BABY STEPS

Baby Steps

It’s almost Father’s Day, I reminded myself as I stepped into Target for the first time in months. I needed a card, and that was a good enough excuse to be brave.

I’ve been talking with my mom on our evening walks, and when I expressed that I’m amazed she can go to newly-opened stores like Target to get necessary things, she encouraged me to take baby steps. I’m coming back to Chicago at some point, after all, and when I’m living alone again, I won’t have someone to go into stores for me.

I decided to give it a try early in the week, during the afternoon so hopefully it wouldn’t be crowded. There were a lot more cars than I would have liked to see in the parking lot, but I pulled up my mask so high that I almost couldn’t see and stepped inside.

It felt like returning to a world I hadn’t visited in forever, and a place that never felt strange to visit suddenly felt dangerous to me. I couldn’t help but notice that only some people were wearing face masks, some of them were touching their faces, and many weren’t staying six feet apart from each other. I felt the nervousness enter me as easily as my breath, which could have been contaminating me even as I stood in the doorway.

I made my way to the middle of the store, telling myself that I couldn’t control what other people were doing, just me. I could stay six feet away from people with masks and farther from the people who weren’t wearing them; I could read the cards without touching them and choose only a couple to look at instead of taking my time and reading all the cards in the row. I found one I liked and took it, touching it even though I don’t have gloves.

Turning to the other side of the aisle, I noticed I was near my favorite part of the store - the tech and games section, which has Pokemon cards. I remember coming to this particular Target five years ago when I felt hopeless, and the cards were the only things that could - at least temporarily - alleviate my anxiety. For a first trip, I said I could reward myself with exactly one thing - not going on a binge like before - and only a thing I could open with a friend on Zoom later, making myself accountable. Another step there, in recognizing that I can treat myself without going off the deep end, and that the cards wouldn’t fix the stress, they would just help me have a good time with a friend.

As I made my way to the back of the store, where I knew the cards were kept, I felt my breath come faster, hitting me in the face as it bounced back at me from the mask. Somehow, it helped - I could imagine that the barrier was so thick that no germs could get through, and that bolstered me when I realized that the cards I was looking for were behind a glass case - I’d need to find an associate and talk to them. And since it’s not polite to yell at someone from across the store, I realized I’d need to stand at least somewhat close.

I soon found a store associate wearing a mask with the Target logo printed on it. Just like in normal times, I asked her to accompany me over to the case and take the cards out, but unlike normal times, it felt weird to take the product from her hands. She offered to check me out in the back so I wouldn’t have to wait on the regular line, but I did still have to take out my credit card, meaning I had to touch my purse’s zippers.

She recognized my hesitation - I’m sure I’m far from the only person worried about going inside stores, even if many people seem okay - and she offered me a tube of Clorox wipes. I confessed it was my first time coming back to Target as I wiped my hands and the credit card before and after touching the machine, and even though I usually have to sign receipts at Target, she didn’t make me sign. I got to leave shortly after, and by the time I got to my car and pulled down my mask, I felt like I’d done a great job.

It still makes me nervous to think of what I may have touched or breathed in while I was in the store, but I do feel that taking baby steps is an important thing for me to do. Now that I know I can do this and feel relatively safe, I can hopefully expand what I’m able to do, like shop for groceries for my family. I know there are a lot more steps to go, especially thinking about moving back to Chicago, but I think if I treat exposures to the “real world” like exposures to other things I’m afraid of, I’ll be able to do it.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

THE HIGHEST FORM OF FLATTERY

The Highest Form of Flattery

I was so excited to see a package with my name on it at the door the other day, quickly tearing it open to get the fabric inside. I’d ordered a large amount of Aida cloth to go with the embroidery floss I ordered the previous week, to feed my new hobby of cross-stitching.

After I started out with a basic starter kit, where I learned how to embroider a flamingo, the friend who helped me learn told me that a flamingo wasn’t nerdy enough for me. Soon, she sent me the links to several online kits depicting scenes in Tolkien’s Middle-Earth. I chose Bag End - the home of The Hobbit’s protagonist Bilbo Baggins - and made a bookmark of that.

I didn’t realize there were so many options for patterns out there, and especially didn’t think of making my own. But with the arrival of the new cloth, I had the opportunity to make something completely unique.

