But this whole week has been just… anxiety filled. Like, I-can’t-breathe-anxiety. Like I’m constantly taking deep breaths and sighing because I haven’t realized I was holding my breath. Or my exhales are coming in short spurts and it makes my throat warm. And it’s just frustrating. I haven’t been able to think clearly, things like my hair sitting on my shoulder freak me out because I think it’s a spider. I’m so uncoordinated. And it’s just, difficult. I mean… things are home right now are difficult but not enough that it should cause me anxiety.

But who knows, your mind only consciously focuses on what you want it to.

I failed my first class since I started UoP and I’m really upset. Mostly because I busted my ass in this class and edited our team paper (along with one other member) for the last 5 weeks, re-wrote multiple sections for team members who didn’t pull through and I get an F? The teacher was less than uncaring and never bothered to help anyone. So why should I think that even though my effort was obvious that she would give a damn? Not to mention her rude remarks to my husband every time he asked her for help. School is closed on the weekends so I have to wait until Monday to fix it. It’s just stressful because this class is going to have to be paid with my own money and each class is over $1000. So there goes half of my grant… *sigh.

I think I’ll spend Sunday doing nothing but relaxing. Even though I want to catch up on blogs and do all sorts of other things… I really just need to relax. Which is hard, while being here. But I need to do something to make this anxiety go away.

Tonight anxiety is being joined by paranoia. And you know, those two… they get wild. So I’m thinking maybe I should call it an early night. I’m sure hubs is banning me from taking Ty PM and NyQuil on nights like this. Not that he’s watching me closely but still. I see his logic.

I just really hate this.

Lately my dad has picked up on this. I don’t know why or how but he started doing it too. And it makes no sense. It’s not like he doesn’t walk around the house barefoot or he has a problem with his sweats touching the floor. His sweats don’t even touch the floor! They have that elastic at the bottom. So I really, really, really don’t understand why he’s copying me.

And like I said before, the most frustrating part about him copying the things I do is because he doesn’t even believe in OCD and he makes me feel like shit every time I bring it up saying it’s all in my head and I can just wake up one day and it’ll be gone. But he goes off and does this shit. Really? Really? Ugh!

I have always had this thing about being home alone. Even before my OCD days, I would turn all the lights on, open all the doors and be insanely quiet until someone got home. Now that I’m older, I still hate being home alone, especially at night. My intrusive thoughts tend to run away, at least they’re not as bad as before but I did go back to bed this morning with the bedroom door locked.

Even when I was in Florida I hated being home alone, which was often, because husband worked at Magic Kingdom he usually came home late. And I would literally sit on my bed with all the lights on and be too scared to take a shower. I knew I was safe there. My apartment is tiny, you can see pretty much every inch of my apartment from my bed and the front door automatically locks. Plus I knew my neighbors were home (they liked that to be known with weird mexican techno music) so what was I so afraid of? It would literally take me hours to work up the courage to take a shower and go to bed. Even if I had work in like, 6hrs.

So I go about my business, doing laundry and putting it in the dryer. So when it comes time to pull it out, I do and I don’t notice anything odd. Normally I would fold my laundry after I pull it out of the dryer but I was lazy and right now I really wish I hadn’t been lazy and had just folded it.

Later that night I decide to wash my favorite hoodie and I usually check the dryer, just to do it. Make sure there’s no coins mostly (nothing annoys me more than coins or money in the washer/dryer). But I guess I figured I just did laundry and no one did laundry before me, it should be fine. Well I pull my hoodie out of the dryer before taking a shower last night and it’s completely ruined. There was a pen I didn’t see that was in the dryer earlier and it completely exploded on my hoodie. I just about broke down and cried. I noticed a few ink splots on my clothes when I was folding the first load, but I didn’t think much of it.

Now getting dressed in my house clothes, I see the ink got pretty much everywhere. It’s all over my pajamas, my socks, my house clothes, my towels… it’s everywhere and I’m fighting the urge to rewash my clothes even though I know that won’t take out the ink marks. But mostly because I’m wondering where that pen has been. My brother works in a club in San Francisco, so naturally I’m thinking of all the ick in the city that could have come in contact with that pen.

