Failure, Ridicule, Death

"I'm going to fail, be ridiculed, and then die of embarassment, and that's not even the worst part!"

"What's the worst part?"

We're driving through Wisconsin to visit my parents and I'm emoting about a talk I'll be giving in the coming weeks.

"It will be on Youtube forever."

It isn't the first time or even the fortieth time I've recited the FailureRidiculeDeath mantra to the boyfriend. It's probably the sixty-fourth time. In the three hours we've been in the car. And I forgot my anti-anxiety meds at home.

It's going to be an unintentionally long weekend.

But despite the constant mantra of FailureRidiculeDeath that I've been repeating out loud for weeks now, the boyfriend has somehow managed not to leave me on the side of the road or pack up my stuff and leave it on the curb while I'm at work. Rather, he reminds me of my most useful mantra (the Litany Against Fear from Dune), gives me convincing pep talks, and occasionally busts out a terrible joke. 

"That does sound pretty dire. Oh well. Good thing I have all these other girlfriends waiting in line for a shot with me."

I turn to him with my faux-outraged face. He keeps his eyes on the road for a few beats, turns, glances at me, and smirks.

I break out laughing. For the moment, "FailureRidiculeDeath" has been replaced by a case of semi-hysterical giggles.

Throughout the weekend (and much of the coming week, I expect) I'll be stuck on the FailureRidiculeDeath loop. It gets bad enough that I am told by one friend familiar with my OCD diagnosis that I am "exhausting" and need to "stop obsessing over this."

Stop obsessing over my talk about life with obsessive-compulsive disorder. Tell me more, Obi-Wan.

For me one of the hardest parts about life with OCD is how isolating it is. Setting aside for a second the weeks I was having difficulty leaving my house because my compulsions were so strong, it's hard to talk to people when in the midst of an obsessive episode. I don't know how long it will last, I can't always rely on my CBT toolkit to get me out, and while therapy and meds have helped me get better I'm still far from well. And the isolation that comes from being unable to talk to many people about what's going on in your negative-feedback, brain-locked mind only reinforces all of the feelings of guilt and shame you're already experiencing.

Unfortunately, even among people who know I have OCD the default reaction still tends toward "don't obsess," "quit worrying," and "calm down." For a long time, my reaction was increased shame yeahIshouldhavethisundercontrol. These days, it's less shame and more frustration because there is no way to effectively communicate to a psycho-typical person what an obsessive or compulsive episode is feels like.

An added +1 to frustration is the fact that I don't always know what's going to help. Sometimes I need to be reminded to go for a run or go to Spin. Other times I need someone to recite "I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer" to me. Occasionally I need to hear my calm-down song or crawl into a video game for a few hours. What I need depends almost entirely on how far down the rabbit hole I've already gone.

Still, despite the moments of isolation and frustration, I'm grateful to have a handful of people who know my CBT toolkit well enough to know how to help me replace FailureRidiculeDeath with something more helpful.

Even if that something is the image of other girlfriends, waiting in line.