uhm, yeah...

So, to try to break the cycle of intrusive thoughts, I am supposed to wear a rubber band on my wrist. Snap the band and tell myself "STOP," then take a couple deep breaths, reflect on the thought, and figure out if it is reality or not.

The rubber band thing probably won't work because... well, I feel like a nerd snapping my wrist every five seconds. Also, it's hard to find a rubber band that matches or coordinates with my outfits (and no, I am not that vain--it's actually one of my weird thinking things). I think, instead of the rubber band I may use one of the charity bracelets (ala Livestrong) and switch it from wrist to wrist. That would be a more natural kind of fidget I would actually do, without drawing a lot of attention to the snapping of a rubber band. Because... let's face it, I can't be in the middle of a meeting and snapping myself. But, I could be fidgeting.

Everyone has their things. Seriously. When I talk about OCD and my rituals (which are the compulsions) and my one-track thinking (which are the obsessions) , there is usually a glimmer of recognition. The difference between having quirks and having OCD is the anxiety level that surrounds the thinking and the rituals.

And I can finally point to a specific event that caused me to go from being quirky to having tremendous anxiety--it was when *that student* threatened me. In my face, screaming and pressed up close enough that he steamed up my glasses. I can even write those words without feeling physically ill. I now accept that my terror and fear is not based in reality. That a student randomly walking around the room (say, to sharpen a pencil or get some paper or toss some trash) isn't going to stab me. Random walking does not mean stabbing. Not anymore.

What progress!!

How odd that I thought everyone thinks the kinds of things I think (er, obsess) about. But, really, how would I know? I am not a mind reader. I just thought everyone worried that during a heavy rainstorm the roof would leak and short out the light above the bed, causing the house to burst into flames. Sit awake at night, during said storm, waiting for that very thing to happen. No?

I'm glad I am getting therapy. Therapy is the best thing I have ever done. I wish I went years ago. Years ago. I wish there had been counselors in place to help me cope with Mum's death thirty-five years ago. Maybe I wouldn't be such a neurotic mess today.

Hmmm... I guess this has turned into quite a confession. Revalation. Whatever you want to call it. Rambling? Yeah, whatever. Maybe this explains why I named my blog for a movie about OCD. What if this is as good as it gets?