I still pick my skin. I pick things *out* of my skin. Until I bleed. I rub my hands over my face and if I feel some bumpy thing on it I have to pick it until it's not there any more. I feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment when I do this.
As a kid I'd get up at random times to walk in a perfect circle because "God" told me I had to, and I wouldn't stop until I "felt" like it was okay.
I would lay awake at night feeling my heart beat in my chest and, quite literally, picture it violently exploding inside of me for no reason. I would have to lay perfectly still or my heart would explode. So I thought.
Once I thought my parents were going to eat me, so I refused to eat so they couldn't "fatten me up." I freaked out one totally unrelated time on a delivery run with my dad to EIU when the office ladies tried to feed me cake, because I thought they were conciously trying to make me fat.
I cant stand having sticky fingers. I also dont like the way flour feels or drywall. The texture of beans is repellant to me. If my nose is even very very slightly clogged up, I have to blow it and use nose spray until I can breathe "perfectly" through it, because I hate breathing through my mouth.
I constantly wrinkle my nose and raise my eyebrows. If I move one shoulder I have to move the other one the exact same way. If I touch something with one hand I have to touch it with the other one.
I have a hard time throwing anything away. My room is a pigsty because of this.
One time I convinced myself I was going to have a psychotic episode and stab my mother to death in her sleep. I had a panic attack so bad I was beating my head into the wall and clawing at my skin and screaming and sobbing. I kept yelling "I LOVE YOU MOM I'D NEVER HURT YOU" although I was completely unconvinced. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I almost killed myself. I couldn't stop staring at her voidly and it freaked her out. (understandably)
This landed me in the Pavillion for a week, where I finally fucking found out it was all OCD.
I have to agree with you on the flour/chalk. I still have to wash and lotion every time I handle it - even if it's in the middle of a banking project. I think that's why I don't bake much.
Oh, my gosh, somehow I missed the flour/drywall part upon first reading this. I once worked at a store that was undergoing reconstruction, including completely re-drywalling the main room in which we worked. There was dust everywhere. It was horrible. You couldn't get rid of it for months, and we went through lotion bottles like they were water.
Dead serious, psychiatrists and family practice doctors can do whatever they can, but to me it sounds as though you have mild Tourette's, as well.
Indicators: the nose blowing, the eyebrow and nose movement, a few other bits.
I'm with you on the sticky tuff, and the flour, and have to add "suction" to that. I pathologically avoid vacuuming and the only thing about the dentist that I hate is the fucking sucky-thing that they put in your mouth.
Everything I do, I do in threes. I've also got the "touch things the right number/way" thing. Ugh.
My rooms are always messy. My brain can process clutter--indeed, even functions better with it--but not filth. I can have a room I can barely walk in, but NO DIRTY DISHES.
I think I have about half-a-dozen Purell bottles around my life, one is always with me. If I forget one, I often buy a new one.
Hmmm. Well see it's weird, alot of those tics are OCD related too. Usually a reaction to an unpleasant thought or feeling. A compulsion, see. Then again, OCD and tourettes are so closely related that if you have one, there's a good chance you have the other. Maybe you're right. That would explain the occaisional hand-shakiness.
Now see I love vaccuming. I like the noise of things going up into the vaccum, because it means it's getting *clean.* The only reason I hate the dentist sucky-thing is because I can see my spit, blood and tooth fragments going up the tube. Yech. I have a pretty severe spit/drool phobia. I'd rather touch lukewarm pee than spit. Even being around a drooling baby makes me twitchy.
However, spit: when contained inside the mouth, does not bother me. My little cousin can gum on my hand all day and I wont flip out until I actually take my hand out of her mouth. Tongue-kissing doesn't bother me, but last time I did that the idiot licked my face (wtf?) and I freaked out.
Numbers I dont really have a thing with anymore. I do find myself mildly annoyed when things dont come out even, though. Also, I both love and hate the number 5. If you have 5 things, you can put one in the middle and two on each side, and it looks nice. For a while. Then you start thinking that the one in the middle is pointless and irritating because if you ever had to divide up the things between any less or more than exactly 5 people, you couldn't do it. Fuck the number 5.
My room is cluttered beyond comprehension with any number of useless items that I can't bring myself to throw out. However, it's "neat clutter" that only someone with OCD would understand. I'll take pictures sometime.
