Sir, Step Away From the Orange (How Drugs Cured My Breakfast Ritual)

Day 32

It's been a few days, World, so here's the stuff. I saw Coach yesterday and he is pleased with the medications that Dr. Thurman prescribed last Friday. I can report that I no longer eat an orange for breakfast. I don't eat cereal most mornings either as I feel nauseous when I first wake up. The sick feeling usually wears off around lunch time and I manage to hold down something light. By evening, I actually feel like eating, then I take the meds, go to sleep, and start all over again. I'm down 2 pounds from last Friday. So it's not the way I wanted to lose weight, but at this point, I'm willing to consider the loss a benefit to weigh against the sickness. Also, the 3 pm crash (I have always had an energy low between 3 and 5 pm) is worse now, but that probably has more to do with how little I'm eating, than the meds. However you look at it, the meds have stopped my 3 am checking rituals because I don't wake up and my breakfast rituals because I can't eat. Oh, the miracles of modern medicine!

Coach and I also talked about deep breathing to make it through the freak outs. This is where being a musician (and especially a wind player) comes in handy. I learned how to deep breathe in my earliest trumpet lessons as a kid and I just trained myself to do it all the time. The trick I learned yesterday was to exhale twice as long as I inhale and to concentrate on a word or phrase that is calming to me. Also if I turn the corners of my mouth up slightly in a half smile while I exhale through pursed lips, it stimulates cranial nerve 7 in my parasympathetic nervous system causing my body to release endorphins (which apparently are like Prozac mixed with crack). Let me see, deep breathing, pursed lips, turned up corners, yeah sounds kind of like an embouchure doesn't it? This explains why trumpet playing was my preferred method for dealing with the "crazy" when I was younger and also, why I suffer more with it now. I need to play more often, but then, I knew that without the copay.

Now, I need to head for work. I'm looking forward to this weekend. Leslie and I are going away. Just the two of us. She's informed me that I'm not allowed to worry about the cost and assured me that we need to do this. I know we have the money, but then I also know that the doors are locked at 3 am. The bottom line is that she's right, like so many other times before. World, I wish I could truly explain to you how strong and amazing she really is. She'll be what pulls me through this. I'm a fortunate man. God only made one and only he knows why she picked me - probably because he knew I was going to be a handful. Regardless, when it comes to having a hand to hold, I'm so glad I have hers.

The First Pills of the Rest of My Life

Day 29

Last night I took the first pills of the rest of my life. After I took them (and didn't faint, explode, or melt into goo) I said to my loving wife in a melancholy tone, "Well, I just took the first pills of the rest of my life." Unphased by overblown sense of personal drama, she simply replied, "We don't know that it will be for the rest of your life." So I sat on the couch to watch TV with her, because she was right. I don't know if this will be for the rest of my life, but I do know that it is for right now.

As for the sleep, all things went well. Xanax can be a worthy opponent when navigating to the bathroom at 2 am, but, all things considered, I awoke around 6:30 ready for the day. Today I will work on the taxes, take the kids to a pizza party at 1, and try to relax a bit. I may even cook today, my chives are coming up in the garden outside and their just begging to be used. I love chives, because winter can't kill them. They just keep coming back year after year. I hope to be like that.

First Doctor's Day

Day 28

I saw my doctor today. Her first name is Uma, so she will be referred to in this blog as Dr. Thurman. I choose to protect the identities of those mentioned here in case they ever desire not to be associated with me or my "crazy." Besides, a certain degree of anonymity is just smart sometimes.

Anyway, she checked me out and listened to my story. I've got it down pretty well by now. It goes something like this: "I have something to tell you - I'm crazy. You see, I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I've had it all my life. I've hidden it from everyone I know for 36 years and now I'm teetering on the brink of insanity. I have the prerequisite people, publications, and prescriptions; and I'm ready to get better."

"I see," she says, "How do your symptoms manifest themselves?" "Usually with counting, checking, perfectionism, ordering, straightening, and cleaning," I say. "Things need to be done in even numbers. Steps have to alternate over lines or planes of any kind. Chewing needs to be equal on both sides of the mouth. I touch things, tap things, repeat things, research and memorize things ad nauseum." "Uh huh," she answers as she ponders asking me for specifics.

I decide to give her one just for fun. "Like the fact that I spent less than 10 minutes in your waiting room. I haven't been there in almost 2 years. You have 39 openings behind your receptionist - 30 of them are drawers and nine are doors organized in groups of three, two on top of the drawers and one below. There are four pictures hanging on the left wall and one on the right wall. The one on the right is larger and crooked - it leans to the left. The second photo from the left on the opposite wall is crooked inside the frame (also leaning to the left) so I was unable to fix it. you have six white chairs and four orange ones; two windows; and one cubbyhole with an angel statue in it. There is one ink pen that is nearly dry, one bottle of hand sanitizer that needs to be refilled, two magazines and one children's book with an free book bag offer on the cover. Shall I continue?" She assures me that won't be necessary.

