Anxiety Sucks

My face was pressed against the window in the back seat of the family’s green station wagon.  I sat quietly waiting for my dad to finish work.  I watched as he walked out the door and locked it.  Then the ritual began but I did not know what I was witnessing at the time.  He reached for the door handle and shook it three times.   My father walked down the short flight of steps and looked back at the door.   He proceeded back up the steps and grabbed the door handle again and shook it hard.  Three times.  Repeat.

At the time, I had no idea what I was witnessing.  I was only seven or eight years old at the time.  However, as an adult, I can say this is my first memory of anxiety.  Now I can recognize the signs of anxiety with ease.  It’s the little things.  It is the food that can’t touch each other on a dinner plate.  It is the patterned blanket that can only be facing one direction.  It is the nervousness to carry a water bottle in a theater.  It is the glasses, keys and pen that must sit just right on the counter.  It is the ritual of setting the breakfast table in proper sequence.  It is the person sitting in the corner quietly on their phone during social events.

It manifests differently in each person.  In my case, it started as a teenager and continued through college.  The anxiety focused on electricity and fire.  So curling irons, hair dryers and crock puts became a source of stress. I was so aware of my anxiety and I hated it.  It was a waste of time and I knew I was transferring my anxiety onto these objects.  When Erin was born, I had no time for it any longer.  I had to focus on her and I stopped.

Fast forward seventeen years later.  It is different but it is back and I want it to go away.

The OCD In Me

It is there. It is always there. For the most part, it remains dormant and undetected. Only recently have I felt the familiar tug.

It was during college that I realized that I was mildly OCD. OCD is a type of anxiety disorder in which a person has unreasonable fears that lead to repetitive behaviors. I read that over three million Americans between the ages of 18 and 54 have had OCD at one time. Most people who have OCD know they have it, are ashamed by it and want it to go away. It can be severe and so time-consuming that it becomes disabling. Thankfully, that was not the case with me. My OCD was managed and not obvious.

My earliest memory of OCD is with my father. I was seven or eight years old. I recall sitting in the back seat of our green station wagon watching my father lock up his place of employment. He would lock the door and then take a few steps away. He would always go back and check the door to make sure it was locked. He would tug once...pause...two...three...four...pause...five. It was only after the final tug that he would walk to the car.

Is it genetic or a learned behavior?

I am sure many people hear the term OCD and think hand washing or excessive orderliness. OCD manifests itself in many ways. The focus of my OCD is electrical appliances that have the potential to cause fire. Years ago, I decided to combat the OCD using Behavioral Therapy. As a psychology major in college, the topic of our senior seminar was Behavioral Therapy. I used a few techniques I learned in class to reduce my anxiety. It worked. A few years later, after my daughter was born, I no longer had the time or energy to worry. As far as I was concerned, my OCD was defeated.

Until last week.

For the first time in years I found myself checking an electrical appliance. I am referring to something more that a quick double check. I was in my car and started to drive out of the parking lot. I had to stop and go back in the house. I needed to be sure. The appliance was off. I sat back in my car and realized what I had just done. I do not want to go down that path again. I hope that writing about OCD will help combat it.

This is a hard post to write and share. I have placed my anxiety on the Internet for anyone to read.