Doing homework from an OCD perspective

I've been doing hours of ELL homework tonight, as I am two classes away from being ELL certified and have to finish the courses before the first ones I took expire.  Our district requires a certain number of these classes completed within a set period of time. This is all happening right in the middle of trying to finish grad school.  The timing is beautiful.  And after the 2015 calendar year, I will never take a university class ever again.  You can quote me on that.   

As I do my homework tonight, I fight little OCD battles continuously.  They are so much easier to combat, however, now that I know the character of the enemy I fight.  As I'm reading my assigned chapter of the text, there is a chart that is not part of the main body of the reading. I start to read every word of it, as I feel like I won't have honestly read the chapter if I don't read every word on each page.  I stop myself.  I decide to get the main points of the chart and skim the rest.  I have achieved a small victory!

Next are the video clips.  We have to take notes on 27 different clips online of a teacher and his/her classroom. Some clips are 6 minutes long.  I feel like I am going to pull my eyeballs out of their sockets.  I think to myself, "I've filled in the entire box of notes for this six clip and there are still two minutes left.  Haven't I gotten the gist of this clip by now?  Isn't it okay to move on?" But it isn't.  Not for me tonight  I have to watch until the time runs out on each and every one.  This is a fight I can't win this time around.

Last is the survey.  A big nightmare for people suffering from OCD, especially scrupulosity, are self-evaluations like these:

Trying to give an honest indication of how I am doing in countless, detailed categories is a nightmare. How can I accurately and honestly judge everything I do? I feel much better and more honest giving myself a low score on everything. That way, I can be sure I didn't dishonestly overestimate what kind of teacher I am.  For some reason, underestimation doesn't bother me.  It doesn't feel like dishonesty. This goes to show how distorted one's obsessive compulsive thinking becomes when left to its own devices.  Luckily, we who have been down this road over and over again have collected coping mechanisms through therapy, medication, and life experience to maintain equilibrium.

But it's a war we never stop fighting.

Scrupulosity

Since I began sharing my story about OCD, I have gotten sweet emails, phone calls, comments, and Facebook messages from people who have played roles in many different parts of my life.  It is the personal stories they share that keep me motivated to continue offering whatever insight I can from my own experience. A former mission companion submitted a post on depression that I have not yet published because I have to translate it from Portuguese to English first. Stay tuned!

One friend surprised me after my first mental illness blog post by identifying my anxiety as scrupulosity, which I had not yet revealed to readers. He knew because he had identical experiences and was a fellow sufferer of this particular form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  In light of this new connection, we decided to get together to share experiences and offer support.  It was amazing.  I can't describe what it feels like to talk to someone who really "gets it" because they have been down the same road.  It's a different experience than talking with a therapist.  For example, I would say to him, "Did you ever do [insert irrational behavior here]" and he would throw back his head and laugh because he knew exactly what I was talking about.   

Sometimes, I would reveal something I obsessed over and he would look at me with wide eyes because he couldn't believe how irrational it was.  The next minute, he would share one of his own obsessions, and I would say, "That's so weird!" We recognized easily that the other had nothing to worry about regarding that particular issue; yet, we both spent an inordinate amount of time suffering over it.

As we shared experiences back and forth, I was reminded of some funny things I did on my mission in order to relieve my guilty conscience. 

When I was a young girl, I knew my church taught us to avoid coffee and tea because of the addictive nature of caffeine.  On my own, I took it a step further: I never drank caffeinated soda. To clarify, nowhere in our church doctrine does it restrict Dr. Pepper or Coke; this was a rule I imposed on myself based on rumors I heard.  The guilt I knew I would feel drinking it outweighed any desire on my part to go near it.  One day, my companion and I were served tall cups of Coke in someone's home in Brazil.  I knew there was absolutely no way I could drink that soda and have a clean conscience. Not wanting to be rude, I subtly went to the bathroom and poured it down the sink and returned with the empty cup.  Then the guilt set in.  I had been dishonest.  I not only wasted their drink, but I led them to believe I drank it.  What started out as one obsession (not drinking caffeine) turned in to a different obsession (being honest).  Whenever I look back on that experience, I kick myself.  If I could go back, I would down that Coke in a heartbeat. They were sharing what they had with me.  There was no scripture that said I could not drink it.  Why was I so rigid to a standard imposed on me by only myself? Why couldn't I understand the spirit of the law. I now know why I couldn't bring myself to drink it. And I'm grateful that my ability to discern right from wrong is much keener now that I've recognized the way my brain works and found ways to cope.