I have to see my shrink soon for another pointless session where I basically tell him I'm fine and to refill my celexa prescription so I dont end up shaking and barfing.
Ah, and for years I had a little bump thing on my cheek. I used to pick at it regularly...until one day I just couldn't stand it anymore and pick it OFF my FACE. I was worried about it scarring, but it healed completely.
Oh, and I do the "bite the skin around my nails" thing...
I still pick my skin. I pick things *out* of my skin. Until I bleed. I rub my hands over my face and if I feel some bumpy thing on it I have to pick it until it's not there any more. I feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment when I do this.
As a kid I'd get up at random times to walk in a perfect circle because "God" told me I had to, and I wouldn't stop until I "felt" like it was okay.
I would lay awake at night feeling my heart beat in my chest and, quite literally, picture it violently exploding inside of me for no reason. I would have to lay perfectly still or my heart would explode. So I thought.
Once I thought my parents were going to eat me, so I refused to eat so they couldn't "fatten me up." I freaked out one totally unrelated time on a delivery run with my dad to EIU when the office ladies tried to feed me cake, because I thought they were conciously trying to make me fat.
I cant stand having sticky fingers. I also dont like the way flour feels or drywall. The texture of beans is repellant to me. If my nose is even very very slightly clogged up, I have to blow it and use nose spray until I can breathe "perfectly" through it, because I hate breathing through my mouth.
I constantly wrinkle my nose and raise my eyebrows. If I move one shoulder I have to move the other one the exact same way. If I touch something with one hand I have to touch it with the other one.
I have a hard time throwing anything away. My room is a pigsty because of this.
One time I convinced myself I was going to have a psychotic episode and stab my mother to death in her sleep. I had a panic attack so bad I was beating my head into the wall and clawing at my skin and screaming and sobbing. I kept yelling "I LOVE YOU MOM I'D NEVER HURT YOU" although I was completely unconvinced. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I almost killed myself. I couldn't stop staring at her voidly and it freaked her out. (understandably)
This landed me in the Pavillion for a week, where I finally fucking found out it was all OCD.
Such is life.
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Dead serious, psychiatrists and family practice doctors can do whatever they can, but to me it sounds as though you have mild Tourette's, as well.
Indicators: the nose blowing, the eyebrow and nose movement, a few other bits.
I'm with you on the sticky tuff, and the flour, and have to add "suction" to that. I pathologically avoid vacuuming and the only thing about the dentist that I hate is the fucking sucky-thing that they put in your mouth.
Everything I do, I do in threes. I've also got the "touch things the right number/way" thing. Ugh.
My rooms are always messy. My brain can process clutter--indeed, even functions better with it--but not filth. I can have a room I can barely walk in, but NO DIRTY DISHES.
I think I have about half-a-dozen Purell bottles around my life, one is always with me. If I forget one, I often buy a new one.
I'm with you, girl. Neurologist.
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Now see I love vaccuming. I like the noise of things going up into the vaccum, because it means it's getting *clean.* The only reason I hate the dentist sucky-thing is because I can see my spit, blood and tooth fragments going up the tube. Yech. I have a pretty severe spit/drool phobia. I'd rather touch lukewarm pee than spit. Even being around a drooling baby makes me twitchy.
However, spit: when contained inside the mouth, does not bother me. My little cousin can gum on my hand all day and I wont flip out until I actually take my hand out of her mouth. Tongue-kissing doesn't bother me, but last time I did that the idiot licked my face (wtf?) and I freaked out.
Numbers I dont really have a thing with anymore. I do find myself mildly annoyed when things dont come out even, though. Also, I both love and hate the number 5. If you have 5 things, you can put one in the middle and two on each side, and it looks nice. For a while. Then you start thinking that the one in the middle is pointless and irritating because if you ever had to divide up the things between any less or more than exactly 5 people, you couldn't do it. Fuck the number 5.
My room is cluttered beyond comprehension with any number of useless items that I can't bring myself to throw out. However, it's "neat clutter" that only someone with OCD would understand. I'll take pictures sometime.
I have to see my shrink soon for another pointless session where I basically tell him I'm fine and to refill my celexa prescription so I dont end up shaking and barfing.
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Oh, and I do the "bite the skin around my nails" thing...
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