Memoirs of a Very Anxious Person

Musings about my life with anxiety, dermatillomania, OCD tendencies, and a whole basketful of other mental health issues. Personal blog for the owner of the Etsy shop Riding the Fox. The shop has it's own Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ridingthefox

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Public libraries do not ban books. Schools tend to ban them b/c someone complained. Titles like, To Kill a Mockingbird, Catcher in the Rye, The Great Gatsby, Huckleberry Finn, and The Grapes of Wrath are all banned.

[taoleiune]

Finally got a chance to sew today. I made a mini fox purse that still needs the face embroidered, and a mini stocking. I think I'll embroider the stocking too. The fox purse was more difficult to sew than I expected. Lots of challenging curves and small parts. I don't know if I'm a good enough sewist to put it in the shop. I have another one with the pieces cut out and ready to sew, so that will give me more practice. My bigger fox purse in the shop is popular, so maybe I should post this one? I have plenty of fabric for more stockings and they're much easier to sew. I just need to decide what I want to embroider on them.

[taoleiune]

Stitching is finally finished. (I hope) I need to wash it and fish out the last bits of tracing paper. Then I can see if I need to do any more filling in of color. I'm so glad it's almost done. I'm on the verge of disliking it, which is always a sign I should step away from a project.

[taoleiune]

The end is in sight. It took forever for me to decide how to stitch the hair. Hopefully the swirls come through enough when I get all of the colors in. I'm contemplating adding in some yellows into the hair to lighten it a bit, but I do like the orange and browns it's worked in so far.

[taoleiune]

Still thinking about 13 Reasons Why

Since I posted way past my bedtime last night (this morning, technically) I figured I’d continue my thoughts today. This seems to be a good path to actually starting to write about anxiety, dermatillomania, OCD and mental health in general. A therapist once told me I have such good coping mechanisms for my anxiety I should write a book. I think a blog is much less intimidating and more flexible than a book. I’ve always wanted to write a book, but halfway through I tend to get bored or figure out the ending and lose interest. With a blog, I can post something completely different as often as I want. 

I have been diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, dermatillomania (skin picking) and I have definite obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) tendencies. I have a bachelor’s degree in psychology, where I focused as much as possible on anxiety. While I’m not qualified to give medical or therapeutic advice, I do know more than average about anxiety, especially my anxiety in particular. 

I have been anxious for as long as I can remember. My fears and worries grew so all encompassing, I created an entire mythology to explain it. Some kids had an imaginary friend. I had an imaginary gargoyle who protected me from the faces in the wood paneling in my attic bedroom. I loved that room and happily played in it all day, but as soon as it got dark, those knots and swirls turned into menacing nightmare monsters. Even then I leaned towards magical thinking and superstition. 

As a disclaimer, my belief system is complex, incorporating philosophies from many sources. I am not religious. I do not worship any god. But, I believe strongly in the validity of all religions and belief systems. The best way to describe my beliefs is with a Tom Robbins quote from Even Cowgirls Get the Blues: “I believe in everything, nothing is sacred. I believe in nothing, everything is sacred.” As I tell my story, I will explain more about how my beliefs have evolved. As for now, all that’s necessary is to know that before I was old enough for school, I had a gargoyle to protect me. 

We moved into the suburbs, but my fears moved with me. I am an anxious person who isn’t afraid of the things most people are scared of. I like snakes, heights don’t faze me, and my curiosity drove me more than anything else. I am, however, afraid of all the little monsters in my head. I’m afraid of making mistakes. I’m afraid of how competition makes me feel, both winning and losing. I’m not sure which is worse. I’m afraid of losing control. Like many anxious people, I blush easily and hate every moment. I don’t like being noticed. I crave being noticed. I need to fidget. I am afraid of memories, because the ones that really stick are all the bad ones.  