Another time, my companion and I were in the home of a less active member of the church.  She was extremely nervous about having us over for lunch because she hadn't fed the missionaries in quite some time.  We noticed her pouring what looked like wine over the salad.  Being obsessively paranoid, I asked her about it.  She said, "Well, since we don't drink wine, I use it on salad instead."  I knew saying something or refusing to eat the food she prepared would hurt her feelings deeply.  My companion had already eaten her salad before we found out about the wine for dressing.  I, however, panicked about the uneaten salad on my plate.  When the woman went in to the kitchen, I picked up the remaining salad with my hand it shoved it in to my coat pocket.  My companion and I struggled with all our might to hold it together for the rest of the meal.  This was another situation where two obsessive desires battled each other.  I absolutely did not want to hurt this sweet sister's feelings; yet, I could not eat the salad without feeling like I gravely sinned.  So, I found a "resolution" to my guilt that wasn't actually a reasonable solution. 

This leads me to another thing my friend and I discussed tonight.  When someone has OCD, he/she feels a compulsive need to resolve his/her obsessions. Someone who is worried about germs might compulsively brush his/her teeth or hands to relieve the obsession of feeling dirty.  With scrupulosity, one's obsessions are most always centered around guilt.  One common way to relieve the guilt is to ask someone for validation.  For example, when I was in high school and college (before I knew anything about OCD or scrupulosity), I constantly called my mom and recounted scenarios similar to the following: "Mom, on my test today, I forgot to do the back and got a bad grade. When I showed my teacher, she let me re-do it with no questions asked.  Is that cheating because normally teachers shouldn't let me do that?" I couldn't allow my mind to rest until my mom assured me that what I did was not dishonest.  After my mission, however, my therapist advised me to tell those who I was used to calling for reassurance that they were no longer allowed to validate my irrational fears.  I had to learn how to validate myself.  A couple friends tried to hold me to that rule. It was difficult because I had not yet trained myself to do it. 

My friend swears by the book Brain Lock by Jeffrey M. Schwartz.  I am looking forward to reading it because the title is a perfect description of what happens to those of us who cannot let go of an irrational fear.  Has anyone else out there read it?

Let's Talk About What is Commonly Known as Mental Illness: Part 6

Tonight is my first performance of the holiday season with my HHS Madrigals. I am so excited! I have an incredible bunch of kids and we have lots of cool gigs lined up for the month of December.  Tonight, we get to sing for US Veterans who are now in a nursing home.  It is one of my favorite performances we give each year.

As I sit in my (a bit too snug) dress and heels, I can't help but remember this time last year.  I was in graduate school approaching finals week, I was working a six hour shift at the temple on Saturdays, I had just begun a new calling in the stake, and I was starting another very busy music season with my choirs. 

Right in the middle of this blizzard of early mornings and long days, I got it in my head that I wasn't serving enough.  I feel richly blessed, and I felt like I was being totally ungrateful by not doing something nice for every single person I knew. I started to to obsess over it.  I would make treats and deliver them to a group of people, only to remember an entirely different group of people I forgot. I couldn't let it go.  Rather than seeing the contributions I made, I only saw what I was missing.   It was no longer about serving people or spreading love. It was about me reaching an unattainable quota I imposed on myself so I wouldn't feel guilty anymore. I tried to give back in three weeks what my friends, family, and co-workers gave me gradually over an entire year.  I wanted to repay all my debts and say all my thank yous.

Needless to say, I got to a breaking point.  I had to change my attitude or else complete and utter misery was going to be my constant companion.  I had a heart-to-heart with my parents about what I was feeling.  I needed someone's permission to let go of the guilt and worry. Their assurances and love are the most powerful tools to help me overcome intense anxiety.  Of course, I know I can't lean entirely on them for support; I have to do my part through counseling and medication when necessary.  But knowing they are there makes everything seem bearable. 

I am grateful for that experience, because I refuse to make the same mistake this year.  I am going to keep my focus on the spirit of the season and not make it about me.  I will try to show my love through my words and smiles when I'm too busy to do anything else. 

Let's Talk About "Mental Illness": Part 5

The other day, I was chatting with my sister-in-law about this series.  I addressed the stigma that mental illness is often viewed as something controllable by the individual.  Many think it's "all in one's head."  She said, "Yes, just look at what people call it...mental illness" [emphasis added]. I always knew something sounded off with that designation.  Do any readers have better suggestions? What can it be called to illustrate what it really is?

