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Surviving Compulsions, Cancer, and Coronavirus

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming. Regularly scheduled? I’m pretty sure it’s been at least three years since my last blog post and I didn’t even finish the story I was trying to tell then. Neither here nor there. Such is the ADHD brain. Some of the delay might be revealed in the post below…and maybe I’ll get back around to finishing the rest of that other story. It did have a happy ending.But, for now…the world is going through something absolutely crazy – this Coronavirus, this COVID-19. And as a person with pretty severe ADHD and OCD who also has catastrophic, sometimes paralyzing, anxiety, I guess I felt called to talk about it. My anxiety’s getting worse, so I felt like I should at least put this out there.So, without further adieu (no graphics, no frills, just words…or it might not ever get published)…

I am (and always have been) what some people might call a crazy person. I’ve been diagnosed with an alphabet soup of psychological disorders and have taken quite a wide assortment of meds to help tame them…mostly to no avail. I definitely suffer from a similar assortment of physical ones to boot. I was born with a massive hole in my heart and, perhaps, shouldn’t have survived. I fought newborn/infant pneumonia and asthma, but I survived. I was a medically fragile child who wasn’t going to hold back. My mom had to come to terms with this. I wasn’t going to sit it out just because it might kill me. That said, the hole in my heart healed by the time I was two, which was swell. But a parent doesn’t really ever let go of that fear, especially not a parent who also moonlights as a nurse.

But Mom knew me and she knew I wasn’t going to tread this life lightly. Give it your all or don’t bother giving it anything. And the doctors reassured her that I would be fine. So she had to trust…and trust she did, with much reservation. I can’t imagine the strength it must have taken to let me just be a “normal” child, but she found it somehow. And, hey, guess what! I survived. I survived a bunch of other near misses, too. No thanks to anything I did. Just straight luck or plans that other people (God) had for me or whatevs.

But I got sick a lot. I had chronic ear infections until I was nearly 7. I have irritable bowel. I have chronic headaches. I had recurrent strep throat so many months in 5th grade that none of the students knew who I was when I returned to school after recovering. I have moderate scoliosis that can be legit crippling at times (currently treading that crippling line super closely). And I have chronic fever sores/blisters. Not just the one every now and then, but like my entire mouth full at a time…most Christmases, any stressful time really. And they hurt like hell. And so embarrassing. Like red flags to the world that I am gross.

I can’t say for sure where the OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) or depression came from. (I’m sure I’m missing something.) I suppose it was always there just like the Insomnia, ADHD, LMNOP.

Either way, early on, I learned I could be contaminated by the outside world and I could contaminate the outside world as well. I became very particular about washing my hands, mostly. Well, outwardly. I started noticing the chain reaction of all the things. That person goes to the bathroom and doesn’t wash their hands…then they use that $10 bill to purchase something. Then the cashier doesn’t wash their hands and opens that door and uses that credit card machine…and etcetera etcetera. It’s something I sometimes have to try to turn a blind eye to…it’s something that I know that if I gave into it, it could land me locked up on my own account, afraid of the world outside.

Anyway, it got worse from there. I own it and make fun of myself. Everyone knows I am a lover of hand sanitizer. I also actually wash

my hands a ridiculous amount of times a day. Probably too many times for me to count.

So that’s life. And whatever. Take me and my weirdness or leave me, right?

And most people in my life take me. I guess I have enough redeeming qualities without all of my neurotic weirdness…or maybe some consider that a redeeming quality, too. In fact, I know some do. Most of my friends and family are super supportive. I’ve received the Best Germ Eliminating UV Wand (original and travel size), Phone Soap, and all the and sanitizer in the world as gifts. My friends obviously know and love me. I’m not entirely sure if they know how much I actually treasure these gifts, and, furthermore, how much peace of mind they actually bring me.

I bring a complete arsenal when I travel. I’m not always prepared with all the things in life, but I’m always prepared to fight the germs. And if I’m not, complete panic ensues. I buy hand sanitizer in bulk, on a good day. I could say I try to keep it in check, but mostly I just try to keep it somewhat muted in front of other people, especially certain audiences.

