How do you fight your brain with your brain?

How do you fight your brain with your brain?

I sit here today, feeling somewhat a mess, and I don’t even know why. All I want to do is slip from my chair, get under my desk and hide. If I thought it would help, I’d consider it. All I can do instead, is sit at my desk with my head in my hands, and try to think myself into feeling better, but the thing I need to use to feel better is the same part of me that doesn’t feel well, and all my thoughts seem to do is crash.

I write this, and I don’t feel real. I make my fingers go across the keys and words are coming out on the screen, but none of it makes any sense to me because I just feel like an echo in my own head and I don’t know how to make it stop.

Part of me whispers that I could make everything stop if I wanted to. I could fix it, end it. Maybe. I feel like I could stand somewhere really high and just fall back and it wouldn’t matter anyway, because I’m not really real.

I hate when I feel this way and as I write, my head asks me why I am writing. Why would anyone care what I feel? I may or may not post this on my blog, if you’re reading this, then I posted it …obviously.

Do you know what is the real kicker with my mental health? I have OCD as well and so when I sit here thinking, please let me die, my OCD whispers, well what if you wish that and get cancer? Maybe I can make myself sick by wishing it and so I get afraid to wish I could die and then afraid to be here and it all becomes a mess, and do you see the problem I have.

My skin is tingling with all of this and my thoughts won’t stay still and at the moment, I can’t sleep. Sometimes I rock myself to sleep. That’s been a habit of self-soothing since I was a child, but when I get off to sleep, then I can’t stay asleep and I am checking for something. I don’t even know what it is.

I wish I could die from myself, does that even make sense? Like if I could get rid of the part of me that is switched onto this brain … if I could just cut that part out. I feel like a bunch of different people trapt inside one body and they’re all fighting to take control.

This is all just part of my dissociation condition, and I know that, but it doesn’t make it any better knowing.

I learnt to dissociate at such a young age. I was reading that this actually makes it harder to recover, the younger you are. But I don’t know. It helped me get through things when I was little. I wish I could go back some days and just kill that child I used to be. At least then I wouldn’t be here now. I wouldn’t feel everything in my head.

If there was an easy way to make everything over without hurting those who mean something to me, I would do it. Time travel seems about the only option and that’s not something real either.

I’d go to the doctors if I thought it would help, but they don’t know what to do. Not really. How can they? They could put me on some unit somewhere and let me sit in these feelings with no means of doing anything to myself, but that wouldn’t fix what I feel. If I am just going to sit and wait it out, I can do that here.

Or they’d give me more medication. I already take something.

They say if you feel suicidal to tell someone. So, I’m telling you, whoever you are reading this. I’m sure it’s a trick my mind wants to play on me. I’m sure I won’t do anything. But it’s how I feel. It’s what my head whispers.

I’m sorry.

I’m just going to go and lie in the middle of my floor where I can feel safe from myself.

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I’m so OCD

I was talking to my mate today, and he asked me a question and used that phrase that makes me want to punch people in the head … is it because they’re OCD?

Now, I forgive my friend for this because I know he doesn’t understand the disorder. He doesn’t understand it because society is so damn stupid with it that they make it impossible for it to be understood.

I get annoyed at memes over OCD. They show things out of place, and then there are all these comments about it setting their OCD off. Or people make comments about something, I’m so OCD about …… 

I was at Uni a couple of years back and a woman there said, she had slight OCD because she hates coffee tables being messy and has to tidy them. I said, oh yes. I have slight paraplegia. My legs go numb when I sit too long. The looks I got … but to me, that is how stupid her comment sounded.

I have OCD, and I feel I have to clarify, that I have REAL OCD. I am not a neat freak. I don’t like things tidy or in line or whatever because of this condition. I don’t give a shit if I have all of my orange M&Ms mixed with the yellow ones.

OCD has three words. Obsessive … compulsive … disorder.

People need to understand that when something is a disorder, it is not a quirk. It is not cute. It is not this thing that comes and goes. No. It is a disorder because it brings disorder to your life. It causes problems. It can, and does, ruin many lives with it.

