July 19th, 2008

Willow

Sick

So ... am still sick. At least the pain that requires popping panadol every four hours has meant I think I am not running a fever anymore.

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Apparently, this is my punishment for dehydrating in the final days of Istanbul because I didn't trust the water and on the plane because I didn't want to go to the plane bathroom. Yes. *NOW* I see the error in my ways. *sniff* But does it have to hurt *so much*?

Willow

Life Post OCD

... is actually pretty normal. In the peak of it all, I could never imagine being recovered to a point where I would be okay with stuff - like once I got to living at a point of total oversensitivity, I could never imagine toning it down, taking a step back or ... heaven forbid ... relaxing. It just seemed that that would be the way it was. And I just accepted this meant that I would probably never do a bunch of stuff in life (big stuff).

So I spose it's been a good (and long) lesson in life that ... this too shall pass. That you can work through stuff and ... get through it. I guess that still blows my mind.

The boy just called and we were talking about some stuff. And he just told me something that ordinarily would *totally* have freaked me out. Or maybe I should say, it would have sent the OCD me into a very very bad anxiety loop.

I spose often it's not clear what I mean by that. My OCD was in the form of germophobia and that meant *lots* of handwashing - my hands got to the point where if I clenched them into fists, they bled. Attractive, no? I showered no less than 4 times a day, sometimes more. And sometimes, often actually, I would stop eating for several days at a time. I didn't like using bathrooms that I didn't think were clean enough. At my sickest, I didn't eat more than maybe a muffin and drink a couple of cups of coffee a day for about 3 months and about 20kg literally fell off me.

Some of this stemmed from a housemate that I had at the time that it began who had very poor kitchen hygeine and also a dog that was allowed to leave bones with raw meat on them all over the house so that one might unknowingly step out of one's room in the dark of night for a toilet run and plant one's bare foot on such an item. (Okay, that still grosses me out - but that's a normal reaction). Some of it also stemmed from the ex who also had poor basic hygeine - there's lots of stuff that people do or should do in the course of practicing normal hygeine. Off the top of my head ... washing your hands before you begin preparing a meal, wiping up blood from raw meat that you dripped across the floor when going to feed the dog, storing raw meat on the bottom shelf of your fridge and covering it, even. Not consuming things like milk or pressed meat, or similar, after the use by date has passed. Stuff like that. He was *very* casual, shall we say.

I mean, also, like any obsession, it was a bid for control over my life ... and all that psychobabble stuff ... in a situation in which I felt trapped and powerless.

Anyway ... flash to now. I would never have dreamed back in OCD times that I would remotely even be just friends with a person who has a job like the boy's. It was just a non-negotiable (*whispers* I even avoided teachers and parents of small children wherever possible). So it does kinda spin me out that I am totally cool about it - like to the point that I don't really even think about it. Mostly that's probably because the boy has great hygeine (what a bonus, eh?) as well as being pretty understanding and demands to understand (me) in situations where he doesn't. It's kind of weird, actually, being with someone who is actually interested in ... well, me. I'm not used to it. But I wonder if in part, it was a sense of security that I was lacking before and that I have now. You know, and other words that go with that ... trust, integrity, hand washing ... that kind of thing. :-)