Instead of brainstorming and starting to draw a concept no one had ever thought of before, I immediately went to Spriters’ Resource on the recommendation of a friend and found pixelated art of two of my favorite characters from Fire Emblem: Three Houses. I greatly enjoy their interactions in-game and love the thought of them living a happy life together after the events of the game.

It took me a while to put the pattern together, and many hours to piece together the project, and when I finally finished, my first thought was that I could have chosen to make something original, but I didn’t.

The characters were created by someone else and are voiced by professional voice actors. The inspiration for their relationship comes directly from in-game dialogue and works thanks to a plot I didn’t invent. The only completely original thing on the cloth was the heart between them, and even that was copied from a design on Google.

Even though I’d been thrilled to show my friends progress photos, some of my old shame about “copying” started creeping in. As someone who has always prided myself on my creativity, I have always felt inadequate when I base any of my creative efforts on someone else’s work. When I was young, I was convinced I was a thief and a fraud, not creative enough to come up with my own things, but so desperate to make something that I would steal from someone else. And worst of all, I saw it as just another sign of an obsession with a book or a game that made me think I was incredibly weak.

But over the years, I found a way to reconcile myself with this beloved habit of mine. The shame still ebbs and flows, but it’s gotten a lot easier when I realize that I am putting a lot of work into what I do. In order to make this new piece of embroidery, I had to research sprites, manipulate them to create a pattern, and use over twenty colors to complete it. I spent a lot of time researching, planning, and outlining, and then made a sincere effort to represent a story worthy of the characters I love.

I ended up showing my friends the completed project, and they loved it, regardless of their feelings about the characters in question. I couldn’t stop smiling when I saw their feedback, and it helped me realize that In the end, my new hobby is supposed to be about making me happy. It’s not supposed to matter what I choose to embroider, only that the movements relax me and I love the feeling of completing a project. And even if I choose to embroider something that already exists, I can still be creative.

I transform the works I love with “headcanons,” imagining what happens after the end of the story and coming up with entirely new things. The more I continue in this vein, the easier these parts of the story blend with what was officially written, but it in fact creates the beginning of a new story. Just because the inspiration comes from something that was already created doesn’t mean it’s bad or wrong for me to use it as the inspiration of a fresh start.

This is especially important to me considering that I’ve just chosen two prompts for the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang, in which artists create works inspired by Tolkien’s books, and then writers come in to fill in the blanks. I’m beyond thrilled to be writing for two wonderful artists this year, especially the one whose drawing depicts one of my favorite elves teaching his half-sister how to cross-stitch.

Accepting my proclivity to not starting from square one has been a long time coming, and I still have a ways to go before the judgmental thoughts stop entirely. But now that there’s so much time to work on hobbies, I find my new self-acceptance invigorating, and can’t wait to see what happens next in the interactions between my favorite books and games and my mind. It may not be entirely original, but it’ll be beautiful, and a welcome support for me during this tough time.

 Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

TWO STEPS FORWARD, ONE VIRUS SETBACK

Two Steps Forward, One Virus Setback

Not too long before the pandemic started, I started seeing a new therapist. In the days leading up to the first visit, I started wondering how I was going to explain myself and my head to someone who’s never met me.

Like many people living with mental illness, I don’t “fit the mold” of the definition of OCD exactly. I was a lot closer when I was younger, but many years of therapy and just growing up have helped me get rid of a lot of the more classic signs. My therapist at home knows this, and since she’s been seeing me since I was 9 years old, she has a lot of context to work with when giving advice.

But ever since I moved to Chicago, she’s been encouraging me to find a new therapist, someone local. I don’t usually see her all that often, but a few months ago, I started to feel like I’d benefit from a refresher course on fighting back against negative thoughts and living my best life.

It took me a very long time to even find a therapist who didn’t talk condescendingly over the phone or demand to see me constantly at first, but I eventually found someone who works on my block, sees patients on evenings and weekends, and listened when I told her that I didn’t need constant appointments.