Point being, there’s a standard level of concern about the world making me sick and, perhaps, an even higher level of concern about me making the world sick. I’d like to say I’m always careful, but I’m always careful to say, “always.”

Anyway, I’ve mostly learned to live my life…being careful not to infect and to not be infected.

…and then Mom got sick.

Real sick. Stage 4 Colon Cancer.

And then we had to take care of her.

We had to give her IVs.

We had to feed her.

We had to hold the straw while she managed to suck down whatever nutrients she could.

We had to do all the things that make a human feel not like a human…especially one of the most dignified humans who ever existed (until those moments she risked her dignity for the sake of a good joke).

But anyway, we were ALL up in her space.

There were moments that, as an OCD person, I never would have thought I’d be able to handle, but I did. Somehow, I’m really great in crisis mode. It’s kind of amazing. I don’t want to shake hands with anybody, but if somebody I love starts to vom, I’m likely to reach my hands out to catch it. Freaking weird.

The point is…when Mom got sick, the importance of protecting others (Mom, first and foremost) from my germs (sterilized as hell, though they may be) became the single biggest priority of my life.

I have pretty severe allergies, (I imagine your shock) and I don’t sleep for crap, so it’s sometimes hard to tell if I am sick, tired, or just allergy-ridden. If I had to be around Mom in those moments (which I did because I lived with her and, you know, gave her her meds and IVs and junk), I’d wear a mask. I’d wash my hands even more than I normally do. If I was making food she might eat? Mask…hands washed a gazillion times. No exaggeration (okay, maybe a bit…a gazillion is a LOT). Legit hand washing…not just hand sanitizing. I made sure to stay on top of her hygiene, too. I was very particular, very aware, very intentional. After all, she had always been with me.

My friends, if Mom was still with us today, I can’t imagine how crazy I would be with this Coronavirus going on. I was crazy enough about fever sores. And yes, the flu…a sore throat…the freaking sniffles. I can’t make you all get it. And I can’t even say that my way of living is right. I just know that if you could all get inside my brain (or, maybe more importantly, my heart) for a second right now, you, too, could understand the risk for your compromised (and maybe we’re all compromised at this point) loved one…and you would understand my crazy.

And that said, I am trying so hard not to lose myself in all of this. Mom died this July after a 5 and a half year battle with Cancer. In those 5 and a half years, there were several other pretty big losses. I’ve been fighting the urge to self-quarantine since she died. Not because I was afraid of the world killing me, but because I didn’t want to be in it…and knew I NEEDED to be in it. I knew I needed to push myself to face the day or I could lose myself. History tells stories and sometimes they are true. Self-history teaches us how to cope with the internal wars of today, based on the wars of yesterday. I got out of bed every day, even when I didn’t want to. I went to work. I hung with friends. I trudged on. And now, I’m being asked to stay at home, to lock myself up…to hide from the world because of this pandemic, this Coronavirus.

Psychologically, this terrifies me. I’m doing whatever I can to combat my chronic and situational depression. I’m trying not to obsess about all the germs. I’m trying to be physically active when I can. I’m trying to talk to family and friends. I’m trying to eat right and (often to no avail) desperately trying to sleep right. I’m trying not to lose myself in the abyss of this personally untimely isolation.

But at the end of the day, I know how important it is for all of us to social distance right now. I know how important it is to wash our hands. People, I been screaming this for years, for a lifetime. I know how important it is to think about how your/my contamination might impact somebody else’s life. Hell, how your/my contamination might END somebody else’s life.

And I know, without a doubt, that if we still had Mom with us today, my crazy would be on a whole ‘nother level. My mom isn’t with us anymore…not in this realm anyway. But there are countless other lives out there who need your/my crazy to be on a whole ‘nother level.

But, really, it’s simple. Social distance. Wash your hands. If you’re sick, contact your medical provider before going into the office. In general, stay freaking home as much as possible, people. Be cautious and think beyond yourself. Teach your kids the same. Support local businesses, but do it via gift cards/certificates and take-out. Check in on your friends and family. It’s a hard time for everybody.

