TRIGGERED

Triggered

Trigger Warning: Blood, Emetophobia, Suicidal Thoughts

It’s a word used increasingly more often. But what does “triggered” really mean?

In technical terms, the word describes an experience where an outside stimulus causes a person to react in a certain way based on past experiences. When I add a “trigger warning” to the top of a post, it’s my way of saying that I am about to talk bluntly about a topic that may be hard for people to read about directly. If someone finds a particular topic triggering, it’s easier to skip thinking about it, so these warnings help people avoid a reaction.

Being triggered emotionally, to me, feels like having an allergic reaction. Instead of physical symptoms of my body going out of control, however, it’s in my head. I can be having a completely fine day, doing whatever I was doing at work or at home, and I see, hear, or somehow experience something that reminds me of a very negative experience in the past. Thankfully, this doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I feel like my thoughts skip so far ahead that my usual methods of controlling them with CBT techniques doesn’t work.

For example, if I am watching a TV show and a character vomits blood, I remember the time when I was in the hospital and a similar thing happened to me. I can suddenly think something’s wrong with me even if I’ve felt fine all day and have literally only had that happen to me once in my entire life. Or, I’m playing a video game that deals with suicide, and I am reminded of the negative thoughts that plagued me junior year and instantly become afraid that even thinking of it will bring that time back. Anything like that sets a panic in me that is irrationally high compared to the stimulus and, like an allergic reaction, continues to spread.

In the moment, I tend to skip ahead to a worst-case scenario, and plan for that. My planning can get quite obsessive, and it isn’t until later - sometimes a few hours, sometimes even longer - that I realize that things aren’t necessarily as bad as I thought they were. At that point, it’s a lot easier to spot holes in my logic, pick out where my thinking went awry, and fix it. But in-between, it’s very hard to interrupt what feels like a wild train ride with no one in the conductor’s seat.

I’m very thankful that this doesn’t happen very often. I do look to the past a lot for cues, but I have mostly gotten used to things that have happened to and around me. I try to keep my defenses strong, but I’m always ashamed when something from my past affects me in an abnormal way. I feel like a failure to cope, a weak person, and I get angry at anyone who comments on how poorly I’m handling things.

It’s not that I don’t recognize the thought patterns are going awry. It’s not that I think of myself as special and that having a mental illness gives me a free pass to freak out whenever I like. But, at the same time, I need people around me to realize that I am not necessarily able to stop being “triggered” at a convenient time, and bringing attention to it only makes things worse by reminding me how bad of a job I’m doing. At some point, sooner or later, I will be back to my normal self.

This week, I’ve seen a lot of year-end recaps where people are looking back at a very stressful year. It’s been hard for everyone I know to cope with the pandemic in a variety of ways. I’m sure people will experience memories of 2020 differently than other years, and some people may even find new things triggering.

My New Year’s resolution is to try to, while remaining cautious of things that I know bother me, try to look to the future instead of the past. This week, I’ve caught myself getting caught up in the past in a variety of ways. But with a vaccine for COVID-19 on the horizon heralding the promise of things returning to (or at least getting closer to) normal, I want to find a way to look forward to happy experiences instead of reliving old ones. It’ll be a tough thought pattern to break, but I hope to accomplish it this year - and I hope all of you have a wonderful 2021!

 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 Real Harm of “Obsessive Christmas Disorder”

The Real Harm of “Obsessive Christmas Disorder”

Now that December is in full swing, I’ve started seeing one of my least favorite holiday expressions on shirts, memes, and beyond: “Obsessive Christmas Disorder.” Although I know that it’s intended to emphasize how thoughts of and regimented preparations for Christmas take over many people’s minds in December, seeing the phrase still bothers me immensely.

Over the years, friends and family have told me to ignore this. “It’s just a saying - misguided, sure, but what harm can it do?” I am often asked this whenever I express my displeasure at the saying or other expressions about mental illness.