One of the biggest battles I fight as a sufferer of OCD is learning to love and accept myself.  I constantly dwell on all the areas where I am falling short, and they are magnified in my mind. I couldn't understand why this was something so difficult for me to overcome. I had parents and siblings who loved and supported me endlessly. They constantly told me they were proud of me and loved me. But it was never enough to satisfy my need for perfection.  Good wasn't good enough. People often say, "Do your best. That's all anyone can ask of you." But I always rebutted this idea in my mind.  I thought, "If I am really trying my best, I wouldn't make mistakes. I know how I am supposed to act; therefore, when I don't do it, I am not trying my best." 

When I was in the music ed program in college, I was required to participate in  master classes with all the other vocal emphasis majors. They were horrifying.  We had to prepare a song to sing in front of the group and wait while our professor gave us public feedback.  I was particularly self-conscious because I was an education major and not a vocal performance major.  My voice, therefore, was not at the same level as some of my vocal performance peers.  The first time I had to perform in this group setting, I fasted and prayed for at least a week beforehand so I could conquer my fear.

During one particular master class, I was in a group with a professor in the vocal performance department who I didn't know well because he was not one of my class instructors or my voice teacher.  I sang my piece and waited for his response.  He looked at me and said, "Katie, you are very hard on yourself."  I nodded, as this is something I was accustomed to hearing.  He then uttered words that bore in to my soul:  "But because you're hard on yourself, you're also hard on other people." I was stunned and, quite frankly, mortified.  Never before had I considered that I imposed my own struggle to accept myself on other people.  He was telling me I held myself and everyone else to an impossible standard.  I don't really remember what he said after that, but it doesn't matter. I got the message.

Later, my professor apologized to me for saying something so personal in front of my peers, especially when he didn't know me very well.  But I think it was an inspired message.  I don't know how he hit the nail on the head when he barely knew my name.  No one else in that class will ever remember what he said.  I doubt he remembers. But I will never, ever forget. I reflect on that evening often. He was right. I spent a good deal of time judging others.  That's how my mind was programmed because I was judging myself the rest of the time. 

I have changed a lot since that class nearly ten years ago.  Medication has definitely helped; however, a huge part of OCD is stepping away from one's own mind and recognizing irrational thoughts.  These are techniques I learned in therapy.  I can now accept my own imperfections much more readily as I see them for what they really are: Human.  Normal. Acceptable.  Opportunities to grow.  I also accept the weaknesses of others. Before, everything seemed black and white. Follow the rules and you are good.  Break the rules and you are bad.  There was only one way to reach the end goal: do everything right all the time  Now, I recognize there are millions of journeys to eternal happiness, and none of them are bad.  In fact, what I before recognized as the one and only route I now see as laden with misunderstanding.  There are better ways to get there. 

A friend recently asked me about my favorite scriptures.  Ether 12 is one of my favorite chapters in the Book of Mormon because I connect it in many ways to my struggles with anxiety.  Here are a few of my favorite parts with notes on why they resonate with me.  I hope they can bring comfort to someone else.

4 Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.

It is my faith in God that is my anchor when I lose faith in myself. I pray to Him and he never fails to show me his boundless love for me in His own way.  

 7 For it was by faith that Christ showed himself unto our fathers, after he had risen from the dead; and he showed not himself unto them until after they had faith in him; wherefore, it must needs be that some had faith in him, for he showed himself not unto the world.

 12 For if there be no faith among the children of men God can do no miracle among them; wherefore, he showed not himself until after their faith.

I remind myself of this often when it feels like the Lord hasn't heard my prayers for relief.  I must first exercise my faith in Him.  It is only after that He blesses me with a miracle.  But He is always there. This verse reminds me to hold on for the miracle.  It will come.  

 27 And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

I have read this verse many times. It was one we studied in seminary when I was in high school.  But as I reflected on it last night, I saw the last phrase in an entirely new light.  Through faith, my weaknesses can be made strong; this doesn't mean, however, that they will go away.  It means that I will draw strength from them.  My weaknesses will also strengthen me as a person.  They will give me courage.  For me, sharing my story with others who may be similarly struggling is part of the journey of finding strength in my weakness.

