Purposefully Seeking OCD

I’m going to admit something.. you probably already know, but something I’ve kept hidden from myself. Its how I process, I know this.. I just… well.. its hard to see what you’re hiding from yourself, because… well.. you’re hiding it from yourself.

See how that works?

I’ve been trying to re-build my life for years, with the most progress happening this last year since the divorce. I may or may not have had a “breakdown” years ago. Its hard to say, and never was diagnosed. But looking back, I have to wonder.

All I know is that somewhere along the way, I forgot how to be a functional human being. I honestly blame my ex, but in reality I should blame myself. I stayed where I should have fled.

I’m discovering little things on my road back to humanity. I forgot what it was like to take joy in doing something for absolutely no reason other than I wanted to. I forgot what it was like to actually get a real paycheck for real services rendered. I forgot that pride.

People used to call me “Monica”.. remember Monica from friends.. she was OCD, reserved, a great cook. Everything had its place. It drove her crazy when something wasn’t where it belonged.

Thats how I used to be. Seriously. Everything had its place. Somehow during the battle with my ex (who believed that everything went wherever he decided to leave it, and that fairies would move it back to its spot), up until even today, that particular OCD has gone away. (not fully, but for the most part yes.)

I was actually having a conversation with my best friend where she began to talk about how she now has my OCD… well not exactly, she’s much more of a clean-freak than I ever was. I started looking around my apartment and realized that.. I no longer have any of the “functional” parts of my OCD.

Seriously, its like apathy has taken over OCD. Like I am (was) functioning defeated. Like I’d given up.

So I’ve decided that I’m going to get it back. I’m happier with things in their place. I’m happier with a cleaner/neater apartment.

And so, I’ve been slowly digging myself out of this hole I’ve built. I can almost see my dining room table again.

I’m making a new list of “rules” and will be practicing doing them until I get back to where I was… ok maybe not the insane OCD crap.. but functional. Where I can have someone over maybe without saying “Oh, umm.. just close your eyes.”

(Btw, I have managed to rid myself of my “I need this” hoarding OCD, which I am not seeking to take up again. Thanks but that’s one I can do just fine without.)

**** For you that are grossing yourselves out with your imaginations, please understand that my mess is clean mess. I don’t have left over food containers all over, or crumbs everywhere. Its just old things to get rid of, papers to file, clothes to give to goodwill.. and some canned goods to put away.


The Comforts Of A Home

As much as I complain, whine, and pretty much always try to get out of going home (to my parents), there is always something comforting about being there.

Yes of course there’s the judgement of family. The making fun of me because I’m the youngest and they can. The not listening to me. The.. well… the overwelming feeling of being an outcast in my own family is still present. (If I didn’t undeniably look like the rest of my family, I would swear I was adopted or the milkman’s daughter)

Beyond all that.. its comforting to be there.

My parents still live in the same house that I grew up in. I lived all my days from birth until I went off to college in that town, and from roughly age 4 until college in that exact house. There are many memories there.

There’s the piano that we all learned to play on. Its an old upright circa early 1900’s with remarkably good sound still. It was one of the few things to survive the fire we had when I was just a toddler. It still sits where it always has.

Other furniture has come and gone. Decor has come and gone. But the piano, the dining table, and the antique buffet have remained unmoved and untouched.

When I visit, I still sleep in one of the two bedrooms that used to be mine as a child. One I lived in until HS, sharing it with my sister. We slept on twin beds that would bunk if needed. Mostly we had them separated, as .. well.. its easy to annoy someone sleeping in bunked beds.. sometimes because you mean to.. and sometimes unintentionally. 🙂

The other bedroom is now the fancy guest room, but used to be my room when I was in HS. By the time I reached HS, all my siblings were off in college so I had the room to myself. It still contains my old dresser and the closets still house some of my old HS awards, honors, diploma, and various useless crap I never threw away.

Yet… that stuff is not the comforting things I felt this last visit. I’m sure they all played their part.

What got me this last visit was the fullness of the house. Everyone was home. The house was busting at its seems to hold us all.

I thought I’d need my space. That I’d need time out. That it would be too crowded and I’d have to go out and get some air.

But I didn’t. I’m sure had I stayed much longer that I’d have needed some “Me Time”, but I didn’t for the short (4 day) visit.