It’s true that, on the surface, reading “Obsessive Christmas Disorder” on a cutesy sweater doesn’t actually hurt me. On the surface, it’s just three words put together in an order that displeases me. But when I think about the mindset it came from and the mindset it encourages, it’s a lot harder to ignore the phrase’s implications.

By using the same acronym as OCD and associating with one typical behavior of people living with OCD - organizing - the phrase draws an association between the pleasurable behavior of preparing for a joyous holiday and the reality of living with OCD as a condition. OCD is far more than the need to organize everything and make sure things are ready to go for December 25. It’s more than thinking a lot about something you’re looking forward to. Thinking of it only in these terms minimizes the lived reality of many people for whom OCD feels like an endless slog, a monster inside, or torture.

The consequence of this is that people don’t take actual mental illnesses seriously when they’re thrown around in phrases like this. If someone hears about a person struggling with OCD after hearing a phrase like “Obsessive Christmas Disorder,” they might think that the person with OCD is just exaggerating, and that it might even be fun, just like the hectic times before Christmas.

These tiny moments can add up, and together, they form the building blocks of the stigma against mental illness. Every “Obsessive Christmas Disorder,” “everyone’s a little [insert mental illness here],” and more contributes to the strange dichotomy where mental illness is either something blown way out of proportion to garner sympathy or legitimately dangerous for society. It takes away the middle ground where people like me live our lives, and reduces people to little more than stereotypes.

I understand that it’s difficult to speak out against something like this. The reality is that, for people who don’t know anyone with OCD, the phrase may seem like nothing more than a slightly distasteful joke. This is what inspires me to share my story, both here and in the autobiographical manuscript I’m working on. More visibility for people living with mental illness - and especially seeing us as human beings with many facets of our lives and personalities beyond the disorder - is key to removing phrases like “Obsessive Christmas Disorder” from the vernacular.

As I write this post, I think of a friend who is currently struggling with his mental health. He struggles a lot with getting help, even from friends and family, because his experiences have been trivialized in ways like this. I write this post for him and for so many people - some of whom I may even know, but not in this context - who feel forced to keep their problems to themselves because an admission of mental illness makes them either a joke or a threat.

“Obsessive Christmas Disorder” might seem innocuous and simple, but it’s not funny. If you see phrases like this about any mental illness, please speak up. It can make a huge difference for 2021 and beyond!

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.

FINDING THE LIGHT

Finding the Light

As this year has felt unexpectedly dark, due to the pandemic - among many other global and local things - I’ve found myself really looking forward to Hanukkah this year.

Usually, for my family, Hanukkah comes in the context of our annual trip to Florida where we do and see the same things we’ve done and seen for the last decade, at least. Our traditions are set in stone and it feels at once like an adventurous vacation and a warm cocoon where everything is safe and expected.

My family’s usual travel plans have been ruined - like basically everyone’s - and it  feels so strange to me to look back on the blog I wrote last year about how I loved the comfort in consistency that I found in the trip each year. It seems like last year’s world was a completely different place, and there are so many things now that I could never have imagined.

Strangely enough, however, I find myself looking forward to Hanukkah not as a break from a dismal world but as a continuation of the love and comfort I’ve experienced with my family these last few weeks. Ever since I returned home after Chicago’s second lockdown, I have experienced all the same things I love the most about my family’s annual trip, even if we’re not actually there.

Instead of the trip I’ve always loved, I am getting to spend time with my parents in the everyday sort of way I’ve missed so much since I left for college. Every moment with Nana means so much more when there are things we can’t do, like hug. But even if we’re sitting six feet apart with masks on, it still feels like we’re bonding just as close as always. Even if we’re not dipping our toes in the sand or eating my favorite French fries (with a fork!), we are enjoying the togetherness of family for a duration unlike anything I’ve been able to experience before.

This happiness, however, is mingled with various fears. My family and I are still very afraid of the virus, of the state of things in the country, and a world not operating by its normal rules. But even though I’m afraid of all these things - and more - I plan to light my Hanukkah candles this year with hope in my heart. Even if the light of the candles is shining on my old kitchen table instead of a Floridian beach, and even if my family is standing six feet apart, we can still bring light to dark times both literally and metaphorically. 