Normally I hate doing laundry after my brother because he also takes BART home and ugh, more ick. I mean, a washer is self cleaning right? Whatever that means. And even if it isn’t, the heat from the dryer would kill any remaining germs… right? Oh, I don’t know! I’m just so upset that my favorite hoodie is completely utterly ruined.

To make it worse my dad looked at me like I was crazy after I told him what happened. Saying he didn’t see a pen, but obviously there had to had been! The dryer is also ruined with ink spots scattered around inside of it. It’s just so frustrating. I’m telling him what happened and he’s going off and blaming it on my mom (who ONE wasn’t home and TWO didn’t do laundry before him) or on me who doesn’t even have a pen! Why would I carry a pen in my pj’s? What kind of sense does that make?

Now I don’t know what to do. I can’t replace my clothes and I’m just so angry. Good thing I don’t dress up too often and none of my completely irreplaceable clothes were ruined. Now I know I’ll be checking the washer/dryer more obsessively. Wonderful.

As you can see, I changed up the theme and I’m sorting through this blog. I’ve thought about writing in here often, but I just haven’t… I moved to Florida for a few months and that was a huge challenge in so many ways. Not to mention I had a huge OCD blow up at another Cast Member (I was there for an internship with Walt Disney World), which I’ll blog about sometime soon. But it was just… I hadn’t felt that level of angry and anxiety all rolled into one before and it hit hard. I wanted to punch that girl’s face in but instead I ended up slamming the washer doors (we were in the laundry room) and punching the dryers while I was screaming at her. It was scary, I couldn’t stop shaking and I couldn’t stop crying.

But I’m back home now and some days my OCD acts up more than usual. Sometimes for a minute, sometimes for a few hours, sometimes all day.

I hope to jump back blogging here, I miss it and I think I’m in need of my outlet.

I think the most frustrating part is he doesn’t believe in OCD. He doesn’t believe I have OCD and every time I tell him why I do things or why I freak out about things he just refuses to understand when he himself has it too! And I think it frustrates me that he picks up on these new habits and doesn’t bother to stop and think that what he’s doing isn’t normal. And he’s at that age where he doesn’t listen to anyone and tries to go and justify what he’s doing instead.

And I think the part that frustrates me the most is that he tells me that I never clean things. When I do, obviously because he got that habit from me. And when I say this he denies it and goes on and on about how he’s always cleaning everything and I never do.

Argh.

I haven’t had much to say. My husband started staying with me at my parent’s house and we’ve been staying in the guest room. My mom doesn’t like the idea of me taking up two rooms in the house, but I just find it easier to be in here since my OCD doesn’t go all crazy. At least, not as crazy as it usually does.

I still wear slippers with socks (sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever walk around the house barefoot like everyone else…), I still shower everyday (but! I don’t wash my hair every night! I don’t wash my hair if I didn’t leave the house that day), I don’t disinfect things as often since I don’t really feel a real need to.

Being married to someone who doesn’t have OCD or doesn’t believe in OCD is tough. But he tries to keep my anxiety away. I feel bad for him, because he shouldn’t have to . But he wears slippers in the house too, he’s careful when he does things. There are few things I don’t mind so much anymore. Like if he’s wearing short sleeve, I don’t spend all night wondering if his exposed arms are clean before bed, I don’t watch him when he’s capable of making a small mistake like if his toe misses his slipper before he puts them on. And other random small things.

We’re moving, into our own apartment in a few months. We were offered a job out of state. It will be the first time I move and the first time we’ll have our own place together. I can already tell it’s going to be tough… he insists that he’ll never wear slippers in his own house, this worries me. Among other things.

I heard about his new girlfriend a few years ago, they were together for a few years and all this time I thought maybe she was able to stand him for so many years because maybe he had changed. Maybe he grew up, maybe he matured, maybe he treated her better than he ever treated me.