Instead I enjoyed having people around. Waking in the morning, not to my alarm clock, but to the sounds of voices laughing and discussing things over breakfast. Going to bed and having someone to say “Good night” to. I actually even slightly enjoyed coordinating with others on when to take a shower.

It was so strange and yet wonderful. So as much as I bitch, I really do miss family… and I really would like one of my own.

Just A Good Long Cry

I’d been getting worried about myself the last week or month really. I began wondering if I was turning into some kind of sociopath or something as I couldn’t seem to access my emotions.  I wanted to cry sometimes but couldn’t. Things that should have had me rolling on the floor would merely make me smile or just not phase me at all.

I’d been thinking about the ex often. Not in a romantic way, but more so in an angry wishing him harm kind of way. I found myself containing volumes of anger and bitterness, and I didn’t like it one bit but also felt powerless to do anything about it.

To be honest what really scared me the most was that night with Hock. He’d be sweet and thoughtful.. giving actually.. and instead of triggering the same in me, I found myself getting angry. It was sweet stuff that threatened to melt my heart, and I resisted it. I didn’t want to feel anything, and I found myself angry at Hock for making me even try to feel anything.

All this last week, the slightest kind thing on TV or clip forwarded to me from Youtube, and I’d get choked up.

Then last night’s Glee. The dam burst and I cried like a baby through the entire show. At first, it was the small little touching moments of the show that got my tears flowing, but somewhere in the middle I just broke down and cried, a hard uncontrollable sob-fest.

I think its the first real big cry I’ve had since we’d started the whole divorce process (well once I knew it was really divorce), let alone the first big cry since the divorce.

All that anger, resentment, stress, fear, etc… finally bubbled back to the surface and let itself out.

After the show was over, I cried a little more then dried my tears. I felt better. I felt human.

It really was a good long cry, and something I truly needed.

Dark Days

I am having a dark day. These kinds of days should motivate me to be better, do better, and fix the things in my life that make me sad. Should anyway.

But right now I’m overpowered by a complete sense of failure.  No not just a sense of having failed in the past. But a sense of having failed, failing now, and no hope of not failing in the future.

Like I said. Dark Day.

I woke this morning with tears in my eyes. Tears brought on by the mere thought of “What am I going to do with my life?”

Followed by more tears and anxiety with the next thought of “I don’t know”.

Normally this would not get me down, and events like last night would be motivational.

Unfortunately the combination of last night, and yesterday’s experiment with something I’ve not tried before (mild allergic reaction) has caused today’s chemical alteration.

I have days like this. Just days. I know how to prevent them, but sometimes the urge to try something new gets the better of me. (Come on, who doesn’t like to try something new?)

Technically, today I’d pass as clinically depressed. I’m not suicidal, don’t worry. The darkness is never that ambitious. It merely likes to taunt and torture.

(funny, I feel it lifting as I type this. Hmm maybe I should keep a dark day journal)

Bad Social = Antisocial

I still don’t think I’m quite over last Friday’s debacle, as I really am in an antisocial funk right now.


Saturday, I forced myself to go out. Seriously. So I went to this lovely beer festival, and drank some beer.  Then I decided to torture my dog.


Actually, I went to the festival with the excuse that I would try it out with my dog. I grew up with dogs that did nothing but stay at home, hunt rodents, bark at neighbors, and wait for us to come home and feed them.  So when I finally got a house, I got a dog and did the same thing.


Well now that I don’t have a house for the dog to attend, I feel quite a bit guilty for the completely boring life the dog is now leading.  She wants to be with me 24/7 anyway, so I thought I’d work on trying to socialize her.


I went to the festival late, and checked it out before I brought my dog. It was pretty calm, and not too many other dogs around.. so I thought I’d give it a try.  She did great other than trying to crawl under the tables to get away and hide from everyone.


She also helped me get hit on by way too drunken strangers. Cute drunken strangers, but still drunken.  So don’t discount your dog as a way to meet men.


Since she was obviously traumatized by way too many people… She’d been looking for an exit since we’d arrived.  We called it an early night.


So Sunday I stayed in and was so anti-social that I didn’t even get on the internet or answer my phone. Monday I stayed in. Tuesday I stayed in.  I of course got quite a bit of work done on cleaning the apt. Laundry done. To-Do lists made.


