A Review of 2014: The Year of Adventure

I hope those of you who celebrate Christmas had a wonderful and peaceful holiday! Larry and I had a quiet but very enjoyable time.

It’s hard for me to believe that this is the last post I will write in 2014. The years go by so quickly now!

Before the start of 2014, I chose a word to guide me through the year: Adventure. I did have some adventures during the year, some fun and exciting, some not-so-fun but life-changing, some big, some small.

Here are some of my adventures in 2014:

January: I opened a freelance editing business.

February: I started thinking about and making notes to write a mystery novel. I went sledding for the first time in years and had a blast!

One of my favorite photos from 2014. It was taken by Larry.

March: I covered the Group 1A boys basketball finals in Richmond and wrote a story about it—me, a non-sportswriter.

April: Larry and I started our first garden in the raised bed.

The raised bed garden in June.

May: I did an interview for a story on OCD and scrupulosity on CNN.com.

June: Relationships with family members changed forever.

July: I started to knit. I went on a ride-along with a deputy with the county sheriff’s office.

Chase Bird doesn't seem to think too highly of my knitting.

September: I made an adjustment in my medications that made a big, positive difference in my depression. I didn't start talk therapy as I planned. I put that off until 2015 because of scheduling problems.

October-November: I started and finished physical therapy for a problem that remains to be diagnosed for sure: Neck? Shoulder? Both?

November: Larry and I tried authentic Japanese food for the first time. We found snow at the Peaks of Otter on Thanksgiving Day.

One adventure I worked on the whole year was reading. Yes, reading is always an adventure for me. I set a goal to read 24 books. I thought that was manageable and not so high that I would set myself up for failure.

I actually went over my goal and read 27 books. That might end up being 28 for 2014 since I’m currently reading one of my Christmas books.

I read a lot of articles and essays, too.

All but three of the books I read fall into the mystery/thriller category. I’m not sure what that says about me. Yes, I love mysteries. But maybe I needed some escape time, too.

Of the mysteries, 15 of them were by John Sandford. I discovered him last Christmas, and as you can guess, I found his stories captivating.

Here are the three nonfiction books I read:

The Center Cannot Hold: My Journey Through Madness. By Elyn R. Saks.

Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation. By Palmer J. Parker.

Blush: A Mennonite Girl Meets the Glittering World. By Shirley Hershey Showalter.

I’m not sure yet what number of books I will set as a goal for 2015, but it will be higher than 24 or even 27. And I hope to include more nonfiction books.

So there’s a quick overview of 2014, one that in no way reflects the complexity of life. I am glad to put 2014 behind me.

On Thursday, let’s talk about 2015.

Readers, what one word sums up your 2014?

Working on it

Changing leaves from a past autumn.

Happy autumn to you, dear readers! It’s one of my favorite times of the year. Perhaps it’s a relic of spending years in school, but the beginning of fall seems like a new beginning to me.

I have been working on getting better since I posted HERE about feeling stuck and full of anguish.

I saw my psychiatrist, and he was concerned about my lack of energy and motivation, my lack of desire to do anything but sleep. We made an adjustment in my medication. It’s one we’ve made before.

It’s too early to experience the full effects of the change, but I have felt more like making plans and setting goals. I am having an easier time starting the day. I am feeling better.

My psychiatrist also thinks it would be a good idea for me to get into talk therapy again to deal with my anger and confusion about my mother. I agreed. I do want to talk with someone nonbiased who can help me find my way through the confusion.

I’m going to see the same psychologist I saw the last time I was in talk therapy. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have an opening until mid-November. I’m on the list to call if he has cancellations, and they did call about an appointment. But it was for a Monday, which are busy days at the newspaper. So, I’ll wait until November if that’s what I have to do.

The idea of taking care of myself, of loving myself, is something I’m still getting used to. It’s not what I was taught to do as I was growing up, and I’ve held on to the belief that thinking of oneself is selfish.

But the time for change is here.

I’m learning more about taking care of myself when I am anxious, angry about the past, or feeling lost.

For example, last week, a particular news story was bothering me. It brought back a lot of bad memories, and I felt tense with anger.

