Me? Blogging?

Really didn't think I'd ever do this again. I had a "DeadJournal" at around age 14, and it was filled with ridiculous entries about every detail of my days. Silly. Now it's time to get serious. I have a lot coming up, and a lot in the past. I want to get my story out there in hopes that maybe it will help someone...or at least provide a good laugh to someone. :)

So let's see, I suppose it's important to get the past out there, as it provides an insight into my present and future. First of all, I am 21 years old currently. I was 14 and a freshman in high school when life took a turn for the seriously annoying. I began to experience severe obsessive-compulsive symptoms, from using hand sanitizer on my desks at school to washing my books when I got home, and showering and washing my clothes whenever I came home. I think it was the climbing on furniture to avoid the floor that tipped my parents off. Now, bear in mind, my house was not dirty in the real sense, just in my mind. I saw "germs" and "contamination" everywhere. Soon after the symptoms began, I stopped being able to go to school. I remember vividly my parents literally attempting to pull me out the door to go to school. Just thinking about that makes me shiver. A visit with my primary care doctor confirmed what we had already figured out, I was losing it, or in better terms, I was showing symptoms of severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. I was given referrals to a psychiatrist to prescribe medications and a therapist to talk to. After switching around for a while, I found a male psychiatrist and a male therapist that I really do owe my life to. I began taking a low-dose antidepressant, which ironically, I am also taking now, but at a higher dose to treat the OCD. It wasn't enough. My OCD was getting worse, I could hardly get out of bed for fear of the dirt. I was put on an anti-psychotic medication so I could stop fantasizing about the dirt, but that made me a slug. I hardly did anything. I NEVER left the house. My aunt was assigned to come over during the days and watch me so I didn't commit suicide. Things were rough. But my therapist was amazing. He began to help me sort out exactly what I was afraid of, and it turned out that much of the dirt was the product of all the people in the building. It wasn't mold or viruses I was afraid of, it was being around people and touching things others had touched. So a solution was put into place. I was assigned a private tutor by my school district, who came to my home for 2 hours a day every weekday. Working with her, first at home, and then in the town library, I was able to successfully complete freshman year. I showed improvement with my medications, and around Easter of freshman year, I re-entered the gen.pop. of high school. It wasn't easy, and one of the hardest parts was that in the course of the 8 or so months I was on the anti-psychotic Risperdal, I gained about 100 pounds. I managed to get off the anti-psychotic and onto an antidepressant that was better-suited for my illness. At higher doses, antidepressants can function as OCD drugs.

Sophmore year went by mostly without incident. I attended regular school until Easter (some irony that Easter seems to be a crucial time for me), when, on a sick day, a worker putting in hardwood floors in my home cut his finger nearly off. He came into the room my mother and I were in with blood all over his shirt asking if we can call 911. That sighting of blood effectively put me in my room for about 3 days, until I was sure there was no trace of blood anywhere. Then, a couple weeks later, on my scheduled return to school, another setback. My younger sister had to be taken to the emergency room with a quarter stuck in her throat. (Insert laugh here) As I was at my father's apartment with her at the time, (my parents have been divorced since I was 11) I had to go with them. Here is where I dispense some common-sensical advice: Never take a germaphobe to the ER unless absolutely necessary. At the ER with my family, I had my first (and hopefully only!) hallucination. I saw blood EVERYWHERE. On the ground there were pools of it. On the seats, on the walls. I had to leave. My grandmother was commissioned to come bring me home. I spent the rest of 10th grade with a tutor in the library.

Junior year and senior year went smoothly, owing to the fact that I decided thatr it was stupid to keep wasting energy attempting to be in the school building and just focus on studying. I spent a year and a half in the town library and graduated in December of my senior year. By that time, I was 150 pounds heavier than I was in the beginning of this mess. I should probably explain why. The antidepressant I was (and am currently) on makes my appetite soar. I am generally always hungry.You may ask, why not switch. I will explain shortly why this is not a good idea.

I was doing so well in therapy and at the library that I made the decision to live on-campus at the local SUNY school. I was given permission to keep my car on-campus, owing to the need to continue therapy, and the possible need to flee campus if things got to be too much. I live about 20 minutes from campus, so it seemed like an okay idea. At the end of August, I moved into a double room, with a forced third person (thanks overenrollment) and until second semester, things went perfectly.