As soon as I made that first appointment, though, I felt the need to impress her. I wanted to show her that yes, I was diagnosed with severe OCD at a very young age, but I have a master’s degree, hold down a job, have friends, and am actively working on the problems that I still have. I wanted to show her that just because she’s seen a textbook doesn’t mean she’s seen me, and for the couple of appointments I had before I first heard the word “coronavirus,” I thought I was doing a pretty good job.

But then, the virus struck. I started to feel anxious about things I hadn’t worried about in years, like germs and the various ways I can touch them and get infected or infect others. I only felt safe coming home to my family, and once I got home, I realized that my senior dog’s occasional fecal incontinence and coughing up food also bring up things I haven’t felt in a long time.

Part of me wanted to discuss those thoughts with my new therapist, but another part of me hated the idea of paying to work on something I’d already worked on, something I already “won” years ago and was no longer part of my life the vast majority of the time. I didn’t want to become the stereotypical OCD sufferer I see all over the media in her eyes. I wanted her to respect me and treat me like someone who could do things, not like the weak person I thought I was as a child when I had these thoughts.

In preparing for my appointment, I started nervously rummaging through my desk to keep my hands busy, and I found a stack of note cards I thought I lost years ago: my homework from when I did cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT).

These notes are from the only other time I ever saw a new therapist - during my crisis five years ago, when all that mattered was the immediate, and I was there mostly to learn techniques to fight against very specific kinds of thoughts that I had never encountered before and (thankfully) haven’t had since.

When I found my notes, I was struck by the fact that the homework (a common element of CBT) was written in the therapist’s handwriting for the first month, then in mine afterwards. I realized that during that time, I was going to therapy to get guidance, not necessarily to teach the therapist everything about myself and every thought I’ve ever had in my entire life. I wasn’t there to tell her that I was normal or pretend things were fine when they weren’t. I was there to get help, and she was there to give it.

Since I considered my months of CBT to be a great success, and still use the techniques I learned to this day, I started thinking about how to approach my new therapist now. Sure, there’s a heck of a lot more to me than what’s going on in the world right now, but it’s also a strange time to work on conquering hurdles on the back burner when there’s something far more important in the forefront of my mind.

When the appointment came, I was still fighting the impulse to qualify my statements with “that’s not how I usually am!” when I talked about how it’s easier to fall back into old germaphobic thoughts. But it occurred to me that even if I take pride in the victories I’ve won under normal circumstances, these are not at all normal circumstances. My victories might look smaller (like that I wash my hands once, and how the CDC recommends, instead of plenty of times for an extremely long time), but they are still real.

Once the pandemic is over, and I can see this therapist again in real life, I hope to bring her other concerns to work on, like continuing my exposure therapy for picky eating, working on my fears about romantic relationships, and more. But it’s not the time for that. Now is the time to admit that, yes, I do have germaphobic and emetophobic thoughts in my head right now, and it’s not something to be ashamed of.

It’s time to realize that I’m not losing a battle by feeling like this right now - it’s like if an army of orcs was attacking a city once, and they repelled it with heavy losses, then it would be so much easier to defeat a small insurgence of orcs years later after the fighters have plenty of practice.

Not to mention, there’s no need to be ashamed of having thoughts that many people are having during this pandemic - and seeking help is the best thing I can do to keep it a small insurgence rather than a mental explosion. Any therapist worth their salt would say the same about not being ashamed of thoughts, and although it’s a lesson I’m still learning, I’m happy to pass it along to you. I hope you all stay well and whether or not you’re seeing a therapist during the pandemic, believe in yourself even through heightened levels of anxiety. When this fades, we’ll be stronger for the fight we won!

 Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

HOPE IN A LITTLE BLUE ROCK

Hope In A Little Blue Rock

While walking with my mom earlier this week (six feet apart, of course), she said offhandedly that she read that the DragonCon parade wasn’t approved for this year.

It’s not something I was expecting to happen. I hoped and prayed for months, but now that the crisis seems to only be deepening, my hopes for a normal life this summer - let alone my favorite con of the year - are hardly realistic.

At the same time, however, it felt crushing to hear the news. The website still doesn’t show a cancellation, but I don’t imagine the con would go on without its most important event, and even if it did, it wouldn’t be the same. It’s yet another addition to the laundry list of things that have been changed, canceled, postponed, or ruined.