I sat down and wrote down a description of how I felt. I probably frightened the keys on my computer by how hard I was pounding them. But I felt better—relieved, calm—after I finished.

Writing can definitely be therapeutic.

So can knitting. Here is my first knitted scarf:

I love the motions my hands make as they work the needles. I like the way the yarn feels. I like the rhythm. I like having a finished product. I feel soothed.

So that’s where I am right now. Still putting one foot in front of the other, as we all have to do.

Take care of yourselves, love yourselves. And I will see you on Thursday.

The importance of getting treatment for mental illness

Sometimes I get emails from readers of my blog, asking me for advice on how to deal with OCD, other anxiety, or depression.

I am always happy to tell them what works for me. I am not a medical professional, but I do have personal experience with mental illness and treatments. So I try to share.

One thing that I’ve noticed is that not everyone is in treatment or even thinking about treatment.

I’m not going to make a blanket statement and say if you have a mental illness, you need to be in a certain kind of treatment.

But I will say this:

If you are having a difficult time coping with daily life, if life seems dark and just gets darker by the day, if you have intrusive thoughts, if you are abusing substances such as alcohol, if the ways you usually cope with the bad times aren’t working, then I believe you need the help of professionals.

For more information about when to seek help, check HERE and HERE.

When I first got therapy, I didn’t have health insurance. This was back in 1988, and I was a graduate student in Ohio.

With the encouragement of a friend, I contacted student mental health services at my university and started seeing a psychologist on staff. It was the first step in understanding the pain I had been in for years. It was the first step in a very long journey to a new way of being.

I was able to see this psychologist free of charge because I was a student at the university.

Eventually, she told me she thought I needed the help of a psychiatrist for my continuing depression and for the OCD symptoms that I finally revealed to her. She referred me to a doctor in a nearby town.

I paid out of pocket to see the psychiatrist, who gave me my “official” diagnoses of depression and OCD in January 1990. I was 26 years old.

I started taking medication while continuing my talk therapy with the psychologist.

I slowly began to see light at the end of the tunnel.

I moved back to Virginia in July 1990, and it wasn’t easy to get the mental health help I needed. I wouldn’t have health insurance for three more years.

But I worked with what Virginia has, a community system of mental health professionals which I could access on a sliding scale. In other words, they looked at my income and billed me according to what I could afford.

It’s not a perfect system. Not all mental health professionals are created equal. But I got some individual help and even took part in some group therapy.

I went for long periods of time without active therapy. I stayed on my medications and had good times and bad times.

I read Dr. Jeffrey Schwartz’s book Brain Lock back in the 1990s, and that helped me a lot with OCD. I began to learn more about meditation. I read a lot about mental health. I began to understand how spirituality didn’t have to be a hindrance or a burden, but could actually help. I began to understand how my relationships with family members and others hurt me rather than helped me.

Eventually, five years ago, I decided that I needed therapy again, and my family doctor recommended my current psychiatrist to me. He encouraged me to get some help from a psychologist on staff, which I did.

I delved deeper into studying and writing about OCD, and I learned a lot about how the disorder was affecting my life.

My mental health has probably improved more in the past five years than in all the years since I saw my first therapist in 1988.

I know the health care system in the United States is not always kind to those who need mental health services. I am blessed to have insurance that covers such care.

I encourage anyone who is having a difficult time mentally to reach out for help. To find referrals to mental health professionals, you might want to start with your medical doctor, a social worker, a teacher, or a minister or rabbi or other spiritual leader.

Make sure he or she is someone you trust and who understands the needs of those with mental illness. Walk away if they don’t take you seriously or try to minimize your problems.

Look on the Internet for help. For example, on the website of the International OCD Foundation, you can find a lot of information about OCD as well as a database of therapists who can help those with OCD.

Other online resources for finding treatment providers include Mental Health America and National Alliance on Mental Illness.

The right treatment can put you back on track. It can enable you to live the life you want to live.

That’s what it did for me.

Note: Where have my photos gone? I haven't been taking many photos lately, but I am working to change that and will have photos with my posts again!

Chase Bird, basketball and a haircut: Random 5 Friday

Happy Friday! I hope you’re doing well, dear readers, on this last Friday in March. Is it just me, or does this year seem to be flying by already?