I wish people would stop using it so flippantly, so people like me could get better understanding from others.

Have you ever gone out and then thought, did I lock the door? You get that feeling inside yourself, like you’ve forgotten something. It’s a niggle, but its manageable. That is part of OCD, but …

Have you ever got a song stuck in your head and by stuck, I mean, it is driving you bonkers and you keep humming it to yourself? I am sure you have.

Put those two components together, and you have the start of an OCD thought. But increase it. That, did I lock the door becomes a stuck record. It becomes so stuck that it goes over and over in your head. And you try to remember, but when you try to picture locking the door, your mind is so confused with thoughts of, well what if you didn’t. What if you only thought you did?

So what happens?

You go back and check the door.

No, worrying if you locked the door and going back to check it, is something people without OCD do. It’s fine. But … remember for someone with OCD, it is at song stuck phase.

Someone with OCD will check, and check, and check. And you know, maybe they just can’t get that thought to go away. So they get the idea of, well if I unlock it and then relock it, then I know for sure I locked it. So they do that.

Guess what?

Doesn’t work. Your OCD sufferer then does it again, and again … familiar, right? You see people say they turn light switches on and off, or plug sockets. Even Neil Hilborn in his poem talks about doing just that. This is why.

OCD is a freight train of repetitive thoughts that are so loud and so insistent that they make us do things to try and calm them.

I iron clothes to perfection. I iron them within an inch of their lives. My son thinks this is because I am a neat freak, and I want everything flat and neat. Nope. Not at all. This comes from being a parent and having OCD. Somewhere in my muddled brain, to be a better parent, I had to be perfect. I had to get everything right. That meant my kids had nice clothes. Nice clothes have to look neat. If I don’t make them neat, then I am showing I don’t care about my children, and if I don’t care about my children, the universe, God, fate, whatever, will take them away because I don’t deserve them. So … basically, if I do not iron my children’s clothes perfectly, my children will die, and it will be my fault.

Tell me how this compares to someone who sees some dust and their OCD comes out?

To someone reading this, badly ironed clothes causing the death of children, seems nuts, bonkers. Hell, even I know it is stupid, but OCD whispers to me. He leans in and says, yeah, maybe it is crazy, but what if?

And this is just an example. This isn’t a one off occurrence that only happens when I iron. OCD makes sure it is in every corner of my life.

What if I don’t fill the kettle right? Maybe it’ll blow up? Maybe it will splash a germ in and I’ll get sick and then I can’t look after my kids, and then they leave.

What if I wear my blue jeans on Friday’s instead of the green ones? And I’m not even kidding, that is one of the things I have to do or not do.

OCD comes in many shapes and forms. Usually it is always, a thought, followed by a way to fix it, followed by more thoughts, followed by more fixes and it gets to the point of taking over your life. Then it is a disorder.

Could you imagine saying, oh, my diabetes is coming out? Or, I have slight cancer. My back hurts every time I see a ladder …

It’s so stupid.

I live with OCD. Every minute of my day. Not just when it doesn’t like something.

I know my little rant won’t change how the world sees it, but it sure as hell makes me feel better getting it out. And I hope, someone understands.

Obsessive compulsive disorder is an illness. A very debilitating illness.

 

Why Watching Child Pornography is a crime.

I recently had a debate with someone about child pornography. I left the discussion because it was triggering me and not because I agreed with them.

Basically, I had commented about a celebrity who had ended their life and they were facing punishment for owning and viewing child pornography. I had commented that I wasn’t sorry about his death, which, I wasn’t. Not that I wished him dead. I never wish anyone dead, but as far as I am concerned, he had committed a crime.

The person who debated this with me, did not agree. He said that it was a victimless crime because the man wasn’t actually hurting those children. I disagree with that too. Maybe he wasn’t actually touching the children or abusing them, but he was funding the system. And that doesn’t have to be financially. He could have funded it by creating a demand for it.