Being at home has helped me keep a positive mindset for the most part, but I can’t help but feel grief at the loss of both my last big plan for 2020 and my denial about it - as much as I enjoy spending time on my Animal Crossing island where coronavirus doesn’t exist, I do have to face the real world when it means canceling flights and plans to see old friends.

We kept walking in semi-silence as I absentmindedly tapped on the pokemon I’d taken along for the walk. I caught it earlier in the week, a pokemon I’d been looking forward to catching for a year, but it felt bittersweet since I was supposed to be catching it at a large, canceled event with friends. I’d caught the pokemon I dreamed of in silence instead of shrieking and hugging and so many other things we can’t do anymore.

Loneliness sank over me and I wasn’t quite sure what to do. It’s not like there was some magical solution that could tell me my thoughts and fears were wrong, and with no end in sight, it’s easy to listen to friends and coworkers who see this as a “new normal.”

But then, out of nowhere, Mom broke the silence by telling me that she’d walked the dog on a parallel path earlier, and she found a little rock that someone had painted blue and written a kind message on. I instantly perked up and asked her to show me where the rock was, and as soon as we did (extending the walk, which is something I usually shy away from just as much as our very lazy dog), I recognized the rock.

Not the specific rock, of course, but the idea of painting rocks and leaving them around the city for people to find. It’s a DragonCon tradition, enough that there’s a Facebook group for people decorating and hiding rocks around various places in Atlanta and beyond. When people find a rock, they take a picture, post it in the group, and start conversations with people who have found similar rocks. Sometimes the rock’s painter even surfaces to join in, and to ask where the rock is now - it’s tradition to remove the rock from its original place and either keep it or put it somewhere else for others to find.

I’m notoriously bad at finding these rocks at DragonCon proper, but this blue one stuck out in the pinestraw, and I ran over to it with more excitement than I knew I could muster. All I could think when I reached out and touched it - yes, touched it with my bare hands, without a sink in sight - was, “I found my people!”

It wasn’t until the initial excitement faded that I noticed the rock said “Be Kind.” I’ve seen similar platitudes on rocks before, both at DragonCon and souvenir stores. But for me, it held a deeper meaning: not only was I feeling the kindness of DragonCon, and starting to feel awash in happy memories of meeting some of the rock creators at last year’s DragonCon during the “Swag & Seek” meetup.

From there, the memories just kept flowing: I remembered finding a little army man perched on an escalator, my first piece of “swag” from the con, and reaching out for it quickly before the movement swept me away. I remembered the way the sleeve of my elf dress almost caught on the bottom step, and how the sleeves flap so beautifully in the wind, and the photoshoot where I wore it by a waterfall, then running to the next shoot and meeting a new friend who I immediately texted to tell about the rock.

Seeing the rock helped me remember the kindness of others, as well as the imperative to practice self-kindness. I’ve been doing well in terms of keeping up with my work and eating healthy, but I need to do more in terms of keeping alive the things that matter to me the most, canceled or not. Staying in touch with friends and remembering the things we love is what makes me the happiest during this time, and I now have a reminder of a picture of the rock on my phone to keep me from feeling lonely.

I might not be able to go to DragonCon this year, but I have a plethora of photos and a multitude of memories to keep me afloat. When fabric becomes more available, I can work on a cosplay in the hope of attending a con next year. And going through my con autographs and souvenirs can help me feel more connected even if the news made me feel hopeless for a future where gatherings of 80,000 people will be possible without having to add a mask to the ensemble.

In the end, much as I hate change, DragonCon is going to look different for me this year. It might be virtual, or not at all. But I did make one positive change: instead of picking up the rock as per con tradition, I left it where it is, out in the open for anyone to see. I can only hope the next person who finds it will glean as much hope from it as I did, and perhaps they’ll leave it there too, inspiring more people than the rock’s painter will ever know.

 Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

MENTAL HEALTH BOOKS FROM MY CHILDHOOD SHELF

Mental Health Books From My Childhood Shelf

This week, I’ve taken a lot of time going through my old things, as I’m still staying in my childhood room. The bookshelf has been one of my favorite projects to tackle - I’ve found yearbooks from high and middle school, scrapbooks I made as a child and teenager, school notebooks and textbooks, and a bunch of old favorite novels I haven’t read in a long time.