When I was old enough to properly answer a phone, my mom would have me answer it and take a message when bill collectors called. I was very often the one who answered the phone when my dad’s alcoholic friend called demanding to talk to him, even at three in the morning. Back then, caller ID was nonexistent, and then very very new. When the phone rang, it could be anyone. When the phone rings now and I don’t know who it is, I panic. I am terrified of phones, even though I’m now never without one. 

I understand my mom’s anxiety almost as well as I understand my own. I’m not angry at this point about her behavior. Mostly, I’m sad. I can imagine how different her life would have been if she had allowed herself to be treated for her anxiety. But, she refuses even today. I’m not saying I’m better than her, (ok, maybe a little) but I know I’m definitely healthier. 

Back to yesterday, and the realization that I am a rape survivor. Thinking back, my dermatillomania began to emerge right around that time. For the longest time, my skin picking, eyebrow and eyelash plucking was something I hated, was ashamed of, and didn’t understand. At the end of high school, I barely had eyebrows. I had plucked them almost completely out. Just today I noticed that for the first time in my memory I have almost a complete fringe of eyelashes. My face is almost clear. I have worked so hard on turning my attention to my face to positive actions. My chest, however, is full of scars and scabs from picking. One step at a time I will beat this. I won my eyebrows and eyelashes and face back. I will win my chest and my hands. 

For those who don’t know what dermatillomania is (and for the longest time I didn’t know what it was either, I thought I was self harming), it is in the OCD family of mental disorders. It is an uncontrollable compulsion to pick at or pluck perceived imperfections in the skin or hair. It is often accompanied with almost a fugue state while picking. I have that particular flavor of the disorder. When I’ve been asked about it by doctors or therapists, they always ask what I’m thinking while I’m doing it. I’m usually lost in a story, a fictional narrative running through my mind, or a conversation on a deep subject in my head. Something sufficiently engaging to take me out of myself while I systematically destroy my face. 

I am hoping that exploring the events surrounding the onset of my dermatillomania will help me come to terms with it and get it under control. But that’s the key, isn’t it. My anxiety is almost entirely centered on the need for control. So, would gaining control over one aspect of my mental illnesses make another mental illness worse? Is control a realistic goal? And there’s the feeling of being somehow special because of mental illness. I have anxiety that makes me miserable, gives me panic attacks, and is directly affecting my health and appearance, but it’s also a fundamental part of my identity. I wouldn’t know who I was without anxiety somehow being part of it. I don’t know if I would be ok with being ok. 

I have access to a good therapist. I am on meds that work for me without unacceptable side effects. I have the most amazing doctor who actually cares about my health. I have a totally fantastic husband (there really are guys just like Clay in 13 Reasons. I’m married to one of them.). I have all the tools I could ever want to overcome my anxiety. But, I would be lost without it. What does that say about me?

For the longest time (until I became more experienced) after being raped (I still struggle with that word) as I was trying to convince myself I wanted it, every time I took a bath and would stare at my feet, the side view of my inner foot reminded me vividly of his penis. Before that, I had never actually seen a real, live penis. I was a virgin. I would imagine, fantasize, but when my mind’s eye lingered there, it would be a blank. After, my own feet betrayed me. Now, don’t worry, I don’t see penises in my feet nowadays. I’ve had more experience and am very comfortable with my sexuality. But, aren’t you tempted to look down, wiggle your toes, notice how your skin wrinkles and slides, and compare it to the penises you’ve encountered? It’s creepily similar in a vague sort of way. Or maybe I have way too vivid of an imagination. Either way, that was my experience long ago. One of those strange memories that stick with you. And I am very, very sorry if I’ve changed your perception of feet. 

While I never put much stock in the value of virginity, I convinced myself to write off the experience as getting the label of virgin out of the way. I didn’t have to worry about losing this arbitrary state of being that hung over my teenage head anymore. It was gone. I had sex. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t fun. But, I wasn’t going to be ashamed of no longer being virginal. In the background of my mind, I was horrified and scared. Not of losing my virginity, but of doing it in such a horrible manner. To be preyed upon by a horny, arrogant boy who laughed and sneered with his friends the next day. 

