keiramarcos | I'm a Crazy Little Tea Pot -- Short and Stout -- Throw away my receipts and hear me shout!

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I'm a Crazy Little Tea Pot -- Short and Stout -- Throw away my receipts and hear me shout!

So, I have OCD. Full diagnosis sort of thing in my 20s. I medicate for it to keep from going completely off the deep end but even with medication I have a minor issues for instance:

I like to sit in certain places in the places I go often (especially the library or the cafe)

I park my car in certain areas of parking lots and have been known to wait for a spot to open up.

I write with a certain kind of pen and changing that pen can be stressful (like when a company changes a design or stops making my pen altogether)

I do certain things in certain places -- write there, read in the chair, do work at my main computer, don't do work on my laptop.

I have a few minor hoarding issues -- that I work very hard to keep under control so I don't end up on an episode of Hoarders. I allow myself to keep notebooks, pens, bags, purses but nothing else.

Sometimes forcing myself to throw things away can be traumatic as fuck. Today, I made myself throw some things away that I'd been keeping for no real reason (receipts, old magazines, catalogs--I wish I was kidding) and I thought I was okay with it. I mean there was no panic before hand and my husband came upstairs. He asked me a question about something and I just had a complete and utter meltdown. I burst into tears and cried for twenty minutes solid.

I have this deep sense of shame attached to my OCD and often it drives me crazy that throwing away a fucking receipt can lead to such a loss of control. It's embarrassing -- this attachment I have to old mail and receipts. It makes no sense but then I guess if it made sense I wouldn't keep it for months at a time in a basket until I force myself to go through it and throw it away.

My husband is a real trooper though and that's the truth of it. He just made me some tea and put me on the couch and let me cry until I was done.

I can't remember his question and I'm a thousand percent sure I did't answer it.

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:: Hugs ::

No matter what, I will support you. And offer tea as needed. Or storage space

~L

I'm glad that he's there for you

I'm not allowed off-site storage (blush). Things would get bad.

Filing is a healthy thing...

He really doesn't need that man cave, right?

~L

No shame, Keira! I'm sad that you feel that way, though I suppose I do understand. But...life is hard enough without making it harder on yourself. Besides, you absolutely get mega points for setting out to do something that is so very difficult for you. I think that's brave. And...what a sweetie your husband is. I guess all the years he's spent with you have given him life lessons that help him help you. Lovely. Or, he was just born that sweet. ;)

*hugs*

You know, I'm sure he was a LOT more concerned about helping you than he was about an answer to his question...whatever it might have been. ♥ Also, I used my beautiful Rodney icon - I love, love, love that face. :)

I remember when my mom started watching Hoarders and decided I must be one because I...collect things. Lots of things. Plus, the same psycologist who diagnosed my ADHD also diagnosed me with a "mild" case of OCD because cookbooks when I actually only make things I've found on TV, in magazines or on the internet.

So, I'm discussing my OCD with my therapist, mainly to find ou wtf is "mild" OCD and how come I couldn't have gotten the clean kind and she gives me this look.

"How would you feel if I came over and cleared out all your cookbooks?" she asks.

"Relieved," says I.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Well, that's how I've felt every time mom's helped me clean out everything."

Upshot is, no "mild" OCD for me, just raging ADHD where it's the getting, not the having, and I will melt down if you get betwee me and my "prey."

My point is SQUIRREL!!

No, wait.

(Mentally rewinds conversation.)

(Discovers point not actually made.)

(Fuck it)

The point is, embrace that shit. Everyone has a screw loose. At least we know where ours is. You are ahead of the game because even with legit difficulty throwing stuff out, you own that bitch and do it anyway.

Go you!

Sounds like you have an excellent support system.

Here are some extra *hugs* anyway, though, just in case you need them.

"HUGS"

I don't generally have a hard time throwing things out, I just have a hard time finding the time to getting around to doing it. And I have to do it soon myself.

I'm really glad that you have such awesome support. Sometimes melt downs happen out of the blue. *hugs*

I hate it when they stop making my favourite pen! Fuckers.

You are a lucky lady to have a hubby like CP and he is a lucky man to have you.

