Winning the War

Winning the War

It started with a conversation with a group of friends who also love Lord of the Rings.

As new friends, we were trying to get to know each other better. One person started a conversation by saying that he gave both of his children middle names from Tolkien’s books, followed by almost everyone saying that they had named a pet after a Lord of the Rings character. A cat named Eowyn. A dog named Samwise.

In another world, I could have said that I have a dog named Elanor for Elanor the Fair, Samwise Gamgee’s daughter.

At moments like these, even when I know that things have happened that were out of my control, even when I know I made the right choice, I still feel horrible.

The puppy I loved dearly but couldn’t keep is just one of several experiences throughout my life that, if I remember them, I feel immense shame. These aren’t like regular moments of embarrassment, which I also have plenty of. These are different because they are intrinsically rooted in my war against OCD.

They are markers of battles I lost.

I remember the pride I felt in a special honors class in college turned to immense sorrow when I realized I’d failed due to reasons related to my recovery from my junior year breakdown. Even though it didn’t make a difference in the level of diploma I received or my later success in academia and my career, I can still barely think about it.

These times are moments I can’t defend, even if I have a valid defense.

Many of them I’ve blocked out, or just remember vague things. I remember certain talks in middle school, the way people turned away from me my junior year when I sobbed in the dining hall and the way my theater professor gave up on believing my “medical related” excuses for missing class.

I had a chance, after finding out that I’d gotten a B+ in that honors class in college where only an A- or above counted as passing, that I could have a chance to explain myself to a committee. It would be after graduation and wouldn’t change the little marker missing by my name in the commencement pamphlet or the way several people in the class came up to me to express their condolences. It would be a chance for me to speak, and I initially said yes, only to chicken out later. What could I possibly say to justify myself when I didn’t even believe my own excuses?

Then, there was the time in grad school when I was told I would be able to receive my degree as I had completed my coursework, but I wouldn’t be certified as a teacher due to my very anxious performance in the classroom. I had no words to explain myself as I cried in the dean’s office, and no words the next morning when I felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders and I could finally pursue a career in writing.

It is only now, years later, that I have found my voice about my mental health journey in this blog. Now, I am able to talk to my friends openly about the things I am still ashamed about. Most days, the memories don’t even crop up, and I live a very happy life.

But sometimes, I need to remind myself of the steps I’ve taken when I encounter moments like the Lord of the Rings pet names conversation. I need to remind myself that I will have another dog one day, when I am no longer living alone, and I can have the pet I want so badly even if I have to do it in a different way than many of my friends. I need to remind myself that I legitimately earned my master’s degree, even if it’s not in a field where I’m interested in working, and that degree helped me get steady employment over the last 5 years.

In other words, no matter how ashamed I am of these moments of failure, they don’t dictate the course of the rest of my life. I can try to learn from these mistakes, and even if I make different ones going forward, I won’t make the same ones.

My psychiatrist taught me to think of these moments as battles in a larger war. Any war in history - as well as the ones I’ve studied in Tolkien’s works - has victories and losses on both sides. What matters most is strategy and keeping up the fight, never giving up. I’m still fighting, and even though more of these moments may join the others - even though I am likely to lose more battles in my life - I know I can win the war.

Ellie, a writer in 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.

Carrying The Momentum Forward

Carrying The Momentum Forward

TW: Trauma

When I was little, I was mesmerized by the book The Two Princesses of Bamarre by Gail Carson Levine.

The book featured an epic adventure, dragons, true love, action scenes, and plenty more - all presented through the eyes of a princess with anxiety.

The idea that a main character of a story could have anxiety blew my mind. I’d never seen anything like that before - a character like me who got to star in an amazing story in a fantastical world and do all the things I could only do in my dreams.

When I read The Two Princesses of Bamarre, I felt like instead of being someone with a problem, I was instead someone who was worthy of being the protagonist of a story. Someone whose story mattered. And someone who could conquer the obstacles in my way even if I did them differently than how some others dealt with theirs.

Now, many years later, I am writing a mental health-based story of my own for this year’s National Novel Writing Month (summer camp edition) - and I hope that one day, someone else will read it and feel validated.

I am well aware that there are a lot of books that tackle mental illness, but what really resonated with me as a child was that I recognized specific experiences of mine in the story. For example, I recognized a lot of my phobia responses, thought processes, and actions that might seem irrational to others but made perfect sense to me. It didn’t sound strange that this princess would be more scared of a spider than a dragon, and watching her find her courage and happy ending made me feel amazing.