One of the best things about Friday is being able to join Nancy at A Rural Journal for Random 5 Friday. I hope you will visit Nancy HERE and find other bloggers who are sharing their randoms.

Chase Bird relaxing on Larry's lap.

One

Chase Bird seems to be feeling better. It’s not that he had been sick. But he seemed subdued and was licking his fur a lot, enough to leave some bare spots.

He wouldn’t eat the hypoallergenic food, so taking that route to see if he had a food allergy didn’t pan out.

We are sticking to a few tried and true foods that don’t upset his stomach.

Larry and I have both noticed that he seems to be licking less. Fur is growing back in.

And he is playing more. I love to see (and hear) him galloping around chasing a stuffed mouse or other toy. He likes us to throw the toy out ahead of him so he can chase it and catch it.

I hope he has settled into his new life enough to feel less stressed. He is such a sweet boy.

Chase Bird snoozing.

Two

Can you stand me writing about basketball a little more? Virginia plays Michigan State tonight in the NCAA college basketball Sweet 16. Michigan State will be a formidable foe, but I am hoping Virginia will win. Go ‘Hoos!

Three

I got a haircut on Thursday. Larry had an appointment, and we see the same stylist. We were going to Lynchburg together—I had a doctor’s appointment—and I suddenly got an urge to do something with the shaggy mop I had been sporting. So I called up Jenny, who said she could fit me in.

She just trimmed it and cut some layers around my face. I want to keep it long enough to put up and braid.

She made it look so much better. I wish she could show up at my house every morning and style my hair for me.

I took a couple of selfies to try to show you the newer look, but they didn’t turn out well enough to share. I’ll blame it on the cell phone.

A random photo of Larry walking along the Staunton River in early February.

Four

My doctor’s appointment was at 12:15. The doctor called me back at 1:15.

When I arrived, I was told he was running behind about 40 minutes. Could I wait? Yes, I told them. I came too far not to wait.

It takes me 45 minutes to drive to his office. That’s not terrible, but it’s in an out-of-the-way part of Lynchburg and the traffic to get there can be heavy.

He was running more than 40 minutes behind, obviously, but my irritation was outweighed by the fact that he’s a terrific doctor.

But I set my next appointment in the morning. I’ll be his second appointment of the day. He can’t be too far behind by then.

Five

My doctor and I discussed several options to try to combat my tiredness. One of them is to take my depression medicine in the evenings instead of the mornings.

Seems simple enough, and I’m anxious to see if I notice a difference.

I usually take my medicine right after I get up in the morning. But an hour or two after I get up, I have been experiencing such fatigue that I feel like I could go right back to bed. I’ve wondered if it was the medicine, since I take a higher than usual dose.

I also don’t sleep well at night. I wake up every one or two hours.

So I hope to see good results from this small change. I’ll be working on some other changes, too, that I hope to share about soon.

Have a wonderful weekend!

My OCD is better

Step by step

Today I told someone that my OCD seems better.

Until then, I had kept the hope to myself.

But I’ll say it a bit stronger here: my OCD is better.

OCD is tricky. It can wax and wane.

During especially stressful times, it can grow stronger, leading to more obsessive thoughts, less ability to control the compulsions.

Other times, it grows stronger for no clear reason.

Then the symptoms ebb away, interfering less with the rest of my life.

There is nothing that I can point to as the reason for the current improvement. I think it’s probably a combination of things:

*Good medication

*A focus on preventing myself from following through on the desire to do a compulsion as I work on Exposure and Response Prevention on my own

*Good therapy earlier this year and last year

*A dedication to being mindful

*A growing realization that worrying doesn’t do me or anyone else any good

This time the improvement feels like a step up. I’ve improved in the past, but I wasn’t so aware of working on my OCD and keeping it at bay as much as possible. 

I’m more deliberate about it now.

It's not that I don't still have obsessions and do compulsions. But the symptoms are bothering me less and less. I'm better than I've been in a long time.

I’m very grateful. No need to analyze that too much, is there?