 29 And I, Moroni, having heard these words, was comforted, and said: O Lord, thy righteous will be done, for I know that thou workest unto the children of men according to their faith;

The gospel brings me so much comfort and joy. God is real. His love is constant.  

 41 And now, I would commend you to seek this Jesus of whom the prophets and apostles have written, that the grace of God the Father, and also the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost, which beareth record of them, may be and abide in you forever. Amen.

Let's Talk About Mental Illness: Guest Post

 This poem was submitted to me for publication by Stephen Watson. Stephen and I grew up together in Santa Barbara, California.  It beautifully portrays how faith in God is one of the most powerful tools to pull one's mind and heart out of darkness and face the world again.

This one was written during my mission days, when I was first diagnosed with clinical depression and prescribed Prozac. While it begins with a darker tone, the conclusion (written post-prozac) is a ray of hope.

From the Front Lines
My sleep is but a shadow of a dream, bringing no rest to my soul and mind.
My eyes seek to close in slumber, seeking rest, respite, refuge, but none are found.
The waves of opposing troops have taken their toll
and continue to suck the life force out of me.

What can I do to bring rest to my soul?
Where can I find succor in my times of anguish?
I call to the Lord, but the pain leaves no room in my heart
for the spirit's sweet softness to fill and caress me, to take away my pain.

I have witnessed the falling away of so many by the wayside.
We are a reduced band of poorly trained infantry on the front lines of a bloody battle,
with casualties on all sides,
against a foe which grows in strength day by day as our forces dwindle and perish.

I know our Commander will never fail us, but oh, how often we fail him!
So many who, when they begin to equip the armor of God,
decide it weighs too much
and leave it in a heap upon the ground.

Why am I weakened?
Why can I not summon the spirit of victory to rally the scattered troops?
Why must so many fall by the wayside?
Beloved friends and brethren,

struck down by the shafts in the whirlwind,
the fiery darts of the adversary piercing their hearts such that they are consumed from within.
Arms and ammunition are running low, morale is failing,
and only meager reinforcements are on the way.

Every step of the journey is harder,
skeletal hands reaching from the debris to clutch my ankles and drag me under.
I refuse to go down,
but already my strength has failed me.

I lean upon the sword of the spirit
and watch it sink into the muck below.
My helmet is dented, my breastplate battered,
and even the truth girt about my loins has lost its golden shine.

My feet are shod with the blood of my allies,
the gospel's sole being worn out long ago.
I must continue, in hopes of slaying another foe,
winning another ally, but the battle grows long, and I am weary.

Yet the great Commander holds my shield on high,
a gleam of light on the crimson sky,
calling me to lift my sword again and sound the battle cry,
"Hosannah! Hosannah! To God and the Lamb!"

The forces rally and we march again,
in the strength of our commander and the light of the shield of faith.
With holy zeal, we join the fray,
the spirit's blade gleaming with celestial flame as every stroke disarms a foe.

With every prayer, the blade is cleansed and sharpened,
ready to conquer the enemy and his minions.
We battle not against armies of flesh and blood,
and the weapons which seek to strike us are made of far more subtle things than steel and iron,

But our commander gives us strength and power so that,
together, we can conquer the prince of darkness and his malign power.
We battle not for power nor dominion, but for the glory of our Commander,
and the freedom and welfare of our brethren, our country, and our families.

Let's Talk About Mental Illness: Part 4

Though I do not love having OCD, it is a big part of who I am.  It makes me a little quirky at times, but I am okay with that. To be honest, some of my compulsive behavior is a little bit funny in retrospect.

Case in point:

I did my student teaching during my last semester at BYU when I was 24.  I was assigned to work with a teacher of one of the best choral programs in the state.  The kids loved her and she was excellent at her job; she was, in fact, a legend. And I, a completely inexperienced beginning teacher, took it upon myself to reorganize her classroom and even her office while she was out of town for a couple days.

What. Was. I. Thinking.

In the back of my mind, something told me this was not a wise idea. But I did it anyway, driven by an insatiable desire for order.  She was livid when she came back to my little "surprise", and rightfully so.  Anyone who has a personal office knows how awful it would be to find someone rearranged it without invitation.  Not only does it make it difficult to find anything, it sends a message that there is something wrong with the way it is.  And that is definitely not the kind of message a college student with no teaching experience wants to send to a teacher with 20+ years of experience and success under her belt. I spent the entire day crying, and felt horrible for years. Seven years later, I am still embarrassed about it when I see her, even though she was extremely gracious in the aftermath.