But my friend, who at the time was hanging out with a mutual friend she shared with my ex, told me of all the things he did to her. He hadn’t changed, in fact, he got worse. The things he did to her sounded similar to the things he did to me and I couldn’t help but feel bad for her, to endure that abuse for so many years? I couldn’t imagine being put through it. Especially know how demanding and selfish he is.

I remember reading somewhere that abusers never get better. They’re not capable of getting better. In their minds, the things they do are justified. They were the victims, not the other way around and in some cases, they don’t remember the pain they caused you, like it never even happened. They have to actively be willing to change, they have to be actively aware that they’re abusing their significant other in order to stop and in order to change and even then, it’s unlikely they’ll be able to stop. They tend to do the same things; they tend to isolate you in order for you to depend on them and them alone, you’re easier to control that way. They tend to break down your self-esteem because again, when they make you feel worthless, you’re easier to control.

And it’s shocking to think back, and to realize, that happened to me. Someone, out there, convinced me these things and succeeded for awhile in making me this breakable isolated person. The difference? I knew this was some fucked up mind game, but it wasn’t until I lost all my friends and the trust of my family that I figured this out. It wasn’t until I lost the people I cared about the most. I knew I deserved better than this. I knew I was WORTH so much more than what he was throwing at me. And I knew I didn’t have to deal with his crap anymore.

I remember him going through my cell phone every time he saw me, going through my call log, my text messages. I remember him asking me over and over why my guy friend’s phone numbers were still on my phone and if I was sleeping with them (cause why else would you text a friend, right?). Demanding over and over again. I remember changing all the names on my phone to screen names and when he figured out who was who, I changed it to nicknames. For a long time, I never had anyone’s actual names on my phone. I remember I had an ex who cared a lot about me and called me all the time and I had to lie saying it was a female friend. I remember the fights that started at 9PM that lasted until 6AM… the screaming, the hanging up, turning off my phone only to have him call both house phones and when those went unanswered, the called my mom’s cell then my dad’s. I remember him calling my mom after we had a fight to “let her know how much of a horrible person her daughter is”. I remember the one time he put his hands on me. The one time I actually felt “fight or flight” and maybe I was stupid, but I was ready to fight. I have never felt so ready then I did at that moment. The moment he pinned me on the bed screaming at me, I never had that strong of an urge to somehow get him off me and BEAT HIS FACE IN. I wanted him to remember he was messing with the wrong girl. I remember digging my nail into his skin and hearing him cry and scream. And I remember I kept digging until I felt blood. I remember the nights he MADE me miss my ferry or my bus home. And I remember calling my mom to tell her I was spending the night, and my mom being upset at me. I couldn’t tell her, he was staring me the entire phone call. I remember being too scared to ask for help, I was in too deep. People already hated me because of him. Who did I have left to turn to? Who would believe me? No one.

I had one friend. One friend he couldn’t touch. One friend he couldn’t fine. One friend he couldn’t take away from me because the only placed I talked to that friend was at school. And I was careful when I mentioned my friend to him. I was careful to keep it to a strict conversation of video games and I was careful to not linger on the subject of my friend for too long so he wouldn’t even slightly suspect anything.

The day I decided I couldn’t take it anymore, the day I decided to finally leave… was the scariest day of my life. I remember coming home from an amazing afternoon/night with that friend and next thing I knew, I was on the phone with my then boyfriend and he was fake crying, saying “I feel like you don’t love me anymore” and I remember blurting out without thinking “because I don’t”. Everything after that was a blur, I remember him spreading rumors… posting my full name and my phone number in various places. I remember him getting mutual friends to harass me. My parents unplugged the phones the next day and we got caller ID. I changed all my contact information and I kept my cell phone off for a few days. And through the rough breakup, my friend was there to cheer me up. To keep me smiling when I didn’t want to.

