Moving Back In with Mom

This has been one of the hardest transitions I've ever had to make; moving back in to my mother's house. It's been necessary, however, because of my generalized anxiety disorder and the drugs I'm on to control it, not to mention the fact that I don't have a steady job right now.

My brother and his now-fiancee have moved to a different state, and that freed up the bedroom I used to have in my mother's house when my father was still alive and I was still in college. The carpet is much nastier than it was when I was living in it, and I had to deep-clean what I could before I could move in, but on the whole, I like that bedroom a whole bunch more than the guest bedroom.

One of the benefits I've discovered about being on my prescriptions is that it is much easier for me to organize and categorize my stuff. I've always wanted to be organized, but here's the thing: I used to get overwhelmed by everything I had to do to accomplish those tasks, so I would try to ignore it. It's kind of like "Alice in Wonderland Syndrome," where patients begin to see different parts of themselves or their surroundings as much larger than they are in reality.
The tasks seemed so monumental and so HUGE that I could not focus on any one task, any one room, any one chore — it got so bad last year that I couldn't even wash the dishes because the thought of washing them and putting them away seemed as hard to overcome as climbing Mount Everest. When I was a child of about four or five on up, I'd get 'stuck' on tasks such as organizing my jewelry box, or cleaning the windows and nothing else, or sorting through my books. My mother would yell at me when she caught me not doing the rest of the things on my daily list of chores, and I'd cry and lock the door to my bedroom and scream about how she didn't understand. I didn't intentionally get stuck; it was something I couldn't control and definitely didn't understand the why of it.

I was diagnosed with OCD when I was a teenager... and I still have the traits listed in that link. I make lists in my head, write them down, look at them, and internally scream at myself. I set monumental goals for myself, which I am just now learning how to set the smaller goals to reach the big ones. I feel an inordinate need to be perfect, which makes me hate that word with a passion, because nothing ever is, is it?

When I started moving into the bedroom, I made a deal with my mom that she would give me the time that I needed to organize everything the way I like it. Honestly, I don't think neither she nor I really believed that it would happen. Historically, I have not been good at completing the tasks that I set for myself because I get so overwhelmed and frustrated, and she gets frustrated because she's got a personality that requires things get done NOW, and doesn't enjoy the little steps made towards the big goal.

Perhaps I should describe what happens when I get overwhelmed and/or anxious. I don't think I've described it in my previous posts. So, here's what happens: I scratch the backs of my hands, or my thighs, or anywhere that I can reach; I start hitting myself in the back and the top of my head; I start crying for no apparent reason; and I start repeating myself, usually along the lines of "OK, OK, OK, OK" and getting louder with each repetition. I get so angry at myself for that behavior, but I can't stop it at all.

Another thing that I've started doing that I've never done before is that I've noticed that I'm washing my hands more frequently than absolutely necessary. I'm not scrubbing until I bleed (I've done that before, in my teenage years), but it is starting to worry me that other symptoms are surfacing because the anxiety is starting to respond to treatment. I don't think I should worry, but I will mention it to my counselor when I see her week after next.

Huh, I should probably briefly explain that when I was a teenager, when I felt anxious, I would grab a pumice stone, several different textures of scrubby things like loofahs and scrubby gloves and sponges, several exfoliants, and would alternate between a shower and bath, scrubbing every square inch of my body until I was raw in some places. I tried not to take more than an hour, but I'm sure I did.

All in all, I'm pleased with my progress so far in getting my "new" bedroom the way I have always wanted it to be — organized, color-coordinated, set up beautifully, and kind of looking like a hotel room, but personalized. I've got everything in my closet organized by color, and my bureau drawers are too. My desk is organized neatly and everything is in its place. The only thing left to do is to hang a tension rod and curtain across the door of the closet so that the clothes aren't in plain sight and to categorize and alphabetize my books. Oh, and finish moving out of the guest bedroom.