At the time, I did not realize that my battle with OCD probably factored in to my foolish decision.  Don't get me wrong; I never want to blame legitimately poor choices on mental illness. I am a firm believer in accepting responsibility for my actions. It was actually my BYU professor, who had recently learned about my OCD, who suggested the connection. Looking back, I agree that it played at least a partial role in that particular lapse of judgement.  Even now, I thrive on structure, routine, and organization.  I cannot concentrate when I am concerned about the organization of my environment.  I couldn't be at peace until I fixed what was bothering me in her classroom, even though it was not my decision to make.  I like to consider myself a fairly level-headed person, but that choice was clearly illogical. 

With Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the "obsessive" part is the individual continually dwelling on problems that bother him/her. The "compulsive" part is acting in often irrational ways to try to fix it. For example, with scrupulosity, it is common to feel an enormous amount of guilt for...well...everything (obsessive behavior) UNTIL it is confessed to someone (compulsive behavior). Before I started getting treatment, I constantly asked my parents if every little thing I did was "okay." I needed their validation in order to stop obsessing about it.   

You have to admit...the story is a little bit funny...now!

Let's Talk About Mental Illness: Part 3

One thing I don't think many people realize about mental illness is how connected various disorders are. 

For example, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is often linked with anorexia.  Though I have not suffered from this disorder, dieting is a big challenge for me because of my propensity for extremes and achieving perfection.  If I diet, I restrict myself to the max.  When I count calories, I don't feel I am successful unless I eat much fewer calories than my already low allotment.  On the flip side, if I do not diet, I tend to eat whatever I want whenever I want.  It is very difficult for me to find a middle ground.  Over time and through experience, I have made adjustments.  I am keenly aware of this weakness and strive to keep myself in check.  It is, however, a constant battle.

Similarly, those with OCD often suffer from depression. When an individual has this disorder, there is a level of perfection that he/she is constantly seeking, whether it be 100% cleanliness, perfect obedience to moral law, health, etc.  When that person inevitably falls short of these unrealistic goals, he/she becomes deeply frustrated.  When untreated through therapy and/or medication, obsessive compulsive people live in a perpetual state of failure.  This leads to self-loathing and, sometimes, depression.

Thankfully, depression has not played a significant role in my life.  There was a brief period of time, however, when my inability to achieve all that I demanded of myself became too great for me to bear.  I was serving my mission in Brazil.  As a missionary, we set many goals individually and as a group.  Goals and rules have a completely different connotation for someone with OCD.  If I didn't meet the goals, I failed. It didn't matter what my contribution was; if I didn't do everything exactly right,  all of my offerings were unsatisfactory.  We were challenged to make twenty street contacts a day.  Though I am generally talkative, stopping people in the street was difficult for me. I was lucky if I made three contacts per day, let alone twenty.  Consequently, I felt like the worst missionary in the world. Why did I bother coming on a mission if I was going to fail? Rather than celebrating the small successes, I focused on where I fell short.  I was in agony.  Though I still went through all the motions of what I was supposed to do, I was a zombie.  I began to speak with a counselor over the phone once a week.  She advised me to try medication, and I refused. I was not emotionally ready to accept a diagnosis and a heavy treatment plan.  I chose to rely on my faith in Jesus Christ to help me through the rest of my mission.

There are many out there who may disagree with that decision.  They may scoff at my supposed naivete for thinking that my faith could save me.  But I have always believed in a God of miracles.  He performed a miracle on my mission and broke through the clouds of darkness, blessing me beyond my comprehension.  Halfway through my mission, I was transferred to an area called Passo Fundo and was assigned to work with another sister missionary named Sister Jenny Jones.  She changed my life.  She was an angel on earth, sent by God to heal my heart and teach me what I had not been able to learn on my own.  She taught me how to be obedient and joyful at the same time, something I never mastered before.  We laughed constantly.  We made up operas as we walked in the streets.  We taught the gospel side by side and shared our love for the Savior. We burst out laughing when we stumbled over the Portugues while singing hymns.  She understood the true spirit of missionary work and service in the Lord's kingdom and passed this gift of knowledge to me.  I was happy again.  One of my biggest fears was "relaxing," for fear that I might sin.  But I learned how to let go of my anxiety without feeling disobedient.  Later, she confided that she received a blessing before leaving on her mission that spoke of the significant influence she would have on her companions.