Again, I find myself needing to backtrack a bit and explain my condition at the time. My OCD had progressed, grown into a fear of a specific disease. I still have some trouble with the disease, namely typing and saying it, so I will let you choose which disease it is. Your imagination is most likely better than mine anyway.

So, second semester freshman year of college. Over break, I had decided that it was time to start playing around with my medication to find something that didn't cause me to eat like a horse. So I switched from Lexapro to Prozac. I was living on-campus, now with only one roommate, and I had a dream. I dreamt that someone living on our hall had "the disease." Excellent, way to derail my life, subconscious. So I attempted to put it out of my head, knowing it wasn't real and that the person I dreamt about was perfectly fine, and basically that if I let it influence my life, I was most definitely a loon. Unfortunately, with the medication change, I was basically taking M&Ms everyday for all the good they did for me. I switched back immediately, but the damage had been done. I ended up moving home and commuting for the rest of the semester, still managing to finish the year with a 3.7 GPA. 

Over the next summer, I looked into solutions to my problem. It was clear that the OCD was there to stay, so I decided to force it out. An OCD Institute looked like a good idea. The only drawback, it was 4 hours away from home, meaning I was going to have to live there, a loooong way from anyone who knew me. Home had always been my safe place, and my family, my safe people. But, seeing no other option, I took the plunge. I was admitted in August, although by then the fear of going was pretty much gripping me. I knew a few people back home with the disease I feared, and consequently, their names became "dirty." I was unable to say or write them, and so when, on the same day, someone with one such name moved in down the hall of the OCDI, it was not happy news for me. I lasted a week, until the man, who, having OCD that caused him to compulsively organize things, came in and rearranged the shoes on my floor. Yay. I remember exactly what happened. I was sitting in group and I heard someone say that the man had been in their room and was caught arranging things on their dresser. I immediately turned to ice. As I walked back to my room, I was praying for my things to be in their usual state of disarray. And it was, except for a pair of shoes. That pair of shoes, lying neatly in front of my bed, sent me practically into hysterics. It was the last straw in an awful week. The OCDI had communal, unisex bathrooms, and so I had stopped using it days ago. I also did not eat, because anyone could have touched the food, including Scary Name. So I was told that if I stayed and continued this way, I would be transferred to a more frightening wing, complete with feeding tube and catheter. I opted to call my mom and order her to come get me. Don't get me wrong, my parents did everything they could to talk me into staying, citing this incident as the exact reason I needed to be there. But they were talking to deaf ears, so to speak. That night, my mom came and got me, and I ate my first meal in 5 days and peed for the first time in ages. If you are considering holding it for days, which I don't know why you would be, but I must say...DON'T. I was doing the pee-pee dance waiting for my mom to pull up and get me.

After the nightmare at the OCDI, I spent roughly a year in bed. I worked part-time, but after a couple months the names began to haunt me again, and I was forced to admit I was losing it, and quit. It should have been my sophomore year, but instead it is now referred to as my lost year. I tried several different medications, including Anafranil, Seroquel, and Zoloft, but nothing worked the way the Lexapro had. So back to Lexapro we went. It was realized by my psychiatrist that I may need something to augment the Lexpro, so Abilify joined the crowd.

For the past two years, I have worked hard at school and on my OCD. Today, I am a second-semester Junior in college, and still taking Lexapro and Abilify. I am doing well in most areas.

But here comes the kicker. As a result of the past 8 years, I am 300 pounds. 303 to be exact. So I am scheduled for gastric bypass (Roux-en-Y) on February 8, 2011.  I am three weeks into my MediFast diet, which consists of three of the most disgusting shakes every day, and 4-5 oz of lean meat, and 1 and 1/2 cups of veggies...corn, peas, and carrots excluded, I can't eat those at all. I believe that's because of the carb count. So I needed to lose 41 pounds from 322.6 to get to 281.6 or else I have to reschedule surgery. So I guess the point of this journal is to keep me motivated and to (hopefully) get some support. I need this surgery, I look at this tool as the opportunity to get back what I lost 8 years ago. No, not my figure, haha. My confidence, my health, and consequently, my life.

So far I have lost 19 pounds, and I need 22 more. I have 5 weeks to go.

Help me stay motivated!!!

Will update as soon as I have anything of interest to write.