With that in mind, I decided to try to replicate a specific fear of mine: ever since I had my blood clot, I’ve been afraid of experiencing one again. While some people have said that it would be easier for me since I would know what would happen instead of being confused like I was the first time, I actually think it would be a lot worse. I would know exactly how much everything would hurt, what it would feel like to wonder if I was going to live or die, and every moment would be familiar and unknown at once because I would always be afraid of things getting worse.

I decided to write a character doing what I saw as the ultimate act of bravery: choosing to do something absolutely horrifying and traumatic for a second time to help others. This turned into fighting demons - it wasn’t a huge step to go from fighting internal demons to imagining fighting a literal demon. Then, my creative side stepped in, and I came up with different kinds of demons and how exactly they would trigger a trauma response.

When I first presented a sample of this work to my writing class, I was nervous - but I was also excited when I got several responses from people saying that my main character’s trauma symptoms felt extremely real and familiar. They wrote me messages with things my character did that they’d done before. And in my favorite response, someone said that she hadn’t thought about someone having fresh trauma as a college freshman, but it got her thinking.

I’m looking forward to writing this book and sharing the story both with people who have similar experiences to me, and people who don’t. For the people who do, I hope it will feel good to know that they are not alone, and for people who this experience would be new to, I hope it inspires empathy and perhaps even a desire for learning more.

Writing this novel - my eleventh National Novel Writing Month project - today and for the next 29 days is going to be special for me in the way that the purely-fantastical novels aren’t. This one has just enough basis in fact that it feels real to me emotionally, even if I was not fighting actual demons. This basis in real emotions might help it have more of an emotional impact on readers, which could help me follow my dream of getting a book published. Plus, it’s fun to show the world that there are people like me who go through things and can still write a happy ending in our own lives!

Ellie, a writer in 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.

Confusing Choices

Confusing Choices

Like many people, I put off my eye doctor and dentist visits during the pandemic. But this week, I decided to go back to this part of my life in one fell swoop, scheduling appointments for back-to-back days and jumping in headfirst.

It was a very strange feeling, even though both offices did everything they could to ensure patient comfort. The receptionist at the eye doctor’s office met me at the door, told me to switch the mask I was already wearing to a disposable one she gave me, asked me several questions about my health, and showed me where to stand and sit in order to maintain social distancing.

When I went into the office to meet with the eye doctor, he told me that he was vaccinated and saw in my chart that I was as well, so I could decide if we would both wear masks or not. I decided to still wear a mask, even though I knew that I was safe. Even though his admission that he had an asymptomatic case of COVID in the fall spooked me a little, I completed the appointment and the next day, I did the same thing at the dentist.

At both of these offices, there were very specific rules to follow. They had regulations for me to guide my actions by, which I found refreshing during a time when everything around me is starting to open up and I’m feeling less sure about which choices are the right ones.

When the pandemic first started, I decided - along with my family - that I was going to follow exactly what the CDC said. I wore a mask everywhere, didn’t leave my family’s house for months, and stayed up-to-date about every new regulation. Without making my own decisions, I simply went along with every new rule, and everything seemed black-and-white.

Now, however, I find it harder to manage as more and more shades of gray appear. When the rules and regulations that have decreed how I conducted most of my life for the last year and a half disappeared, it felt strange and stressful to contemplate doing things again that I avoided for so long.

This is how re-entry anxiety is striking me: not necessarily anxiety about seeing people or going into stores or doctor’s offices, both of which I’ve done, but instead, anxiety about change in general as well as making my own choices about things that I’ve let other people decide for me for so long.

I have a new cosplay for DragonCon, for example. But the last year it happened, there were over 80,000 people. I know the convention will have rules about how attendees need to behave, but will those rules be enforceable or followable with such a big crowd? And what degrees of rule breaking will I be comfortable with?

Everything from a doctor’s office visit to contemplating returning to a humongous convention feels strange. I am now making decisions that I haven’t made in so long, and even though I’ve now weaned off my mask outdoors and know that my vaccination status keeps me safe, I can’t help but feel weird about going back to the things I did before.