At times like this when the world feels overwhelming, I like to think of one of my favorite quotes of all time, from the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy (big surprise there!). At a particularly hard time for Frodo towards the end of The Two Towers, Sam offers these words of wisdom that I hang around my walls and save on my computer and remind myself of whenever times are bad:

“It’s all wrong.

By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are.

It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered.

Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened?

But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass.

A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer.

Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now.

Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something.”

As the pandemic drags on into the dark days of winter, it’s more important than ever to find time for self-care and adapting beloved family and holiday rituals to the new normal. It may be stressful and difficult, but in the end, I believe that - just like Samwise Gamgee said - the sun will shine out the clearer, and finding our own light this Hanukkah is a wonderful way to start finding the light in the world beyond our front doors.

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.

140.8

140.8

TW: Food, weight loss

For the first time in nearly a decade, I have reached my weight loss goal - almost.

After years of being unhappy with the way I ate to cope with my mental health, I lost almost 30 pounds since the beginning of the pandemic. In fact, I’m only 0.8 of a pound away from my final goal - which sounds very good to just about everyone but me.

I’ve been a perfectionist for years and when I set a goal for myself, I always strive to hit it exactly. It’s like the fact that I just finished National Novel Writing Month for the tenth time, and if I got anything less than 50,000 words, even by a tiny bit, I wouldn’t count it as a win.

At the same time, though, I’m starting to realize that there are more things to consider here than the decimal point on the scale. I’ve consciously made the choice to lose weight in a healthy way - slowly and over time - instead of trying to do a fad diet or some other option that makes things go too fast. I didn’t want to get caught in the trap of counting calories because I feel like having a history of counting things in general (and then obsessing over the numbers), so I don’t count bites or weigh food - I learned about portion sizes and went from there.

The biggest hurdle I faced - beyond the temptation of junk food and chocolate - was the idea that I couldn’t eat healthy thanks to the way I think about food. Since I’m so afraid to try new foods, I thought I wouldn’t be able to make and keep a healthy pattern. Instead, this new journey helped me realize just how far I’ve come and has inspired me to try even more things in the future.

Even though I feel very positive overall about my progress and accomplishment, I am still having a problem with the fact that the scale says 140.8. My initial goal was to lose 30 pounds and I’ve lost 29.2, which I sometimes have trouble seeing thanks to my very prevalent “all or nothing” thoughts.

In CBT, I learned that these thoughts are often tied to perfectionism and that I would need to work to be able to see the middle ground. I practiced with different kinds of “all or nothing” thoughts, trying to see that I was capable of making progress without being completely finished with something immediately.

For this particular “all or nothing” thought that I am not doing well because I haven’t finished my weight loss journey, it doesn’t help that my workout apps tell me I still have 0.8 of a pound to go to reach my goal, that I’m not there yet, that I need to keep working. It doesn’t help when I’m using my parents’ scale that refuses to budge from 140.8 no matter how much I eat or don’t eat, work out or don’t work out.

Instead of letting myself spiral into the thought that I’m either perfect or horrible at losing weight, however, I’m trying to find the middle ground. I’m trying to tell myself that it’s about the process, that I enjoy the way I look and the new habits I’ve formed, and that I’m proud of myself for making it this far. Even if I’m not at exactly 140.0, there are still successes I can celebrate and ways to get myself excited about what’s to come instead of bemoaning that I’m not quite there yet.

Adapting to a new way of thinking, especially when I’ve been alternately criticizing myself for my unhealthy coping mechanism and trying to lose weight, has been difficult for me. I don’t know when to take it easy on myself and when to be stringent. And all the while, I’m very aware of what could happen if I swing too far in either direction.

I hope that I can hit 140.0 sometime soon, but I hope even more that I can use this time in my life as a way to work through some of my more prevalent intrusive thought patterns and work on my mental health in addition to my physical health.

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.