I would have also stayed in on Wednesday, but I had some “prizes” to claim and went to a “Timeshare” sales schtick.


New Social Rules:

1. When feeling antisocial, do not attend any kind of sales related thing.

2. When #1 fails, be honest and tell sales person to “F-OFF”

3. No prizes are worth the trauma of a bad sales pitch.


I am seriously traumatized.  The “timeshare” was on a “resort” out in timbucktu Texas.  So getting there was lots of driving and not pretty scenery, but views of rundown farms, forgotten shacks, and places that time (& its employees) had forgot. Everything around this “resort” was in dire need of a paint job if not an exterminator as well.


The “resort” was the equivalent of my apt complex if you added a lake, skiball, a dive mexican restaurant, and a cheesy giftshop.  No spa treatments, masseuse or even a hair salon on site.


The lady spent nearly an hour asking me what she called “rhetorical” questions that she expected me to answer.  I don’t think we agreed on the definition of “rhetorical”. The entire schpeil was an insult to my intelligence, and so much so that I interrupted her talking and told her to (and seriously I quote) “get to the damn point”.


I cannot seem to put adequately into words just how mentally insulting her sales pitch was. I’m trying, but the words just do not express it adequately.


I spent 2 hours of my life that I’ll never get back with an uncultured unintelligent woman who has never left Texas except to go to Mexico once or twice trying to sell me a vacation package.  Her sales skills were aimed at people who .. like her.. have never seen anywhere but Texas and don’t want to see anywhere but Texas, Branson, and outback Georgia. (I’m much more of a downtown NYC or Chicago, Tahoe, San Fransico, London, Paris, Venice, Prague.. kind of person.)


Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh the migraine I had when I left there.  I did however get a couple “free” trips out of it, but it was so not  worth it.


Evie (thank god) went with me. She tells me that not all timeshare presentations are this excruciatingly painful. She said that that “resort” was where timeshare salespeople went to die. But I tell you this now.. I will not be going to another timeshare place in Texas for a very very fucking very very long freaking time.


I drowned my aching head with a beer when I got home, and I really really don’t want to leave my house ever again.


Unfortunately I will. Tonight is another “Flirting” group meeting.  So off to the showers I go to make myself pretty.

Why I Love My Girls Blogs

I woke up today depressed. I went on a date yesterday. Initially from his online persona I pretty much figured he wouldn’t be my type. He’s not really, but in many ways he so is.

He has that low masculine voice, that makes you just want to call him up and have phone sex with him right there.  Not that I did, I do have self-restraint.

On meeting him, I was dreading the worst.  The picture he sent me was of him in sunglasses and a cap, and a headshot.. so I pretty much was walking in blind.

I initially see him from the back. And he’s physically not bad. He has a nice butt. He turns around and his face isn’t “OMG take me now” but nice kind and attractively average.  But there’s something wrong and I can’t place it for a few minutes, then it dawns on me that his head is a bit large for his body.  Like he should be a good 50 lbs heavier.  The thought made me smile, but didn’t really detract anything from him as far as I was concerned.

We sat and talked, and had a few beers.  He bragged about his travels, and his poker playing. (I really hate poker, but I’m trying not to be so picky anymore.) He talked and talked and talked.

Occasionally he’d ask me about me.  I’d get out about half an answer, and he’d continue on some thought that it’d brought up.

I didn’t really mind. I’d decided that he was attractive enough to sleep with, and his other annoying habits could just be due to him being nervous. He talked so much I assumed that was the cause. So I figured I’d give him another shot.

We talked for 2.5 hours, then we left.  He gave me a one arm hug, and swore he was going to email me (kept telling me he was going to email me throughout the 2.5 hour conversation) the info on this pirated TV place he uses.  – Oh yeah, we talked geek, so yes by the end of 2.5 hours he was irresistible.

I was pretty sure by the one armed hug that he wasn’t interested, but when I got to my car and saw that it’d been 2.5 hours of talking… I wasn’t so sure.

Nevertheless, the increased certainty that the date was a failure bummed me out and I spent the rest of the night watching Netflix DVD’s and checking my email. Still nothing from him.  I’m not really holding my breath.

Is it any wonder that I really hate dating?

But today, I woke up still down.. checked my emails, then went to go see if any of my favorite girls had posted something. They had.

