LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

Tag: Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder (Page 1 of 2)

Goodbye 2017, Hello 2018

Alternative title : I’m not about to pretend that 2017 was anything more than an utter shit storm of epic proportions … That said, while you can’t polish a turd, you can roll it in glitter! 

2017 began as a nightmare, a grief infused devastatingly painful experience that I’m still amazed I managed to get through … Losing my dad imprints on my every waking moment, but that very first day of 2017 will always be the one that will hurt the most. Waking from a massive stress driven Migraine with the dawning realisation that my world had changed forever and that nothing would ever fix that left me, in turn, broken beyond repair. It was an excruciating level of pain, every inch of me felt the emotional and physical repercussions of that grief. I wanted to stop feeling … And for a little while the feeling did stop and a quiet numbness took over.

A resigned numbness that this new reality was one I would have to accept and no amount of throwing myself on the floor in a shrieking stroppy mess would change that.

A numbness that made things bearable … Just.

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Anything, everything and nothing

**Not sure if this needs a trigger warning or not but I always like to throw one out here just in case**

Alternative title: I’m sorry I haven’t been here much … I’ve been a little unwell … In fact, I’ve been a rather muddled mess! 

It’s been a while since I last posted on here; I hadn’t forgotten my little place on the internet or the words I have poured into it, I didn’t want to leave it neglected and to disappear into the ether, but I also didn’t feel like I could be here either … Recently my Anxiety, Depression, OCD, OCPD and Grief have all been taking turns to squish my insides, they’ve turned my thoughts into poison, my brain into a traitor and left me distraught at the prospect of another day walking with one or more of those demons clawing at me.

I needed the time out from here to heal up a bit.

I needed the time out from here to focus on what I needed.

I needed the time out from here to ask for help.

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The Waiting Room

Alternative title: I’m in the midst of a grief fueled bawling session right in the middle of the GP’s waiting room … And that’s ok. 

I can’t stop it …Trust me I tried, well, kind of … But instead of managing to calm my system down I was merely managing choked sobs, the tears still fell, my body still shook, I wiped my nose on my sleeve (disgusting I know but the tissues were long gone and I was scared to move in case I locked myself in the toilets and missed my appointment while howling at the sanitary bin). One by one my fellow patients stood and moved as far away from me as they could, the men folding their arms and looking at the board detailing symptoms for STI’s as though it was the new “War and Peace“, the women tapping each other on the arms and whispering, possibly debating Brexit or something equally topical (not that I could hear them over my sniffles) … Not wanting to look, but watching all the same.

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In which I blame Bill Bryson

Alternative title: I’m huddled in a duvet on the sofa, my partner’s hoodie acting as a comfort blanket, my face puffy from crying, with Millie-Mischief the Bengal patting my head in some weird consolation type thing (or maybe she just likes my hair – who knows what’s going on in her kitty mind) … And yet, part of my brain is wondering just where the hell I can get myself a Stephen Katz to go hike the Appalachian Trail with. 

To me that doesn’t seem unreasonable, to just simply pack a rucksack, select a 3-season tent, grab a shit ton of Jelly Tots (though I’d settle for Fruit Pastilles) and hike all 2,200 miles. Yep, 2,200 MILES. Total doddle that.

Except I’m the lass who whinged and moaned and turned the air a lovely shade of dark blue during her last jaunt up Helm Crag – which incidentally, is a drop in the proverbial ocean compared with the Appalachian Trail! Much like with running, I love the idea of it … But when actually running/hiking, I bitch for England about how unfair it is and how my poor feet are going to end up as giant blisters which will eventually pop and end up stuck to my socks.

Maybe I’ve got this all wrong …

Maybe I should be looking for a Bryson to hike with because clearly, I’m the Katz!

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