I’m not an expert on OCD. I’m just someone who has had the disorder since I was a child. I realize that OCD can seem very weird, and there are some misconceptions about it. Is there anything about OCD that you’d like to ask me?

Despair and an angel named Sharon

I cried at the bad news. I cried when there was no news. And finally, I cried at the good news.

I’ve cried a lot in the last two weeks.

Sometimes I couldn’t stop crying. The tears just poured out. And one day, the particularly bad day, I knew the tears were part of a larger problem.

I learned once again that physically, I have to be on antidepressants and on the right dose of antidepressants. My depression is a medical problem, an illness.

I wasn’t sure if I should share this story. I don’t want to appear weak. It’s not easy for me to admit how dark life can seem sometimes.

But this is a blog about my journey through life with mental illness. That journey sometimes turns dark. Without warning.

Part of what I’m here to say is that if you feel that darkness, you are not alone. You are not alone. And it can get better.

Over two weeks ago, on July 20, I dropped off the prescription for my antidepressant at the pharmacy. I had run out of refills, but my doctor had given me another prescription at my last visit.

The pharmacist tried to fill it but told me that my insurance company wouldn’t authorize payment for the prescription because of the dosage.

This was nothing new. Periodically my insurance company does this. I take a higher dose than the usual, so every so often, my doctor’s office has to talk with the insurance company and get approval. The only problem is I never know when this is going to happen.

The pharmacist said she would fax the doctor’s office the request for authorization. They wouldn’t get it until their office opened on Monday.

I was OK. The pharmacist gave me a few of the pills to last a few days so I wouldn’t go without while waiting.

By Wednesday, I hadn’t heard anything, so I called the doctor’s office. I was told they were waiting on the authorization.

I won’t bore you with all the details of what followed. In summary, the doctor’s office kept telling me the authorization hadn’t come through. The pharmacist gave me all the pills she could without filling the prescription. The price for the prescription without insurance was exorbitant.

I started taking half my dose to save pills.

I did all I could to hold on, to keep fulfilling my responsibilities, to interact with others as normally as possible.

I found out fairly quickly that half the dose of the medication was not doing the job. My anxiety was sky high. I’d become aware that I was clenching my hands in tight fists. I had a hard time focusing. I had trouble sleeping.

I was simultaneously so depressed that all I could think of was how hopeless my life was. I was sure my life was never going to get back on the right track. I didn’t want to live.

Last Friday morning, I had a panic attack.

I sat on the bed and sobbed. My chest and both arms hurt. The pain made me breathless. I remember thinking that perhaps I was having a heart attack. And I didn’t care.

By Monday afternoon, I decided to do something besides wait for others to fix my problem.

I decided to call the insurance company myself.

I talked with a woman named Sharon.

“We can fix this,” she said after hearing my story and looking at my record.

She called the pharmacy while I was on the phone, then came back on the line and told me again that she would fix it so I could get my prescription. She would call me back, hopefully that day.

“If you can take care of this, you will be my angel,” I said.

“Well, I’m going to be because I’m going to call you back today,” she said.

And she did. She fixed it. I picked up the prescription Monday night.

I learned a lot about self-advocacy during this episode. There’s a lot I want to say about that. But I’ll save that for another post.

For today, I’m just thankful for medication that keeps the scary depression and anxiety at bay. And I’m thankful for angels named Sharon.

Have you received help from any angels lately?

It’s worth saying again and again: You can get relief from OCD

If you have obsessive-compulsive disorder or think that you do, there’s something that I want you to know: you can get better. There are treatments available. You can get relief.

I’ve said that before. I hope it’s a belief that permeates my blog.

But it’s worth saying again. And again. As many times as it takes to make sure you know, deep down: you can get better.

Earlier this week, I wrote a post describing a day with OCD and other anxiety. The day I wrote about was stressful and full of anxiety, but it wasn’t the worst day I’ve ever had.

I started to think about those of you who have worse days than that quite often. And I felt compelled to write this post.

Before I got any treatment, before I even told anyone about my symptoms, OCD had come to rule my life.

I was in my 20s when I first got treatment for OCD.

Before then, I spent hours at a time scrubbing my bathroom over and over.

