? I guess for normal people, it is.
For instance, this sadly humorous account of a bedtime ritual speaks for doubter's everywhere:
10:30 PM Arrive home late from play practice.
10:31 PM Lock the front door.
10:35 PM Go upstairs and get ready for bed.
11:00 PM Lay in bed and wonder if the door is really locked.
11:02 PM Go back downstairs and check to see if the door is locked.
11:03 PM See that the door is locked and proceed back upstairs to bed.
11:10 PM Lay in bed and worry that I really just unlocked the door when I checked the door the first time.
11:20 PM Proceed back downstairs to double check that the door is locked.
11:21 PM Unlock the door. Relock the door. Step back from the door and see that the door is locked.
11:23 PM Proceed back upstairs to bed.
11:30 PM Lay in bed and worry that the lock didn't entirely engage when I locked it the last time. Curse myself. Laugh a little at my weirdness.
11:35 PM Proceed back downstairs to triple check the door to make sure that it is locked.
11:36 PM Bend down and look that lock square in the eye. Check the space between the door and the frame to make sure that the bolt part of the lock engaged fully. Lock and relock the door a few more times watching the bolt traverse the space between the door and the door frame. Step back from the door, stand up and say "The door is now locked."
11:40 PM Go back upstairs to go to sleep.
11:45 PM Lay in bed and wonder if my alarm clock is set.......
You get the picture, right?
There are some parts to this scenario and the wiring of the human brain that make the above a very vicious circle.
1. Ever, ever, ever finding the door to be unlocked on a recheck became proof that the compulsion/ritual was required to make sure that the door would be locked at night.
2. Finding the door locked was always pleasing and my brain then gave me a little endorphin shot that my body became dependent on.
3. Either way...I was screwed.
As a young person (and as an adult), I was riddled with self-doubt. I had very few friends and my self-esteem and self-confidence were very low. Once I became old enough for important responsibility my basement low self-confidence would bar me from ever believing I could perform a task without error. I had to do and redo simple tasks such as locking the front door or setting my alarm clock in order to convince myself that I had done them correctly. When my Mom noticed me doing these things she would say "Just don't do it anymore!" Why not! Shouldn't not relocking a door or not resetting an alarm clock be easy? I guess for normal people, it is.
For instance, this sadly humorous account of a bedtime ritual speaks for doubter's everywhere:
10:30 PM Arrive home late from play practice.
10:31 PM Lock the front door.
10:35 PM Go upstairs and get ready for bed.
11:00 PM Lay in bed and wonder if the door is really locked.
11:02 PM Go back downstairs and check to see if the door is locked.
11:03 PM See that the door is locked and proceed back upstairs to bed.
11:10 PM Lay in bed and worry that I really just unlocked the door when I checked the door the first time.
11:20 PM Proceed back downstairs to double check that the door is locked.
11:21 PM Unlock the door. Relock the door. Step back from the door and see that the door is locked.
11:23 PM Proceed back upstairs to bed.
11:30 PM Lay in bed and worry that the lock didn't entirely engage when I locked it the last time. Curse myself. Laugh a little at my weirdness.
11:35 PM Proceed back downstairs to triple check the door to make sure that it is locked.
11:36 PM Bend down and look that lock square in the eye. Check the space between the door and the frame to make sure that the bolt part of the lock engaged fully. Lock and relock the door a few more times watching the bolt traverse the space between the door and the door frame. Step back from the door, stand up and say "The door is now locked."
11:40 PM Go back upstairs to go to sleep.
11:45 PM Lay in bed and wonder if my alarm clock is set.......
You get the picture, right?
There are some parts to this scenario and the wiring of the human brain that make the above a very vicious circle.
1. Ever, ever, ever finding the door to be unlocked on a recheck became proof that the compulsion/ritual was required to make sure that the door would be locked at night.
2. Finding the door locked was always pleasing and my brain then gave me a little endorphin shot that my body became dependent on.
3. Either way...I was screwed.
OCD On A Stick: The Beginning
The National Institute of Mental Health reports that nearly 1% of Americans have some sort of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). I always knew that I was special in some way.
I was diagnosed as having OCD (primarily an anxiety disorder) in my 20's, but I began exhibiting symptoms in my teens. Unlike the extremely sexy compulsions that we see on TV (obsessive counting and cleaning), I have more subtle symptoms like checking locks, checking clocks, and intrusive thoughts.
As harmless as these compulsions seem, OCD can be debilitating in the extreme if not managed properly and/or medicated correctly. It is even helpful for the sufferer if (on a good day) he or she can step back and have a good laugh at the worries and the ticks.
The course of these posts will be aimed at exposing the disorder, sharing what I have learned in terms of managing the disorder and also logging my progress and setbacks. I hope to have some feedback from my fellow sufferers (and others) so that we can all learn and grow together. Last, but not least, let's laugh at ourselves and those darned intrusive thoughts and compulsions.
I was diagnosed as having OCD (primarily an anxiety disorder) in my 20's, but I began exhibiting symptoms in my teens. Unlike the extremely sexy compulsions that we see on TV (obsessive counting and cleaning), I have more subtle symptoms like checking locks, checking clocks, and intrusive thoughts.
As harmless as these compulsions seem, OCD can be debilitating in the extreme if not managed properly and/or medicated correctly. It is even helpful for the sufferer if (on a good day) he or she can step back and have a good laugh at the worries and the ticks.
The course of these posts will be aimed at exposing the disorder, sharing what I have learned in terms of managing the disorder and also logging my progress and setbacks. I hope to have some feedback from my fellow sufferers (and others) so that we can all learn and grow together. Last, but not least, let's laugh at ourselves and those darned intrusive thoughts and compulsions.
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