But, I have this remarkable ability to see the bright side of nearly every situation. It’s my primary defense mechanism. That, and humor. I would celebrate my loss of virginity. I would also identify as a lesbian. Being gay in high school in the 90′s was not fun. The sex was great, I felt safe and in control, I didn’t have to worry about encountering terrible penises. I kind of stumbled on to lesbianism. It started with a sleepover. In the dark, she took the immense risk of kissing me. I, of course, was oblivious until I felt myself kissing her back. It didn’t occur to me that it was unusual at the moment. It felt right and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I never saw the point of being in the closet. I’m honestly more closeted now as a heterosexually married bisexual mom than I was as a lesbian high schooler. But then, I had a tribe. I had friends just like me. Who felt the same fears, were bulled by the same people, who had the same heroes. We were Different, with the very proud capital D. Hell, there was even a whole parade and festival celebrating gays and lesbians. Sure, bisexuals and transgendered people are also part of that list, but we don’t seem to get the same kind of spotlight. Right now, it’s time for transgendered people to shine and for all of us to fight for their rights. But, bisexuals are still pretty invisible. 

That’s a story for another day, though. 

[taoleiune]

13 reasons why

I just finished watching the Netflix series 13 Reasons Why, and now I'm remembering high school. I'm remembering being the outcast, being the strange one who everyone seemed to know. I'm remembering the sheer terror of being caught in an empty staircase by a bully. I'm remembering being called pretty, being caught off guard, then hearing the same voice viciously hissing what he thought was going to be my reply, "no I'm not". I remember being hit on, being in a truck with a pair of guys who I thought were friends and being pushed into the driver because he was taking turns in a way that forced me into him. I remember pain and fear and loneliness. I wish with everything I have that my son won't go through the same things in a few years when he's in high school. I'm thinking of how greatful I am that he's not a girl. And how awful it is to feel that way. I remember being sexually assaulted, and still feeling like I'm not ready to call it rape. I remember not saying no. I remember being so terrified and wishing it would stop. I remember being so confused and ashamed and scared. Powerless. And this is the first time I've admitted it. I've already accepted being a survivor of so many other things, I guess it's time I accepted this too. I was going to write something closer to a review, something about how everyone should watch this series. Instead I write a confession. I love how they demonstrated consent, the way consent should be. How natural it can be to check in and make sure what you're doing is actually wanted. That a lack of a no is not consent. I finally understand why I'm so passionate about women's sexuality, consent, and equality. I am 37 years old and I'm finally admitting to myself that I am a survivor of sexual assault and I will be ok. I can no longer remember his name or face, but I still remember what happened, how it felt, and how hard I tried to convince myself I wanted it. I can finally say I didn't want it and it never should have happened. It should never happen to anyone.

[taoleiune]

The Purple Swirl Easter Egg Necklace is another new item on Riding the Fox on Etsy. It’s swirled purple, white and translucent Sculpey pendants in egg shapes. Perfect for Easter, or spring, or for those who just like the color purple (like me!) There are 9 pendants, approximately 2″ long and 1/2″ wide each. Together they measure approximately 5″ wide.

I’ve been trying to figure out what I wanted to do with these pendant beads for a while now. I was originally going to use purple flower beads (that kind of look like mini foxgloves or snowdrops) between the eggs, but it was way too busy. I’ll have to use the flowers for another project. Maybe a necklace all of their own? 

The translucent Sculpey really adds depth and interest to the egg pendants. I’m really fond of the effect here and will have to remember to use it in the future. I can see it doing interesting things with dried flowers. There are no dried flowers in this piece. It was purely playing with Sculpey. 

[taoleiune]

Key chain pouch in my new shop: Riding the Fox. (Link in bio) There's a semicolon filled with French knots on the other side.