One of the greatest teaching moments of my mission happened at a restaurant when my new mission president and his wife were in town.  There is a dessert in southern Brazil called "torta de bolache" (a cake made with crackers) and it's a favorite among American missionaries.  Sometimes, however, the filling is made with coffee.  Those of you who are familiar with the Mormon faith know that we are counseled not to drink coffee because of the addictive nature of caffeine.  Without knowing, I ate some of the dessert before being alerted.  Though it was an accident and a very small amount, I obsessed over my mistake.  Having an urgent need to confess and be reassured (very typical for individuals with OCD),  I told my mission president's wife about the coffee laced dessert.  She looked at her own plate containing partially eaten torta de bolache, and said, "Oh, whoops!" and took another bite.  I was in awe.  She wasn't angry with herself. She wasn't worried about her standing before God.  She made an honest mistake and realized that, in the scheme of things, it was not a big deal.  She was a righteous, faithful woman who followed the commandments.  She was funny, candid, and delightful.  I admired her deeply, and remembering that experience makes me love and respect her more.  I doubt that's the way she expected to influence the missionaries when she was called to serve, but it is an experience I return to constantly in my mind as a reminder not to "sweat the small stuff." 

When I came home from my mission, the time came for me to seriously consider medication.  I dealt with this disorder my whole life. It was not going away.  But the idea of relying on pills was frightening to me.  I lived as the obsessive version of Katie for 23 years.  It was the non-medicated me who worked hard to get good grades, developed my musicianship, and tried to be a good person. Would taking medication jeopardize me?  Would I stop caring about doing well in school? Would I grow too relaxed and become inactive in the faith I knew was true? As much as I feared medication would change who I was, I knew I had to give it a chance. While I was able to hand my struggle completely over to God for a brief time on my mission, I needed to do my part to stay healthy long-term.  And it turned out to be the right decision for me.

Let's Talk About Mental Illness: Part 2

Scrupulosity: A form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) involving religious or moral obsessions.  Scrupulous individuals are overly concerned that something they thought or did might be a sin or other violation of religious or moral doctrine. 

The above definition comes from iocdf.org, the International OCD Foundation.  To read more about scrupulosity, click here.

I mentioned previously that OCD takes many different forms.  Often, people connect this disorder with extreme cleanliness, fear of germs, frequent hand-washing, or other unique rituals.  If you have seen the TV series "Monk," the main character epitomizes the stereotypical obsessive compulsive individual.  True, OCD sometimes manifests itself in these ways.  In my case, however, I have never been overly concerned about germs and my room is far from organized and tidy.

My biggest fear has always been sin.  And my obsessions revolve around avoiding it at all costs. This is in part because I know that if and when I sin, I will not be able to forgive myself. 

Once, in college, I was backing out of a parking space in the Helaman Halls parking lot at BYU while listening to music.  As the car moved backward, I thought I possibly heard a scraping sound on the right side of my car.  I didn't know if my mind was playing tricks on me or not.  I stopped the car immediately and got outside to look.  The car next to me had seen better years, and it was too difficult to tell if I caused any damage.  But I could not let it go. What if I really did scrape the car and I drove away without confessing what I had (possibly) done? I could never, in a million years, live with myself.  Because there was no way for me to be certain as to whether or not I actually scraped the car, I decided the only way to ease my mind was to reenact the scenario. I pulled back in to the parking space and tried to back out the exact same way I did before.  This time, however, I most definitely DID hit the car next to me.  I ended up leaving a note on the car with my number and no one ever contacted me.

As I recounted that story to my parents, I realized I had a problem I needed to fix.  But deciding to go on medication to control irrational thoughts is not an easy choice, nor is it one I made spontaneously.  It took over a year of the idea brewing before I brought myself to give it a chance.  More on that in a future installment.

Let’s Talk About Mental Illness: Part 1

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When I was in high school, I hated required reading for classes.  Ironically, English was my favorite subject. To this day, writing and reading are two of my favorite pastimes. Yet, I struggled whenever I was graded on completion of reading assignments. 

When knew I was being graded on what I read, I was obsessive.  If I didn’t focus on every single word of every single line, I felt like I would be lying if I reported 100% on my reading.  Therefore, I would read the same lines over and over again until I felt like I had given each line the appropriate amount of attention.  Needless to say, reading for homework was a painful process, and one I did not look forward to.  I was dead set, however, on getting good grades, so this created a lot of inner turmoil.