((((hugs))))

Edited 2016-09-06 08:19 (UTC)

man, that sucks. *squishes you* you had a tough day but good on you for throwing those receipts and old mail away.

pls don't be ashamed of your OCD. it's just how your brain got wired, and I love your brain. your brain is awesome just the way it is. I mean, you sure ain't a mundane. :D

and I have a friend in England who orders my pens for me because Pilot stopped importing them into the U.S. (from Japan). so I can relate. :))

your husband sounds like a peach. I wonder what his question was?

It honestly probably involved food. LOL.

Two of my 3 boys have anxiety and depression, with my youngest winning the OCD lottery. My Mom has OCD and though it mostly skipped her children, 6 of her 13 grandchildren (thus far) have been diagnosed. With my son it started out manifesting as compulsion - nighttime routines, rituals, and a lot of shame. He worked so hard to master it, only to go through puberty and have it pop up in obsessive thoughts and self-harm and ever more shame. For now medication and hard work is keeping it at bay, but I can see it sinking its claws into his exercise routine and my heart breaks as the one thing he is most proud of (his weigh lifting and healthy lifestyle) is being slowly taken from him without his even realizing it. Soon he will come to me in tears (and shame) because he will have realized that the OCD burrowed into his healthy habits and stole them from him, turning them into compulsions and obsessions.

Having OCD is really hard. If all you need is 20 mins of tears in order to break its hold over your ability to throw out a stack of receipts, then that's not that much to ask. That your husband can recognize that, and give you the 20 mins & make you tea whilst you cry? That's just so good on both of you, bb. {{hugs you both}}

You are the best! You're brave enough to battle this illness, and even if it knocks you down, you get up and fight again. Sometimes the stress of battle can manifest in tears, but you got through that as well, and you were brave enough to share with us.

So glad your husband is supportive and kind!

Hey we can only work with what we have been given when it comes to genes. You seem to have found what works for you most of the while so well done.
Sending you good vibes & a virtual cookie.

Your man is such a rock star. I know you know that, but he's awesome.

I have recently taken to berating my male parent for providing me with crappy genetics and a cheap useless warranty on parts and labor for this body.

You are entirely not to blame for how your brain is wired, even if our sick society makes us feel like all behavioral problems would go away if we'd just 'buck up'. Fuck that.

I have PTSD, Anxiety/Panic Disorder, Agoraphobia and Major Depression Disorder. I have some OCD issues as a result of the rest of the brain scramble. I have to sit with my back to the wall so no one can sneak up on me. Some days, I literally can not leave my house. Other days I'll go outside to work on my flower beds and 15 minutes later I'll be convinced that people are watching me and thinking that I'm weird. If there's stuff I want to get rid of, I can't because I'd have to go outside.
My older sister, whom I've counted on since our Mother died in 1969, has totally cut all ties with me. Literally will not speak to me because my 'issues' embarrass her.
You totally won the lottery with your husband, I'm very happy to hear he's there for you.
One of the tricks I learned was to put things like newspapers, mail and such in a box, one the box is full, tape it closed and write the date on it. If I haven't opened the in 6 months, the entire box goes in the trash, without opening it. I realize this might not work for you, but know you aren't alone. And while we can't be there in person, we're all out here in the ether, cheering you on. And wishing your husband had multiple brothers and sisters, just like him.

Yeah, OCD can totally suck. And ITA about feeling somewhat ashamed about it, even though we shouldn't.

{{{hugs}}}

Having any sort of mental illness sucks, and I'm really sorry that you struggle with this.

Boyfriend has OCD. Along with his anxiety, its one of the reasons certain family members insist he isn't "good enough" for me, which pisses me off to no end.

One of his things he likes to hoard are the cardboard boxes from boxed meals, the part that has directions on them. Because what if he needs those directions, I guess. Sometimes we will have as much as 50 of the same boxes. Our spare room gets cleaned out when it gets full... which is extremely stressful for the boyfriend and leads to him having panic attacks, which is very upsetting for me as well but we both recognize the need to keep things cleaned out as best we can.

Not everyone has the strength to do what you do. Even if you cry and break down, its a tremendous strength to throw that receipt away on your own. It shouldnt be a source of shame, but our culture heavily stigmitizes things like anxiety, depression, and OCD so it isn't surprising that it is.