Imagine if everyone in the world stopped smoking, companies would stop making cigarettes because it would be pointless. If the entire world became vegetarian, people wouldn’t raise animals for slaughter for their meat. Mime films are no longer watched, and therefore no longer really made.

It is supply and demand.

I also get that removing one uses of child porn will not stop it, but it is one less and that is never a bad thing.

By watching child pornography, a person is supporting the production of it, and in doing that, they are supporting child abuse, rape and whatever else happens. By watching it, owning it, downloading it, or whatever, a person is participating in the activity of abusing children.

But also, those children .. they are real. They exist. Someone somewhen has them. If your mate took photographs of your partner, and then got off on it, sat and downloaded it, you would be mad. You would feel that they violated your partner.

Another argument that people say, is that it manages the urges. I don’t think so. Most crimes start small. Drug users start with cannabis, rapists start with exposing themselves, thieves start with shoplifting. How long before it goes from watching, to doing?

It is no different than if you buy stolen goods … you become part of the crime.

A Few Questions

I was asked some general wonderings, too, when I asked what people wanted to know. I guess that these are things I can’t quite cover in the book, so I’ll answer them here. Anything else I might not cover, just ask on my page or here, or message me. 🙂 I try to answer as best as I can.

These come from Kimberly:

 

“What happened to Nathan? “

 

We were friends until I was around 27. I still see him on Facebook, but we don’t talk that much really. He doesn’t live far away. As far as I can see, he is happy. We drifted apart because as my mental health got worse, I started to cancel things and eventually, he stopped asking. I miss him a lot, though.

“Are you still friends with anyone from college? “

 

No, aside from Facebook, I don’t see them anymore.

“Do you still live in the same area? “
I don’t live that far away from where I grew up. Probably just a 15-minute drive.
“How are you doing without being in therapy?”
I found therapy useless to be honest. I do better alone. My last one, last year, was pretty bad. He wouldn’t let me talk about anything. He’d say, What does it matter? It’s in the past. And had me down as having low self-esteem issues, which I don’t.

I did have CBT for my OCD at one point, but it didn’t cure it, just helped me to calm it a little. I needed that back then. I was living in a bubble.

I went to one therapist about my PTSD and the badman. He pretty much accused me of having an overactive imagination and said we’re all afraid of the dark when we’re on our own.

So, without therapy, I cope as best as I can.
“Do your children know anything about your abuse?”

 

They don’t have a clue. They know little things, like me not having a bed until I was 9, but no, they have no idea really, and I am glad about that.

 

“I’m also curious why your brother hates your dad so much. Was he aware of the things going on maybe, and just didn’t say? Was he abused in some way? Do you have a relationship with either of your brothers?”

 

I don’t exactly know why my brother hates my dad so much. I think it’s just a bad relationship and that our father is selfish, and he sees that. They fell out really when my brother asked me lots of questions, like whether my Nan used to beat me, like our parents had claimed. He realised it had all been lies and that made him angry. I don’t think he was abused, but he has issues from living in that house. Maybe he saw things. He was in the same bed as my father and I. He doesn’t live too far away. He comes and goes, but we talk. My older brother lives abroad now; we talk on Facebook. I have other siblings from later in life. My youngest sister is 12. I don’t really have contact with them, though.

 

 

Favourite Things

When I asked what people wanted to hear, there are a few posts that asked about me now. So here are the questions. Melina asked: “I may have missed it somewhere, but would love to know about your life now. “

Favorite_Things
Zelda: “Your favourite authors and books. What are your favourite hobbies and things to do?”