And now, 7 years later… hearing news about my ex, still give me slight anxiety. He still haunts me sometimes even though we haven’t spoken or seen each other in 7 years. And now, I’m married to my friend who saved my life. I’m married to someone who’s nothing like my ex. He doesn’t get mad when I try to distract him from his video games. He doesn’t get mad at me if I turn off his game and tell him it’s time to eat. He’s never ever hit me. He’s never ever yelled at me, and if he has it was within good reason. He doesn’t tell me I’m stupid because of the music I like, he doesn’t go through my phone or my emails or my computer. He doesn’t stop me from hanging out with my friends. He supports everything about me. Every crazy obsession. Every hobby. Every off the wall idea. He never holds things over my head. He sends me home when he knows I need to be home. He cares about me in way I’ve never experienced.

And I’m free. I could had been me, but it wasn’t me. I’m proud of myself for walking away for good, no matter how scared I was.

Because of it, I’m still here. I’m happy and I’m married to someone amazing.

OCD works different for everyone, but for me… I shower at night and so I’m clean for the night up until either 1) I’m getting ready to leave the house or 2) I’m getting ready to go to bed. So whatever I do from my shower to either one of those two options, I have to stay clean which is a pretty vague definition.

For the sake of this entry, that means I can’t go downstairs and grab a bowl or a cup and sit in my room and eat. Not if it’s a bowl/cup from my house. If it was (say I had a drink ready for me before I took a shower, I’d have to disinfect the cup. Yes, I would have to disinfect a clean cup from my own home) in that in-between time. Does that make sense?

So pretty much, I couldn’t eat the food my mom had bought just then because I “couldn’t“. There was a point in my OCD where it was okay, I always had dinner on my bed. Then it started that I had to have a paper towel between my bed and my plate/bowl to just not doing it at all. And then there was the time where I couldn’t even leave my room after a shower. Not even to pee, I’d force myself to wait until the next morning (which led to a UTI).

And I really hate how OCD does this to me because it makes me sound like I’m a snob and I’m not, I’m not trying to be and sometimes its just really hard to explain to my mom, and I love how she always tries to find a way around it to make things more comfortable for me… I’m glad she understands, but I just hate thinking that she thinks I’m still the selfish snob I was when I was younger, and that’s not even the case this time… it’s just, well like I’ve stated above, can’t do certain things… it’s just something that’s been bothering me since that day. I actually think about this constantly.

And I wish I could just break out of this… but after 7 years? It just seems hopeless. I know, somewhere, deep down inside, I’m so much stronger than this. I broke out of this for 3 months and I didn’t die. Germs didn’t kill me. So I don’t get it… what’s the big deal? Germs won’t kill me. Hell in those 3 months they didn’t even make me sick. I’ve been kinda prepping myself to try it again. Except last time I did it, it was because I was tired of dealing with my anxieties.

It’s just weird, the way it works. The way it makes you feel at all the different stages…

I’ve tried to not really put too much thought into OCD lately, I’ve already got too much other crap to think about. I always thought that maybe if I cleaned up my life a little more, my OCD would slow down… but now, I don’t even know if that’s true anymore.

I’m 25 and my life is still a mess. I’m not so much of a mess anymore but my life still is and I need to fix that, soon. Or at least, attempt to. Or something.

Everyday is a struggle, if not with OCD then with something else. It’s always something. Sometimes (like now) it’s multiple things at once.

And yes, I could get up. I could clean my room and ignore my OCD. I could. But how far will I get before anxiety kicks in? Procrastination is a fear of failing. I’m so much stronger than this, I’ve proved that to myself for months at one point of this entire mess and now, now… why can’t I do it again? Why do I feel like I’m back in this glass cage again? A prisoner against my own mind.

I could get off my blogs and I could do my homework. I could. But I’m not. Because I don’t understand it and I need to break out of that habit. Of not doing something because I don’t understand it. I know I don’t want to lose this A. This is the first A I’ve ever held in all the years I’ve been in college, do I want to lose it because I didn’t understand ONE assignment?

Debt is heavy on my mind these days. And it feels like a ton of bricks piled up on me. What can I do? How can I fix this? How is fixing this possible without a job? My time is already limited without a job, I couldn’t imagine how much more time I’d lose if I did have a job. And at the same time, I simply can not go without having a job. I haven’t even had time to do any paid blogging assignments. And that really sucks.

Things will get better when I make them better.

And I know that. I’ve always known that. And I will always know that.