Some people I know have been comfortable with going back to everything like before, right as soon as the places where they lived declared that they were open. But when Chicago hit stage 5 for me, I had a lot more questions than answers: Am I comfortable eating in a restaurant? Am I comfortable with going to a beach party to say goodbye to a friend who’s moving away? Am I okay not wearing a mask when walking outdoors, even if I put one to go into stores or doctor’s offices?

I know that, as a kid, if I’d been told that masks prevent germs, my parents would have had a hell of a fight trying to get me to take the mask off for any reason. Even now, I’m wondering if I should consider wearing it in the winter when colds and flu are rampant, even if only when I go downtown. But until I have these decisions figured out, it’s a strange road where anxiety can come from the smallest and strangest things.

For everyone else dealing with these feelings upon Chicago’s re-opening, here’s what has worked for me: I weigh the pros and cons of whatever I’m considering doing, including both physical safety and mental health; I take new steps in the company of friends so I feel supported wherever I go; and I challenge myself to take new little steps wherever possible to help me adjust to the “normal” world before resuming in-person work in the fall.

In the end, things will work out - and I wish you luck in making your choices on the road back to normalcy!

Ellie, a writer in 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.

Perfect

Perfect

I’ve always been a perfectionist. So, when it was time for me to host my first Dungeons & Dragons session in person in a year and a half, I wanted to make sure everything would be perfect.

I decided right away that I was going to prepare a very clean home with a variety of snacks, set aside a place for my friends to put their bags and D&D implements, have freshly sharpened pencils nearby as well as menus from our favorite take-out places and provide plenty of hand sanitizer. Most importantly, I wanted to cosplay.

I hadn’t worn one of my costumes in forever, and my mind immediately went to a plan I had last February, back when I hadn’t even heard that COVID existed. I wanted to make a very special cosplay of a particularly beloved character of mine (she has medical-based PTSD and weird blood too!), even though the costume was going to be extremely intricate and complicated.

In order to complete the cosplay in time for meeting with my friends, I reached out to a friend from improv who has a 3D printer. They printed the parts of the costume, I got a simple dress from Amazon and a vampire cape from Chicago Costume - and then I got to work.

Even though I thought I had everything well-planned, I soon realized that every single element of this costume was going to be incredibly complicated. I had trouble gluing the parts together, and when I left them to dry overnight, I found trails of glue across my floor in the morning. The gold paint smeared all over my hands and floors and I spilled nearly an entire bottle of white paint on my red cape that took some creative problem-solving to get out (after a lot of panicking, naturally).

In the midst of all of this, I felt stressed, unsure that I’d be able to pull off the costume in time even though I’d promised my friends that we could dress up together, and dismayed that my other plans were falling through as I didn’t have the time or headspace for anything else.

After a lot of time pacing around the apartment while hugging my new Gandalf Build-a-Bear plushie (who speaks with Ian McKellen’s voice - very motivational!), while looking down at my sticky floor, I realized that I’d overlooked the most important thing of all: having fun.

I got sucked into a typical pattern of mine - when I come up with a goal and set my mind to it, I become determined to do it perfectly. There is no room for error whatsoever - which means that all of my recent goals, whether that means walking 10,000 steps a day, using a habit tracker to ensure perfect compliance on hard-to-follow habits, or making a cosplay resemble a video game character with photographic accuracy, have been rather obsessive.

I sat down in my comfy chair, contemplating the costume on the floor in front of me. Instead of trying to get everything absolutely perfect, I tried to think of little ways I could make things easier for the day my friends were coming over (and I can always make more tweaks to the costume by DragonCon, if I decide I’d like to make them).

I decided to wear a pair of black winter boots already in my closet instead of buying proper cosplay shoes. Instead of painting a new mask, I wore a red mask with a gold pattern that I already owned. I told myself that I was not allowed to go on any more extremely far excursions to buy things for my cosplay, and instead, I would use the materials I already had at home. I gave myself permission to take the bus for a faraway dentist appointment that was stressing me out about my schedule for both work and cosplay. Most of all, I would reach out to my friends with significantly more experience than me for advice on the parts I struggled with.

In taking these steps, I was able to connect with the fun of my cosplay more. I started taking things less seriously, got great advice from friends, and even received a very special five-months-post-birthday present of a hot glue gun when the mattress protector I’d bought to line the cape didn’t stick with the glue I already had. I decided to let go of the idea of having a perfectly clean floor and instead researched ways to get the glue off my floor later, bought just a few snacks and did minimal organizing, and when the big day came...