Reading scriptures in my LDS seminary class for homework and reporting it for credit always brought my semester grade down, even though I had near perfect attendance.  It was humiliating to me.  I felt like I failed.  I was supposed to read ten minutes a day; however, if I got distracted during any of that time or did not read for the whole ten minutes, how could I give an honest answer to my seminary teacher? I could never live with the guilt accompanying “lying.” It was better to be safe and tell the whole truth.

Fast forward to college. For a (very) brief moment in time, I contemplated majoring in philosophy of BYU.  This stemmed from my love of English.  I enrolled in two philosophy classes, one being the history of philosophy.  There was an exorbitant amount of required reading, and it was undeniably complex.  We were given a grade at the end of the semester for how many pages we read and this factored heavily in to our semester grade.  Skimming was not a skill I developed, as I did not feel like it was honest.  I put off most of my reading until the end of the semester.  When it came time to report how many pages we read at the end of our written final on the last day before winter break, I knew I had some time on the airplane to get some extra reading done and thus ensure my A- in the class.  Our final paper was due at 5:00 p.m. with the number of pages we read written at the bottom.   With some hesitation, I wrote down about fifty more pages than I had yet read and turned it in before the deadline.  As I traveled home to California that night, I read voraciously to make an honest woman out of myself and finish reading the pages I reported.

I lived with intense guilt for years after that semester.  I felt like I did not deserve my scholarship, or even a diploma.  I agonized over the choice I made. Because I didn’t finish reading until midnight that day and the number of pages I read were due at 5:00 p.m., I lied. I cheated.  I was undeserving of the A-.  Getting good grades helped me get part of my schooling paid for through a scholarship funded by tithing. I was not only lying, I was stealing money from church members.

I could not let it go. I asked for constant reassurance from my family; yet, their validation did not help.  Even if I did finish the fifty pages on the airplane, what if I didn’t read all the pages I reported well enough? What if I skipped words or didn’t focus?  What if I skimmed some of it or didn’t pay attention?

It got to the point where I could not stomach the suffering any longer.  I looked up the email address for my History of Philosophy professor from my freshman year at least two or three years later.  The class was large and there was no way he would remember me.  But I had to tell him everything.  I sent him an email with all the facts.  His response was brief.  Since I completed the reading before the day was over, it was okay and I did not need to worry about it any longer.

The tragedy in this story is that I wasted copious amounts of energy suffering over something that was not worthy of that much attention.  But to me, it was monumental.  It took over my mind.   

Writing a book about my journey with mental illness has been one of my goals for quite some time.  I remember reading a book about people who struggled in the same way I did and feeling so much relief that I was not alone.  Don't get me wrong...I am the first to admit that I lead quite a charmed life.  I am blessed with an incredible family, a job I love,  and dear friends.  My body is healthy. But no one escapes mortality without challenges.  My biggest trials happen to be invisible to the untrained eye.  There are plenty of high profile individuals who have money, fame, and adoration coming out their ears, but they are tortured by something no one can see.  It is easy to assume they have an ideal life without realizing that many trials are suffered privately in one's own mind.   

My actual diagnosis is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and anxiety, but the forms OCD takes for each individual are vast.  My experience is not identical to any one else; my hope in sharing this, however, is that there are individuals who can relate to a small portion of my experience.  Or, that there are people who can better understand or love someone who has experiences similar to mine. 

Mental illness is often considered taboo to discuss.  If you have liver failure or a heart defect, you are considered sick.  If you are mentally ill, you are considered crazy.  These may seem like gross generalizations, but I am confident they are opinions shared by many.  Taking medication for a mental illness is seen as a lack of self-mastery. The first time I started going to formal therapy and taking medication for my condition was after my mission.  My first psychologist, Dr. MacArthur, changed my life.  He helped me see that I did not have to live in constant angst simply because my brain was formed differently than many.  Peace of mind was possible through therapy and well-researched medication.  Recently, he posted this comic on his Facebook page to illustrate various attitudes towards individuals who struggle with mental illness.

 I remember the Thanksgiving after I started taking medication to help control my obsessive compulsive thoughts and behaviors. We were going around the table and sharing one thing we were thankful for. I began to cry as I shared my gratitude for modern medicine.  It wasn't until I started being treated for my illness that I learned what healthy living was really all about.