Filed under: Mental Health | Tags: mental illness, Obsessed, obsessive-compulsive disorder, TV
A and E’s latest foray into reality television tackles the difficult subject of mental illness. Its newest show, “Obsessed,” documents the lives of those who suffer from severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. It is the uniform severity of those cases that leads me to believe that A and E has deliberately filmed the most sensational cases they could find.
That’s not surprising. A and E does stand for Arts and Entertainment, and entertainment is a serious business. I suspect that “Obsessed” will thrive for the same reason that freak shows became popular during the 19th century. People like to be shocked. The difference is that 3.3 million Americans suffer from this disorder, and most of them do not exhibit the extreme behaviors exhibited by the subjects of this series.
I do not mean to downplay the severity of OCD. I am one of those 3.3 million Americans, and as such I am well acquainted with the difficulties presented by this illness. OCD can be crippling. It robs you of your self-confidence and chains you to your doubts. Like all mental illnesses, it is cruel and beneficial at turns. The same chemical imbalance that forces me to relive my worst moments also drives me to succeed. The trick is, as it always is, to find a balance.
However, I see no balance in A and E’s portrayal of OCD. The style of cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) presented is as dramatic as the illness it is meant to correct. In one episode, a woman with a phobia of knives is order to hold a knife to her therapist’s throat. Although CBT does expose the patient to his or her worst fears, I have never heard of any therapist engaging in such a potentially dangerous activity. That is not as disturbing as the fact that therapy is a private process. It’s not meant to be sensationalized.
The sensational aspect of “Obsessed” could be useful. OCD is a misunderstood illness. It’s the disorder of the day. Everyone claims to be just a little bit OCD. “Obsessed” has the potential to shock these people into understanding how offensive their claims are to anyone who actually has the disorder. By exposing the public to extreme cases of OCD, “Obsessed” could engage in some CBT of its own and force people to face their fear of mental illness. If “Obsessed” succeeds in destroying even some of the stigma that surrounds mental illness, I’ll be the first to recommend its renewal for a second season.
“Obsessed” could also be a resource for people newly diagnosed with OCD. The Internet’s a useful tool, but reading posts in a support forum pales beside watching someone else struggle with hair pulling. I recently unearthed my old notebooks from the era of my diagnosis. The handwriting alone betrays the state of my mind at the time. It is stiff, upright and childlike in its precision. It’s more reminiscent of a penmanship exercise than a journal, and in a way, that is what it was: an exercise graded by the most unreasonable teacher imaginable. At its most severe, my OCD focused on my handwriting, and I will never forget erasing my notes and rewriting them until my brain told me that things were as good as they could possibly get. I will also never forget the overwhelming feeling of loneliness that eventually brought me to the brink of suicide.
If “Obsessed” can break through that kind of loneliness for the newly diagnosed, I’ll do more than recommend its renewal. I’ll damn well write the channel and picket the offices if it’s cancelled.
Filed under: Mental Health, Real Life | Tags: bipolar disorder, depression, manic depression, Mental Health, mental illness, seasonal affective disorder, winter
Of all my family members, I am the only one to be born in winter. Winter suits my personality, which is exactly the problem. It was so cold this morning that I swear I could taste snow in my mouth. It was the type of cold that freezes your ears and waters your eyes; the type of chill that numbs your face and rips your lips. I don’t blame the sun for hiding. I would too. I am, actually. This is not a day for sunshine.
Winter is wild and unpredictable in Ohio. It spits sleet and howls at the windows. I can understand why the ancients thought a howling wind is an omen of death. It sounds like the sky itself is screaming. I can picture an angry Norse giantess or a mourning Demeter tearing the sky like a mourner ripping her clothes. But this is Ohio, and Winter is as bipolar as I am. I am as likely to see the sun as I am a snowstorm. I’ve said before that Ohio’s weather needs lithium and I stand by that statement. However, no amount of psychotherapy will change the soul of Winter. She is what she is.
But a windy bitter day does not completely capture the darkness of depression. Depression is not necessarily cold. Sometimes it’s like a warm dark sludge, like quicksand. You feel it grab your feet and before you realize what is happening you are up to your neck in choking mud. Sometimes, though, it’s like a black wave that sweeps you off your feet. A rip tide carries you out to sea and there is no Coast Guard for the depressed. And sometimes, it’s like a wet gray blanket that covers everything around you. It’s so heavy that you can’t push it off yourself and eventually you stop trying, and let it smother you.
So I’ll say this much for Winter: she is not passive or still. A storm is sometimes better than the calm. At least there’s activity; at least you can feel the cold. If you’re becalmed long enough the entire world becomes a silhouette. Every year, this is what my world becomes. Medication delays it, keeps things clearer longer. But it still happens. It will always happen. Winter and I are Siamese twins. We entered the world together and I strongly suspect that we will leave it the same way, no matter what shape that ending takes.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: bipolar disorder, Mental Health, mental illness, obsessive-compulsive disorder, tourette's, trichotillomania
First, the good news: I’m done with the semester. Second piece of good news: My eyes aren’t as dry anymore.
Now the bad news: I have a 2.8 GPA. Second piece of bad news: My psychiatrist thinks I have Tourette’s Syndrome.
Yes, that’s right. According to my psychiatrist, my facial and vocal tics aren’t due to my medication. I have a mild form of Tourette’s that only rears its ugly head when I am stressed. Since entering college, I’m stressed most of the time. Hence the sudden appearance of twitchy symptoms. Now, before you get excited let me clarify: I am not like Tourette’s Guy. When I say vocal tics, I mean change in tone or pitch. Every now and then I’ll make a sound, kind of like a hiccup, only I don’t have hiccups. I don’t scream obscenities. Thanks to my OCD, I do get the urge to do this. Thanks to my medication and some old-fashioned willpower, I don’t act on the urge. Anyway, I now have to go see a neurologist. I don’t want to see a neurologist and I will flip a shit if they put me in MRI tube thingy. However, a neurologist might be able to give me suggestions for dealing with this. It takes months to get an appointment with one, so even with my psychiatrist pulling strings for me I probably won’t get to see one until May.
So. Let’s take stock. I have Bipolar Disorder II, rapid cycling; Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder with Trichotillomania, and mild Tourette’s Syndrome. I take Trileptal, Wellbutrin and Luvox. Ladies and gentlemen, I am beginning to understand why I am still single.