It was absolutely perfect.

Sure, the seams of the cape lining were jagged and the back of the wig didn’t go far enough down on my head, but in the pictures, I am absolutely filled with joy. I was so thrilled to welcome my friends to my home that I didn’t care if my hoop skirt stuck out too rigidly or that I was wearing winter boots in June or that I walked less than 10,000 steps in a day for the first time since coming back to Chicago. I just cared about wearing a costume of one of my favorite characters of all time, that I’d made with my own two hands, while having the in-person D&D experience I missed so much over the last year and a half.

Now that I’m getting settled back into normal life, I’ve ordered some Goo-Gone to get the now-dried glue off my floor, folded and prepared my new cosplay for DragonCon, and even got started on a few new writing and transcribing projects. With this week’s experience in mind, I’d like to rethink how I imagine my goals. I don’t need to be on track with a goal 100% of the time if it’s stressing me out to such a degree, and as long as there’s a result I can be happy with, it doesn’t need to be perfect.

In the end, it’ll still feel perfect if I’m doing something that I love or working towards something I’ve dreamed of - and if I skip a day, it’s not the end of the world. It’s just a day when I need more self-care, and if I take the time to rest and take care of myself, I can be more fully present in my work in the future and reach whatever goals I set for myself.

Ellie, a writer in 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.

For the First Time in Forever

For The First Time In Forever

Over the weekend, I took a huge step towards normalcy: for the first time in 15 months, I spent a Pokemon Go Community Day at the zoo with friends the way I’ve dreamed of for the entire pandemic.

You see, Community Day (a monthly event where players gather to hunt for alternately colored “shiny” pokemon) is how I made my first friends in Chicago. On the day I moved, it was a Community Day, and I heard that Lincoln Park Zoo was a good place to go. I went and quickly found dozens of people playing, and they all treated me kindly. I felt right away like I was part of a community - the exact purpose of the event - and that feeling has stayed pretty constant since.

Except during the pandemic, when I was at home with my family. I was in what is colloquially known to players as a “dead zone” - a place with few areas to catch pokemon and almost no one playing - and even with the features that Niantic added to help people in remote areas, I still felt distanced from my friends. I know this feeling hit almost everyone during the pandemic, but it still felt strange to be separated from a group I’d been part of from literally the day I moved to Chicago.

My friendship with the group led to a weekly pokemon trade night to fill a hole in my calendar, plenty of separate hanging-out times to trade pokemon, and eventually to meeting for non-Pokemon Go purposes. I built my beloved D&D group partially from friends I met in this group, and when I got back to Chicago, I was so excited that the next Community Day was for a pokemon everyone was excited about.

Even so, I was wary. There would be a lot of people at the zoo, even though they were only accepting people with timed tickets. I would be looking for crowds rather than fleeing from them. And sure, I would wear a mask, and I’m fully vaccinated, but there was still the fear ingrained into so many of our heads in the last year: what if the very air I breathed would hurt me or someone else?

In the end, I decided to go. I wanted so badly to meet with my friends and reintegrate into the group I missed for the last almost-year when I was at home, and a six-hour walking event was the perfect way to do so. Still, though, I walked to the zoo instead of taking public transportation, stayed distanced to the best of my ability, and only lowered my mask once - to wolf down a small ice cream cone with my coworker.

Once I was at the event, I felt the familiar feeling of obsession creeping in - but this time, it was positive. I wasn’t worried about catching or transmitting COVID, I was worried about how many shiny pokemon I was going to get (46 - my new record!), and I was willing to keep walking for almost the entire six hours to get as many as possible. Just like I try to do in many circumstances, I tried to transfer my worries about going to my first group outing to staying competitive with shiny pokemon.

In the end, I spent time with many friends who I hadn’t seen in a very long time, took my time to get comfortable with a smaller crowd that will hopefully prepare me for larger events when the world starts to open up even more, and felt really, truly normal for the first time in forever.

I see events like Community Day as a way to wean myself out of the pandemic mindset I’ve gotten so used to, and that would have been catastrophic if it happened when I was little. It’s a way to balance what feels personally safe for me with the guidelines from the city of Chicago and the CDC. And most of all, it’s a way to reconnect with the life I loved here before the pandemic, helping me feel less homesick and more like I’m exactly where I belong.

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.