AmazingMelisa posted something of which I have very similar feelings.  A lot of men really suck. Dating sucks. Bedbuddies are a dime a dozen, man you’re not the only game in town. (so treat us right, asshole) Sometimes you just feel alone.

TrueHeart posted a very funny video of a badly designed dress.  Which was just the laughter I needed.

Sometimes its just good to see you’re not really alone in all this.

The “Friend” Speech

The last few days I’d been working up to a major funk.  Of course I say “I’d been working” as if I’d had a choice in the matter. Would be more accurate to say my body had been working on a funk and taking me along for the ride. Nevertheless, I saw it coming.

So on Friday I started pricing airline tickets to visit a “friend” of mine, in hopes that it would give me something to hold on to and look forward to as I went through this upcoming funk.

This “friend” has never been just a friend.  Shortly after I moved into my apt in May, we began talking and sniffing each other out.  We weren’t quite dating, but we weren’t quite just friends either.  We have several friends in common which is how we started talking, and supposedly (he says, I don’t remember) we’d met once back in 1997.  So there were lots of unknowns as far as attractiveness.  He lives halfway across the USA from me, so distance was always a factor in keeping it more friendly than dating.

I wasn’t going to be uprooting myself for a man again, and there are no jobs in his field here. We’d kept up this stalemate for months, talking daily as much as we could.

Then about a month ago, we began discussing evolution and intelligent design. We’d already discussed religion and he’d said he was “kinda Christian” and we agreed on a few points of religion.. enough to get by I thought.  But when I mentioned that I thought everyone should have the choice between evolution and intelligent design, and that my children will learn both so they can make up their own minds.. Things got heated.  He solely believes in evolution, and cannot understand how I cannot.

There is nothing that 100% proves that “God” had no hand in it, and there is nothing that proves “God” did.  Stalemate.

Since that conversation things began to cool down. (Fred, see this is why I don’t like dating atheists, even if this guy isn’t one).  We’d have one big conversation a week, then sporadically small ones. But he still seemed at least a little interested, as he often was the one initiating and we discussed sexual preferences after that as well.

I’d threatened to visit him several times, but never with any real specific date. So on Friday, I emailed him with an exact weekend and asked if he wanted me to visit. He replied on Saturday “Maybe.. we should talk about it.”  Because I know him, I knew this was a very bad response, besides having that horrid “We should talk” phrase.

Saturday (even before his reply) I slipped further into my funk. I forced myself to go to a party of a friend, but I ended up leaving early.  I felt fat and ugly.

Sunday morning I woke up in full funk.  I didn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone (I had several plans for the day and cancelled them all).  People would IM me and I’d end the conversation.  A friend called and I told her in no uncertain terms that I was totally antisocial and I’d talk to her later in the week.  It really was all I could do not to hang up on her. I distracted myself with copious amounts of TV and Netflix.  The smallest thing would make me cry or angry. I felt fat, ugly, and unlovable.

He messaged me and I told him I was in a foul mood. He didn’t do his normal “ask whats wrong?” thing.  He wanted to get it off his chest I suspect. So he called and blurted out…

“You have a great personality that meshes well with mine, I love talking to you, and I really care about you, but we’ll only ever be just friends.”

Seriously, he couldn’t have picked a worse day.  I started crying like a little baby. I was trying to cover the phone so he couldn’t hear.  I knew the tears had little to actually do with him, but I couldn’t stop them.

He tried to comfort me and it only made things worse. It pissed me off so I cried more.  Seriously, you don’t get to tell a girl that you just want to be “friends” and then comfort her too.  Saying shit to her like “I wish I could just hold you” is not going to make anything better. Bastard!

It seemed like ages, but probably just a few minutes before we finally hung up.  I let myself have a good cry.  The funk wasn’t over, but I distracted myself with episodes of the BBC series “Coupling” which is guaranteed to make you laugh no matter what.

Finally at 3 AM, I was too tired and fell into bed to cry myself to sleep.  I haven’t had a funk this bad in years thankfully, hopefully it will be many more before it comes again.

I woke this morning to sunshine and hope.  I’m not sure I have a whole lot of hope in finding someone to share my life, but today spending the rest of my life alone doesn’t sound so lonely.  The world is full of people that actually do care about me, and right now, thats enough.