Sunday, July 08, 2007
Confessions of an Anxiety Maven.

"You've been anxious ever since I've known you, and it's been 10 years," my friend informed me this morning on the phone. "Longer than that," I countered. "I remember dealing with this stuff when I was 12."

We started talking about my issues. "I can't leave my house unless it's clean, is that normal?" I asked. "Like today, we're going to pick up my brother. I could not leave the house Until. It. Was. Clean. I'll bet it would be really healthy for me to leave it one day," I mused. "Walk out and shut the door, leaving the mess. Of course," I added, "There are people who can't leave their houses until they swab them down with alcohol. I've read cases like that."

You know, I just had to make that hefsek between me and raging OCD. I don't have compulsions. But anxiety and ruminations? I've lived with those for years. They're a part of me, and I'm uncomfortably used to them. "Change is hard," I told my friend. "It's easier to get pregnant than to face a psychiatrist." Those words were ones I'd felt for a long time, yet telling her them made them real. It was startling to hear them. It's startling to type them.

I won't take meds when I'm pregnant or nursing, states I'm often in. And I'm hiding behind these maternal veils because I'm afraid to get help. I'm afraid to talk to a stranger about my turmoil. I'm afraid medication won't help. You know, The Rebbe said if you are locked in jail, it is you sitting on the keys. Rebbe, what can I do?

I'm afraid to stand up...


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My Photo Name: Fancy Schmancy Anxiety Maven
Location: Chutz l'aretz - Outside of Brooklyn

fancymaven at gmail dot com