And think about all those connections that my tiny, messed up little brain agonizes over on a regular basis…butt hole to flushing to door knob to other door knob to keys to steering wheel to shopping cart to item they didn’t buy to cash…again…etcetera, etcetera. And never mind breathing in people’s space.

Please just be smart, intentional, and kind out there. It’s the only way to save as many people as possible. Mom might be gone, but there are plenty of immunocompromised people who are still here…and I love them, too.

A Tale of Two Kitties: Part Four

So, the thing of it is…over a month has passed. Life has once again gotten away from me. And here I sit, two days away from Monkey’s Gotcha Day…and a for real deadline that I should probably actually stick to. There’s another post here in the middle that needs to be written…so here goes… Full disclosure, most of this is pulled from the Notes section on my phone from over a year ago. I had every intention of putting this all to “paper” then, but as the saying goes, better late than never.

As a reminder, Puppy died on a Thursday morning. The Sunday before was his last really good, normal day. I was home with him, the weather was perfect, and we just chilled together on the screened-in porch. He slept in his chair out there a lot and I just kind of enjoyed his sweet company. I freaking love/loved/love that guy. He was my best friend…he was always there.

That Sunday, Puppy was passed out and chilling on that chair when the (not so) little gray and white dude showed up. I always hated petting other animals when Puppy was around, especially towards the end. I never wanted him to feel like I was cheating on him. Call me weird, I don’t care. Maybe I just love differently and harder than some. Maybe I AM just weird, but whatever.

But the gray and white dude was so sweet and chatty; I didn’t want to ignore him either. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to pet him for a bit, while Puppy slept, so I slipped out onto the deck. I crouched down and dude was head-butting the crap out of me…just purring and head-butting. He was super sweet. I let it happen for less than 5 minutes and then I went back in with my boy.

Later that day, I saw my gray and white friend fighting another gray and white cat in the backyard. I went out and yelled and the fight dispersed pretty quickly.

The Thursday that Puppy died was one of the worst days of my life. I fled to Florida to get away and be with my parents for a bit. It killed. It still kills. You either get it or you don’t. And there’s no point in trying to convince you if you don’t.

We went to our favorite breakfast place while I was in Florida. It’s right on a pier on the beach and, aside from the pigeons that prowl the grounds…ready to ferociously attack, it just has an awesome atmosphere. It’s one of my favorite places in the world. There’s a bar side table that looks right out on the ocean. That’s where my mom, dad, and I were sitting this particular morning. All of the sudden, I noticed my mom’s face do a thing. I knew something was up. “I just saw a cat,” she said. Knowing I was vulnerable, she followed with, “I didn’t know if I should tell you.”

I jumped up to see it. It was a little guy who looked so much like Puppy…his markings were a little darker, but the pattern was very much the same…aside from this half mustache thing he had going on. I fell in love. He crawled into the bushes right in front of us. We ordered a side of bacon and brought it to him when we finished brunch. He took the bacon happily. We noticed an empty cat food can in the back and knew somebody was taking care of him.

I took a few pictures and felt very bittersweet over the whole thing. Then we went and put our toes in the sand for a while. It’s hard for me to sit still on a good day, so it’s even worse on a bad day. Despite the assistance of a few mimosas, I couldn’t just sit there. My mom and I got up to walk the pier. As we passed where the cat had been, we looked down. I was hoping he would be there. Somehow I felt connected. I mean, he really looked a lot like Puppy. He WAS there! (Should this have been titled A Tale of Three Kitties?)

Puppy meets Monkey in the underbrush Rainbow Bridge Kitty

As soon as I spotted him, Iz’s “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” started playing overhead. I nearly lost it. It made me think Puppy had made it to the Rainbow Bridge and that this little guy was sent to tell me he made it okay…or something. I’m not really sure. I found comfort and gut-wrenching pain in it, but mostly I tried to take peace from it. We caught our breath and wiped our tears and we continued down the pier…

Even in your darkest moments, there is light, there is hope…if only you are willing to see it. Hard as it is sometimes, life goes on. The sun still shines.