I keep boxes from deliveries (like Amazon) but I gave it purpose by by cutting them up and donating to them to my Dad's friends who use them to barrel fires in the winter to warm their garages (because that's a thing). So there are four of them and I make a box for each of them -- and cut up other boxes to put in their box then when it's full -- they come get their box.

It works out really well in that respect. It's like I've given that little quirk of mine a productive (and positive) outcome.

&hugs

I feel your pain. I have an entire filing cabinet full of bank statements and pay stubs; some of them are 20 years old! Just the thought of shredding them gives me anxiety.

Boyfriend: "Soooo....you know you don't need to keep all of those, right?"

Me: *clutches filing cabinet and growls*

BF: "You're not going to get audited. And even if you do, you only have to keep things like that for five years."

Me: *hiss* "My pressshus, we wants it, we needs it!"

I guess stuff like that is the trade-off for him never having to to laundry (he folds it wrong!).

I'v never known a man to fold a towel to my specifications.

Right? His mother folds them correctly, so I know he knows better.

There are...specifications? (Ducks, flees)

Yes.
*stares*

Well, mine all fit on a shelf and a half in the linen closet?

At the moment, post-mom, they're all neatly c-folded in half with the tags tucked in. I can have that fixed in another week or two, though.

I *am* a stickler about all the same colrs going together, though.

When my son's family of 5 moved in with me for a while, we distributed chores. My son did most of the cooking, The kids cleaned various rooms, etc. (His wife was the only one with a job at the time and we all said she was exempt from chores except she had to cook now and then because she is good at it.)

I had laundry. For 7 people. I insisted. I can't STAND for people to fold clothes the wrong way. I get them out of the drier still hot and if they aren't still hot I reheat them.

I am, in general, a bit of a slob. I can tolerate a lot of crap laying around. I cannot tolerate dishes, pots, etc. not being in specific places in the kitchen. Drives me up the wall. This is one of the reasons my son did the cooking. I had to stay out of the kitchen because all the dishwashers in the house had different ideas about where to put stuff. No one else seemed to mind.

*joins in the fleeing*

my sister has OCD real bad, so does my dad, I just have a touch of it but I do have the hoarding thing so hey, mad propz for throwing shit away! it ain't easy.

I get away with a lot in the house I think cos neither of us cares about a lot of stuff, just, is it clean, we're good. my OCD is more having set routines and getting pissed off/freaked if they get broken.

thrown a bunch of shit away lately, every now and then my brain will let me do that, and jfc I got no idea why I kept half that shit, maybe more than half. eesh. lucky enuff like you to have a great partner.

mazel tov, my dear!!

Edited 2016-10-14 07:46 (UTC)

I write with a fountain pen; I've had several of them for 25+ years, and I can still use them all. I spend a lot of time on maintenance and cleaning to keep some of them going... Now when they change ink formulas or colors - then the blasting curse hits the fewmets! HUG!

I have a similar issue with being a hoarder. For me it's mail and boxes from my Amazon purchases. My parents stopped in for a surprise visit while I was at work one day and cleaned for me... i had a mini mental breakdown and refused to talk to them for nearly a month. Even though my rational brain knew it was coming from the goodness of their hearts there is, as you said, such a sense of shame attached to it that i couldnt deal.

I watched a series recently where a character pushed through crippling stage-fright... and realised it wasn't so bad after all and was therefore cured forever. It left me spitting with rage, and none of my friends or family could emphasise with me. I tried not to be frustrated.

I also try not to get upset with them when they say things like "hey, you've been taking a lot of phone calls recently, so it must be getting easier for you!". It's not getting easier. I know I can push through it (and I do), but each and every time my phone rings, it feels like maggots are trying to eat their way out of my stomach. No amount of "realising it's not that bad!" has helped me in the last twenty years, and I can't imagine anything changing in the next twenty.

Society seems to have this ingrained expectation that psychological injuries can be permanently cured. Anyone who isn't constantly 'trying to get better' just doesn't want to get better. Even when it comes to those things we all have ourselves, so we all *ought* to know doesn't work that way. When someone has physical difficulties, it is seen as reasonable for them to find workarounds and alternatives. When someone has psychological difficulties, they're expected to force themselves to the center of their pain instead. It's hard to ignore that narrative when it's so ubiquitous.