I checked my stove until the early morning hours to make sure it was turned off.

I couldn’t read a book because of reading OCD, which made life as a student very difficult.

Every time I walked anywhere outside, I slowed myself down by checking every stick and stone that looked like it might harm someone else.

I prayed compulsively for God’s forgiveness and worried about my eternal salvation.

My hands were dark red and incredibly dry from excessive hand washing.

My life was hell. I had no hope that I would get better. I didn’t want to live.

But a friend encouraged me to see a therapist by revealing to me that she was in therapy.

I started seeing a therapist who I learned to trust. She referred me to a psychiatrist, who diagnosed me with OCD and depression and started me on medication.

Through the years after that, I also learned new ways of dealing with OCD and my thoughts and actions by reading and researching OCD, from cognitive behavior therapy, from exposure and response prevention, by reaching out to others with OCD, from writing about OCD, from meditation and from learning more about myself.

I am better today, so much better than I was when I was first diagnosed more than 20 years ago. And I have hope that I will continue to get better and learn to live a life at peace with OCD.

Here are some resources to help you learn more about OCD and the treatments available:

*The International OCD Foundation

*National Institute of Mental Health

*Beyond OCD

*National Alliance on Mental Health

*Anxiety and Depression Association of America

Here are two books that especially helped me:

Brain Lock: Free Yourself from Obsessive-Compulsive Behavior. By Jeffrey M. Schwartz, MD, with Beverly Beyette.

Freedom from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: A Personalized Recovery Program for Living with Uncertainty. By Jonathan Grayson, Ph.D.

Remember that you are not alone.

I encourage you to reach out and get help if you haven’t. I encourage you to keep on fighting to get better.

I encourage you to get some relief.

What are some things we can all do to encourage others who have mental illnesses?

Snow and hope

As I write this, it’s snowing outside, and I love it.

We haven’t had significant snow yet this winter, and I’ve been yearning for it. I love watching the snow as it falls, especially as it falls in the dark, as it is now.

I’m taking pleasure in the beauty of nature. I’m finally able to feel something besides the deadness that has been inside of me.

I was able to see both my therapist and my psychiatrist this week, and it was such a relief. It has been weeks since I’ve been able to match my schedule up with theirs.

I was able to talk about how low I’ve been, about what might be causing this downslide.

My therapist said it was probably a combination of the recent change in medication and an upsetting encounter I had in December that left me feeling helpless.

My psychiatrist increased the dosage of the medication that I’m still on. I was relieved not to have to start on a different one because I’ve tolerated the one I’m on quite well.

The increase in dosage hasn’t had time to work yet, but I’m feeling a bit better just from seeing my medical team and from all the little things I’ve been doing to help the depression.

I’m thinking more clearly. Though much of my thinking is still negative, I’m catching myself more quickly and trying to set my mind on more positive things.

And sometimes it’s just a matter of distracting myself with a book or a conversation or action.

Tonight it has been the snow.

As soon as it really started to pour, my husband suggested going out to eat. He loves to drive in the snow.

So we climbed into his truck and drove to our favorite restaurant. After eating, we walked back out into the falling snow.

I stood in the parking lot and looked straight up. A million snowflakes fell out of the dark straight towards me. I let them land on my face and chill it before I straightened up and walked to the truck.

What has given you joy lately?

Depression and lingering stigma

I’m in another period of deepening depression. There’s nothing pretty or poetic to say about it. It is just there.

It wasn’t totally unexpected when the lows came back around. I made a change in medication last month. My psychiatrist took me off of one of the prescriptions I was on because he thought it was causing the intense restlessness that was plaguing me, and he told me that another change might be necessary.

But I wanted to wait a little while and see how I did on just the one medication I’m still taking. I wanted to see if just the one would suffice.

I am grateful that the restlessness abated. My whole level of anxiety, including the anxiety of OCD, has been better lately.

However, the rough energy of the restlessness has been replaced by now-familiar depression.

I’ve had a difficult time getting through my daily duties, and, worst of all, I’ve had the unrelenting hopelessness that marks depression for me.

I wake up and have no enthusiasm or desire to face the day. I cry in the shower as I get ready for work, cry on the way to work, and spend my workdays wanting to scream.