Sun through the clouds

Anyway, my mom and I flew back that Sunday night. Flights got all kinds of screwed up (shocking, I know), so we didn’t get in until late.

The next day I got up to go to work. Being back home was hard. My routine was hollow and empty without my little guy. No meds had to be given. No food had to be put out. No litter had to be scooped. Who knew that not having to clean up cat crap could be so heart breaking? But mostly, no little dude following my every move.

I struggled through the morning, trying to keep living, trying to get back to it. I got in my car and immediately backed right into my dad’s Explorer. It took a minute to realize what had happened. Once I realized it, I began to shake and all the tears I’d been fighting came pouring out in a torrential downpour. I got out of the car and realized there was only damage to my car, so that was good. I sucked it up and carried on. It’s what we do. I’d deal with my car’s damage later.

I went to work and did my best to get through the day. Everybody was super supportive. All of my friends had written ridiculously sweet things in a card for me. Tears flowed and I fought them constantly, but I survived.

As I drove home that day, I felt the empty reality hit me hard. There would be no little goober greeting me when I got home. My life was forever changed. Even now, I still look for him. Sometimes I still miss him like it just happened.

Anyway, when I was pulling in my driveway, I saw my gray and white friend crossing over from our neighbors’ and going into our backyard.

I walked into the kitchen and he showed up right at the back door, just staring at me…like he’d been waiting all day. He did this every day. I missed my little Puppy so much, but this guy gave me something to look forward to. I didn’t really know who he was and he could never replace my Puppy, but he certainly made me smile and feel some kind of love when all I could feel was shattered and alone.

You can’t tell it in this picture, but this furry little guy has a half mustache. The little guy we’d seen at the beach was, what at least appeared to be, a combination of Puppy and this other amazing little dude. I was only beginning to get it at the time, but none of this was coincidence. God works in mysterious ways, my friends. There are times when it seems like the universe is failing you, but there are times when the universe seemingly rallies for you. This little dude standing at my door was exactly that…and the universe was rallying damn hard.

Monkey at the door

Tale of Two Kitties: Part One

Tale of Two Kitties: Part Two

Tale of Two Kitties: Part Three

Insomnia, Pain Meds, Delusions and White Noses

So, I finally upgraded my phone. I can once again take pictures without working the system and going through Snapchat. My apps are also updated and current (including WordPress). This means, to my friends, 1,001 more cat and sky pictures a day and, to you, it might mean I’ll be posting more often (though, hell, I can’t make any promises…pretty sure it’s been years since my last post).

So, anyway, if you’ve read my blog at all before now, I’m pretty sure I’ve made it clear that I struggle with sleeping. Sometimes I have trouble falling asleep. Sometimes I have trouble staying asleep. Sometimes both. And sometimes I hallucinate in the middle of the night.

Currently, my room is the worst it’s been in a long time. Clothes are hanging everywhere. This mess makes it easier to blur the lines between reality and hallucinations during the witching hours of the night. I see a stark white shirt hanging in the dimness and it morphs into a being from the other side. It’s fun stuff, let me tell you. Figments of my imagination merge with reality and commandeer nightmares that leave me paralyzed by fear.

I try to talk myself out of the crazy, but panic attacks often overwhelm.

Anyway, my back has been a disaster since February. It’s much better than it was to start out with, but the pain occasionally still warrants some medicinal remedying. Two nights ago was one of these times. I took a Tramadol and a Flexeril and headed in to watch 13 Reasons Why. I’ve taken both of these meds before and not had a problem. I’m certainly not blaming them for the hallucinations that ensued that night, but I’m not counting them out as possible contributing factors either.

Well, I fell asleep before the first episode finished. Next night, I went to replay that episode on my Roku and got the following screen:

“What in the actual hell (to keep it PG-13)?” I thought.