Looking at my favorites helped me realize that many of them have ties to mental health. Whether they deal directly with issues or show characters moving through mental health journeys, they shaped the way I thought about myself and others going through similar situations.

Here are a selection of five books I read when I was younger that resonate with me today as much as they did then, and I hope my picks inspire you as well:

The Two Princesses of Bamarre by Gail Carson Levine was one of my first fantasy books - I’m pretty sure I read it even before Lord of the Rings - and even as I was captivated by the tale of dragons and fairies and adventure, the main character’s mind captivated me more. From the beginning, Addie was shown to be very anxious and have many fears, from small things like spiders to large things like losing her family. But when push comes to shove, she has to go on a journey herself, and finds her courage along the way. Meeting a main character who could be a heroine even though she lived with daily, nearly-constant fears was wonderful for me, and I loved cheering for her as she found ways to break down each obstacle before her. This book was one of the first times I ever saw some of my flaws in a character who I was rooting for, and loving her helped me love myself.

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver was one of my favorite books I've ever read for school, for the myriad of perspectives it presents. Some of the characters are more complex than others, but as I encountered characters falling prey to addiction and trauma, and defining themselves by feelings of grief and inadequacy, I became engrossed in the story. I saw the book’s main antagonist as obsession, in this case obsessing over religion and conversion to Christianity, but I also found it fascinating whenever the book tried to separate the obsessions from the man having them and putting his family through so much. I’ve come back to this book many times, exploring different characters and enjoying the in-depth plunge into their minds. It’s not always a pleasant journey, but it gave me plenty to think about, and the realism of the voices helped me enjoy the book tremendously.

Turtles All The Way Down by John Green was the first book I read that dealt directly with OCD that didn’t make my skin crawl. After reading so many books that seemed to deal with OCD only at the surface level, or reduced it to stereotypes of cleaning, washing hands, and alphabetizing things, this book introduced me to a character whose OCD was a major part of her life, but it was presented so realistically I felt like I could predict where her head would go next. I loved that Aza felt so real, and especially that John Green didn’t use one of my most hated tropes of mental health fiction - making the character’s obstacles go away suddenly if the plot needs it. My most vivid memory from this book is a scene where Aza needs to do something quickly but an obsession is making her do it slowly, and loved that her OCD didn’t get tossed away the moment she needed to do something. It’s part of her from the beginning to the climax, and she can still be the main character - a poignant lesson indeed.

I first encountered Woolvs in the Sitee, a picture book by Margaret Wild and Anne Spudvillas, in grad school, when I still thought I wanted to be a teacher. In a class about picture book theory, this book stood out to me because of how fiercely it was debated in the class. Some people believed the book, which is narrated by a child named Ben, takes place in a post-apocalyptic world populated by scary creatures called “woolvs.” Others saw a deeper message, which hit me right in the face when I saw other characters telling him to go back to school or pick up a hobby - something no one would say in the middle of an apocalypse. When I read this book, I saw a boy living in his own mind, and that perception was only strengthened when he saw and heard things his adult neighbor didn’t. In the end, though, it doesn’t matter whether the “woolvs” are real or hallucinations - what matters is that Ben sees them as real, which makes them just as much a part of his world as the real world is for you and I. The only way to engage with the character is to accept what is in his mind, whether or not you believe it, and I gleaned a powerful message about not sweeping under the rug what people confess about what’s in their heads. It may be scary or strange, but true connection requires empathy.

Finally, The Red Tree by Shaun Tan is another picture book I found in grad school. As soon as I found the first page, I was entranced by the idea of a children’s book dealing with depression. The powerful images of the girl, alone, surrounded by feelings and things that are not real but are still extremely painful and isolating captivated me. But my favorite part of this book is the idea of the red tree, which symbolizes hope, and the fact that there is a single leaf from this tree hidden on every page, like a little kernel of happiness waiting to appear even in the darkest times. This book has inspired me to keep going even when things feel impossibly difficult, and also reminded me to look for the red leaf in my own life, and find hope where I can, no matter how small or insignificant it seems.

During this time, I’ve found it helpful to find hope wherever I can. Old books and games inspire me to keep my head up even when the world seems so strange, and I hope you all can find something to inspire you in these times of uncertainty and change.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.