This return of depression, like always, has me thinking about its causes.

Is it related to current situations in my life? Is it chemical? Is it related to the change in medication? Is it related to the season? Is it a combination of all of the above?

I’ve analyzed it, thought and thought about it, obsessed over it in ways that I suspect are related to OCD.

But no matter what is causing it, the big question for me really has been, when should I call the doctor? When is it bad enough to call the doctor?

Because no matter how many times I’ve gone through these bouts of depression, I still doubt myself. I still tell myself that I should be able to deal with this depression on my own, without a doctor’s help. After all, I’m already on an antidepressant. After all, I should be able to rise above it, snap out of it.

Yes, I sometimes buy into the stigma about depression.

I surprised myself when I realized what I was doing. How could I still cling to the myths about depression? How could I still give credence to the beliefs that those of us with mental illnesses should just be quiet about it, get over it, have a positive attitude, be happy already?

How could I fail to see right away that I needed help?

The stigma surrounding mental illness can be subtle, and it can affect how even those of us with mental illnesses treat ourselves.

If you had the same symptoms, I would have advised you to get professional help. I would have assured you that help is available. That treatment can help. That there’s no shame in asking for help.

I told myself a different story.

That story broke into pieces when I finally found the answer to that question of when is it bad enough. I reached my limit. I knew—yes, indeed, I need to see my doctor.

I originally had an appointment to see him again at the end of December, but I rescheduled the appointment for later in January because of work.

On Tuesday I called my doctor’s office to see if he had any openings this week. I was told that he was out of the office until next Tuesday.

So I must wait.

And I’ll be OK to wait. I’ll do what I can to manage this depression. But I won’t deny any longer that I need a professional’s help.

Have you ever found yourself believing the myths about mental illnesses? Have you ever denied to yourself that you needed help from others?

Restlessness and the power of medication

The medications that I take for OCD, depression and anxiety are powerful. They have the ability to help me live a more fulfilling life. They also have the power to make it difficult to do the simple things that make for a fulfilling life.

I’ve always had a respect for the medications I take, and I have learned anew just why I have that respect.

***

It’s a feeling that I literally can’t sit still, that I must move. I’ve been unable to settle down to a task, especially if it’s one where I have to remain still while doing it. I’ve been having a difficult time focusing on one thing at a time.

I haven’t been reading like I love to do because I have such a hard time concentrating. I have stacks of unread books, on my shelves and in my Nook.

It has even been difficult to do a sudoku puzzle, something that usually is rather meditative for me. I start a puzzle and less than a minute later, I want to get up and look for something else to do.

I have an unfinished scarf that I’ve been crocheting.

I’ve had a hard time writing at work and on this blog.

At home, especially in the evening, I’ve felt like time was stretching out in front of me, waiting to be filled, but I didn’t know what to do to fill it. Settling into a task has seemed too difficult.

On a recent evening, I decided to meditate. It wasn’t pretty. I managed to sit for 10 minutes, but I kept shifting my position, and I was able to focus on my breath only a few times.

***

My psychiatrist said the restlessness was likely a side effect of one of the medications that I’d been on for about six months as kind of an adjunct to my main antidepressant.

I was noticing the symptoms when I was on a low dose of the medication, and the doctor thought that increasing the dose might relieve the symptoms.

Apparently, that works for some people, but not with me.

And some people have a wonderful experience with this medication. Not me.

Last week, he decided to take me off the medication, and I cut down gradually. Now I’m off of it completely, and I’m already noticing an improvement in the restlessness.

My doctor talked about increasing the dose of the main antidepressant I’m on, or switching me to another, because in the past I have tended to feel a lack of energy or fatigue on the medication I’m on now.

But I’ve been on the antidepressant for three years, and I like how this medication handles the depression and the anxiety. I’ve felt good overall on it.

So I told him that I wanted to stay on the same antidepressant and the same dose, at least for a while, to see how it goes.

I am all for medication when it’s needed, and I believe I need it, but at this point, I’m tired of trying new combinations. I want to rest a while on the current medication and give it a chance again.

Have you ever had a negative experience with a medication?