Kimberly: “What kind of movies do you like?”
These are all pretty easy ones. 🙂
Favourite authors – there are so many. Stephen King is probably my most favourite. I have everything he ever wrote. You can blame my Nan for that, as she bought me Carrie when I was little. Then, Dean Koontz, Joe Hill, Kelley Armstrong, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Laurell K Hamilton, Rachel Vincent, Charlaine Harris, James Herbert, George R. R. Martin, J. R. R. Tolkein, Graham Matheson, Clive Barker, Kathy Reichs, Jeff Lindsay, Linwood Barclay, Robert Zimbardo and so many more.
Hobbies… again, I have so many. I love to write fiction as well as the Teddy series. I love to read. Movies. I am a huge gamer – when I have time. I play World of Warcraft, Skyrim, my Xbox, etc. I used to once own a gaming site that had over 30k members on it. 🙂
I love to go to the gym and eat healthily. I believe this is partly how I remain sane. I love to draw as well. When I was 16, I actually got into a higher diploma for my art, but turned it down to do my high school certificates instead. I like to garden and do general DIY in my house.
I love model painting. I have many game workshop models and models of motorbikes around my house. I love to bike, both motor and cycle. I love to run; I toy with the idea of entering a marathon sometimes and raising money for OCD awareness. I love to cook – I am a qualified baker. I love music as well. The louder the better. I love rock music and attend many concerts. I have met many singers and bands. 🙂 I love psychology and philosophy and have a great interest in those. Psychology is actually the topic I study now at university. I hope to do my PhD and become a doctor within the topic. 🙂
Movies – I love anything really. Con air has to be my most watched movie. I love anything by Tim Burton; he is my favourite. Of course, Stephen King films – I can watch the Green Mile and Shawshank Redemption over and over. I love vampires and werewolves too, especially Underworld, but none of the Twishite stuff. 😉 I also like all the Marvel and DC movies. 🙂 I love TV shows too. I watch Dexter, True Blood, Person of Interest, Walking Dead, Forever, Gotham and many more.
I know no one asked this, but music is a big one. It helps me a lot. I love Korn. If you don’t know them or about them, the lead singer went through something similar when he was little. Listen to the song Daddy, but be warned it is very hard to listen to. The rest of his songs just speak to me. They say how I feel. There is always a song for my mood. I love Nickelback, Lifehouse, Theory of a Deadman, Slipknot, Seether, Shinedown, Billy Talent, Heaven’s Basement, Disturbed, Godsmack, Evanescence, Skillet, Halestorm, and lots more.
My life now – it’s kind of simple. I live with my partner. I have my two children and my two grandchildren. I am at university studying neuropsychology and hoping to go into research for mental health, but the brain side, as I don’t believe that antidepressants work. I spend my time with my family and my one friend. I write and read when I have time and game too. I try to go to the gym and look after myself as much as I can physically, because this helps me maintain myself mentally. When one thing falls down, the whole lot seems to.
Anything else, just comment and I’ll add it. 🙂

Stolen Everything

I think as I go more and more through this journey in my life, I discover more and more has been stolen. Of course, I lost my innocence a long time ago, and maybe that was the worst thing to lose. Or maybe it was that I lost myself and who I was meant to be, but there are moments, things, that I never realised I had lost.
Sympathy.
Not mine. It’s a weird thing to lose. I sit here with my chest tight and my shoulders weighted down, but there is no one to really turn to. People’s dislike for my dad is stronger and they can’t see. They can’t see what is being taken from me.
When normal people’s fathers are sick, suffering with something like cancer, and the normal person sees their parent slipping away. When the adult who raised them suddenly needs help to fasten shoelaces, make meals or simply fill out a form. They talk to their friends, they get hugs and care and sympathy.
I find myself in this place I never imagined, where that has been stolen from me. I tell people my father is sick, and they say good. Inside, the child who is there, who loves his father, wraps his arms around himself for comfort. 231b6640ef7d79030ade6674b2b0185d
When I say that I am helping my dad, fixing his car, cooking his meal, I am told that I am doing more than he deserves. I end up finding myself torn between what feels right to do and what people think I should do.
When people ask me why I would help him, my answer is because he is my dad. I find myself envious of that normal person who wouldn’t be asked why, but would be asked, what help do you need.
I wish I was a normal person. Instead, he is my abuser and I am his victim. But I wish the world would see that he is my dad, and I am his son.
I never knew that this part had been stolen.