The hallucinations from the night before came flooding back into my mind, but I was insanely confused. I had no recollection of searching for, “White Nose.” And I had no clue what the hell I might have been seeking. I honestly began to freak a little. Had something actually been in my room? Had it (they?) taken over control over my Roku? Were they trying to communicate with me?!?!?!? I took the screengrab and sent it to one of my best friends being like, “WTF?” and then I proceeded to tell my parents.

Both of my parents were equally as freaked, if not more. I mentioned my hallucinations, which I’ve mentioned to them before, but I think they found them unsettling. Not that I don’t. I just…well, they happen. I deal. I sucked it up and went back into my room. I was a little panicked about who my roomie might be, but it’s not like I’ve never been afraid of who might come, “A knock at my door,” and who might be, “Waiting for me.”

Meanwhile, my friend had written me back…and what a relief! “Ha ha ha!! Were you wanting white noise?” And then, “That made me laugh so hard.”

And then that part of the night came back into my mind. I had fallen asleep watching the show and then I’d woken up to the hallucinations and the deadening silence. I didn’t want to get out of bed because…well, the monsters might get me…and I also didn’t want to disturb my cat. Some might say my priorities are super whacked.

I went searching for white noise on my Roku. I got pissed because I knew I’d found it before. But hey, you can’t find it if you search, “White Nose,” or so it turns out. I’m blind and can’t see very well without my glasses. What can I say? I eventually landed on just using one of the apps on my phone for the white noIse instead.

Once I realized that my friend (who knows me oh, so well) had actually connected all the dots, I, too, laughed at my ridiculousness. I told my parents, to give them some relief…that I might not be as crazy as I appeared and/or that I might not be actively being stalked by beings from the great beyond).

To wrap this up, I don’t know why I decided to share this here. The need for white noise, the lack of sleep, the disrupted sleep…sure, that can all have something to do with ADHD, but mostly I just found myself laughing at myself and thought I’d share. Since it’s been a while, I thought I’d run with it. Hope you enjoyed this silly anectodote about my crazy life.

Maybe you’ll be seeing more of me from here on out…maybe not. I’m gonna try, though!

When Squirrels Attack: A Brutal Retaliation Against the Easily Distracted and Self(ie)-Obsessed

The Squirrel and ADHD – A Recipe for Laughter

As the punchline in many ADHD jokes, the squirrel is well known for it’s distractability factor. Part of that is because squirrels are everywhere. And part of it is because…well, you really just can’t help but look when you see one (at least as an ADHDer); they’re intriguing, little performers. Having posted about the ADHD squirrel phenomenon pretty recently, I wouldn’t usually bring it back up (at least not so soon).

But This Selfie Story Changes Everything

This story on Buzzfeed couldn’t be ignored. Brian Genest got distracted by the squirrel above while he was hiking…and decided he wanted to take a squirrel-featured selfie.

…which he succeeded in.

…but shortly thereafter, things took a turn for the worst.

In a seemingly spontaneous assault, the squirrel pounced on Brian and proceeded to attack. Luckily, the word on the street (aka per the aforementioned credible sources) is that Brian and the squirrel both made it out of this horrific (somewhat hysterical – let’s be honest) attack alive (and uninjured).

Why Would a Squirrel Turn Like That?

My theory is that squirrels everywhere are tired of being blamed for our distractability (and, by default, our ADHD)…so they’re ready to fight back when they see it going down. It’s about to get real. This guy…this squirrel…is the leader of the revolution and this was his first (documented/viral) battle.

ADHDers Heed This Warning

So, I leave you with this…be wary of the squirrel that snags your attention. Resist the urge to be distracted by the fun, furry, little creature. As we’ve learned in this story, not all distractions are worth giving in to. Sometimes they end in blood and tears (read: comical experiences that result in viral celebrity status and no significant injuries to write home about).

Side Note

I’m not really saying that Brian Genest is a fellow ADHDer…or that he was actually distracted by anything as a result of his encounter with the squirrel. This post (and the story itself) is really just an opportunity to poke fun at the distractability (and countless jokes) that squirrels have provided to the ADHD community…well, probably since the beginning of time.