OKAY

Okay

For the last eight and a half years, my biggest fear has been returning to the horrible place in my head where I was after my blood clot: depressed, plagued by negative thoughts intruding into my mind every minute of every day, unable to stop myself from panicking, and basically having no quality of life even though I had friends, family, and plenty to live for.

Every time I felt myself backsliding even a little, I instantly became terrified that I would become “bad off” like I was back then. I watched myself carefully for signs and symptoms of decreasing functionality, and I always felt the need to ask my psychiatrist who guided me through that horrible time in my life if she thought I was heading back in that direction.

Every time, she would always say no. And every time, she - and my family - would tell me that I have much better coping mechanisms now than I did then, and I know what medications help me when I need it most. I would be able to figure it out if it ever happened - not that it ever would.

And then, the puppy incident happened.

When the puppy was in my house, my brain was revving at all hours of the day and night. I wasn’t eating and thanks to the puppy screaming whenever she wasn’t touching me, I wasn’t sleeping. Just like eight years ago, I started to despair that things could get better, as I had intended to raise this puppy and keep her throughout her life. I could feel myself slipping, and I made the difficult but ultimately right choice to return the puppy to a breeder for more specialized physical and mental healthcare.

As soon as the puppy was out of my home, I started to feel a little more relaxed, but I was well aware that I was experiencing a relapse. I hadn’t had a relapse like this in years, and naturally, my mind went to eight years ago and the similarities I couldn’t ignore.

Even though the specific negative thoughts were the same, I was living with many intrusive thoughts making it difficult for me to concentrate on work. My favorite activities felt less fun and I had way too much energy. I started to wonder if things were going to keep deteriorating until I was at that same point I had to work for over a year to claw myself out of.

The next week, I did every coping mechanism I could think of. I built time into my schedule to hang out with my friends. I made sure to eat and sleep as best as I could, even if the sleeping came easier to me. I made time every day to go outside for some fresh air and physical activity. And every time an intrusive thought entered my mind, I told myself that “thoughts are thoughts, not threats” and did my best to move on as quickly as possible.

After a relapse, I always have a harder time being alone, so when the COVID restrictions on Chicago increased, I returned home once again. By that time - the following weekend - I was feeling a lot more like myself, albeit with more intrusive thoughts than usual. I settled back into a comfortable routine. The next week passed quickly, and a thought occurred to me while I was out getting ice cream with my parents on Sunday.

Two weeks to the day after I returned the puppy to the breeder, I felt okay.

In the meantime, I was having an increase in intrusive thoughts. In the first few days when I noticed this, that old, familiar fear came back to haunt me. Even though it had been over eight years, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget how it felt to be a prisoner in my own head. But within the first two weeks, I was able to banish the intrusive thoughts and calm myself down sufficiently that I didn’t feel like I was in a relapse anymore.

I still feel like I’m in a more fragile state than usual. Everything happened so fast and so recently that I’m still finding my footing in some ways. But, as opposed to the fear I’ve held for the last eight and a half years, I was able to conquer this on my own.

I didn’t “go crazy” like I feared. Instead of flailing about like a chicken with its head cut off, I knew exactly what was wrong and what I needed to do to fix it. I didn’t fall so far like I did in college, even though some of my physical and mental responses were reminiscent of back then. I was stronger. I was able to keep myself calm and use the principles from therapy and CBT to keep myself afloat, and returning to normal took a much shorter time than I would ever expect from a relapse.

Just like my family and psychiatrist told me, I am strong enough to beat a relapse like this, especially using the same techniques that helped me all those years ago. Contrary to the thoughts that have frightened me since then, I am able to conquer a relapse far more efficiently and effectively than years ago. I can be okay, even after I don’t think it’s possible.

I hope to carry this increased faith in myself to the next relapse, which I’m sure will happen at some point. I used to like to think I had “outgrown” OCD once I stopped doing most of my compulsions, but now I am reframing things: I live in a state where I am okay most of the time, and when I’m not, I know the steps I can take to get me back there. I don’t need to be afraid of losing control if I know that I can gain it back and go back to the life I have worked so hard to live.

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.