Tl;dr: your husband is awesome.

I totally glommed onto the 'write with a particular implement' statement. Many years ago, when I started writing my first fanfic, although I didn't know what it was called then (1977, omg I'm old!), I wrote on the only paper near to hand...some narrow, college-ruled paper with rounded edges that my aunt had laying about. I found a Pilot pen that someone left laying around, ad off I went. I wrote and re-wrote this fic for years, using only that kind of paper and Pilot fine point pens.

During a move from Davis, CA to Florence, Oregon I did the unthinkable-I threw the notebook away. To this day, I beat myself up over that. Why in god's name did I do that? If I tried to write that again, I wouldn't know where to start.

Wow..I need wine now. Gonna go find my bottle of Moscato and mourn.

, omg)

Me, UC Davis, 80s, electric typewriter, knock off Tolkien high fantasy. Tapping an enter key with my pinky will never be the same as the slam of a carriage return.

My sister is a control freak, my brother is an x-box junkie with a side of panic attacks, I have a mild OCD with a sprinkle of depression. The worse thing is my mother refused to understand it. I came from a very bigoted community, mental health problems happen always to other people, other families, and it took many years for my mom to understand there is no shame.
There is no shame.
We are different and wrong and right in our own way.
I have to clean all my purses and my wallet once a month, I kept clothes from my childhood, notebooks and colored pencils, I have to use my special spoon for breakfast or I'll be anxious for the whole day.
And my sister and I had to find a way to co-exist in the same room during our teenage years (I could keep my things if I kept them ordered and clean... my drawers underwent a trashing every 6 months... and I let her make all the decisions).
What I want to say is we are all cracked in our individual way, and yes your husband is very nice and understanding, but probably your are very nice and understanding about his issues.

I have the alphabet soup of disorders (thanks to mom's 'friends' when I was a kid) (OCD, ADD, bipolar were the 'major' ones). I sometimes wonder if I really have half the things that they said I did when I was little because her telling me I was mentally unstable f'ed me up more than I think I was. She tried prescription drugs and taking things from me because of my 'disorders' and that never really fixed things. As an adult, I certainly have my OCD in check more, and ADD is just a losing battle on some days. When I'm by myself I still break down and cry for no reason at all.

Whenever I make jewelry all my supplies end up on the dining room table. Even if I know I'm not going to use it on my current project they have to come out. All of my pliers, crimpers, and cutters are lined up on the center of the table with all of my different boxes of beads and wire surrounding them. It's a pain in the ass with my tools being in the center of the table instead of next to me, especially when I'm making chainmaille, but that's the way it is.

My mom will make the occasional comment about not being able to eat at the table like civilized people, but the way I see it is that's what tv trays are for!

Keira, my much beloved brother in law had, at the age of 52, a sudden increase in his various anxiety issues, to the point where he could no longer drive and even being driven was a torture session for him. He had been a tool and die maker, and had been making some income from his own shop, where he made specialty screws and other connectors for manufactures who needed just a few hundred of something they couldn't get off the shelf. He also did a lot of wood working. Beautiful bowls and such. That and my sister's work kept them above water. Suddenly he couldn't do that any more--all the things that could go wrong swarmed his mind and crippled him.

Understand that he was a country boy who worked hard with his hands in huge factory machine shops his whole life. Now suddenly he was having massive panic attacks. And they couldn't afford a doctor.

I honestly believe Obamacare saved his life. If it had gone on much longer the humiliation he felt might have been too much for him. With meds, he can drive and rarely has more than mild anxiety.

My point is, your brain chemistry can fuck you up. That is nothing to be ashamed of. It would be like being ashamed of having blue eyes. It is, basically, a birth defect. You aren't alone. People can hid these issues better than some things, and you may think you are the only one. You aren't. I'm proud of you for having the strength to get rid of all those receipts. I know how hard that sort of thing can be. I hope it is easier next time.

I'm glad he got help. It's work but the rewards are worth their effort.

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I'm a Crazy Little Tea Pot -- Short and Stout -- Throw away my receipts and hear me shout!

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He's a keeper

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Pens

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