After a listen to the lungs and a short discussion about sleep deprivation and the side effects of SSRI medications, I left with two prescriptions: one for Xanax to relax me and help me sleep and one for Zoloft to fix the chemicals in my brain. I dropped them off at the Walgreen's near where I work. I'll pick them up on the way to cash my check and start taking them tonight at bedtime.

So that's the plan for now. I have no idea how I'm going to feel or what this stuff will do for the "crazy," not to mention any side effects, but I'll keep you informed as I go. Here's to sleepier nights and happier days, World. May they come quickly and stick around for a long, long time.

First Doctor's Eve

Day 27

I called this post, "First Doctor's Eve," but this is certainly not the first time I've seen my doctor. She is a good doctor. She listens. She doesn't rush through appointments. She doesn't push medications unnecessarily. Most of all, she genuinely cares about her patients. This is especially fresh in my mind as I received a lesson in customer service from a disgruntled customer of my own this evening.

The purpose of my visit tomorrow is to bring my doctor into the loop about my "crazy" and to get her recommendation on medications. I also want her to weigh in on the best sleep solution, especially if it's not the "Blue Death." I go at noon so I'll let you know what she says tomorrow.

On a separate note, I've been reading in the book I purchased a while back (remember that?) and I definitely have some questions for Coach on Monday about cognitive therapy. More about all that later. Goodnight, World, we'll go at it again tomorrow.

Thank God for the "Blue Death"

Day 26

I discovered Tylenol PM in college. I have never been one to sleep much, but back then it was especially bad. All night study sessions, late night gigs, fraternity life, and other extracurricular events made for a sleep schedule that was erratic at best and often times down right chaotic. My roommate and I heard about this little over-the-counter wonder and decided to give it a try. The adult dose was two tablets, so each of us downed a couple tiny blue dream-makers and headed for bed. I awoke 8 1/2 hours later refreshed and ready for the day. He didn't stir for another 4 hours and when he did he was foggy for another hour or so. I love him, but he's kind of a medicinal light-weight.

After this, we affectionately named this product the "Blue Death." When either of said we were going to take the "Blue Death" the other one had to abstain and play "Town Cryer" to make sure we made it to class the next day. (As a side note, Nyquil often accomplishes the same result, but if you don't have sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, or fever why overdo it right?).

As the years have come and gone, I have occasionally had cause to dance with the "Blue Death." The last few weeks have brought me to one of those occasions. I am happy to report that for the past two nights, I have slept much more soundly thanks to Tylenol PM (which, incidently, is just extra strength Tylenol with Benedryl added to it). However, in a constant effort to limit my dealings with the "Small Blue One," I will be seeing my primary care physician tomorrow. She was the one who told me to use it until I could get into the office. I have complete confidence in her knowledge of medications and I know that she will help me craft a more permanent sleep solution.

As for the "crazy," I have to admit that it is much easier to deal with when I can sleep at night. So fear not, World, things are looking up. I see the doctor tomorrow, the Coach on Monday, and the shrink in May. And just think, less than a month ago I was just some poor schlep touching, counting, and checking his way to insanity. Now, I have people, publications, and prescriptions. Looks like the sky's the limit. Or is it? You know, I haven't checked that lately...

The Night of the Pillows

You Guessed It, Day 24

OK, so I'm feeling saucy about the whole writing thing today. Actually, I find that writing helps lessen the anxiety. This is why I'm on my fourth post of the day and ready to tell you about the "Night of the Pillows".

Leslie and I have had trouble sleeping in recent months. This is probably due to the hand-me-down mattress in our room that is older than we are combined. The trick about sleeping on our mattress is that you have to lay in one spot until the spring that's poking you wakes you up, but not long enough for said spring to actually bruise a rib. Then you reposition, rinse, and repeat over and over until morning. If your lucky you will only wake up 2 or 3 times and you won't sustain any lasting contusions.

Back around Christmas, we finally decided, while watching the bionic woman commercial, to give the sleep number bed some thought. After all, bionic people have to sleep too, right? We took a trip to our nearest sleep number store and fell in love with the bed. However, we were in the final throws of a grueling 3-year effort to get out of debt. We decided that when we could pay cash, we would return and purchase the bed of our dreams (no pun intended). As an intermediate step, though, we decided to purchase contoured pillows - expensive contoured pillows. They're not cheap, World, but they are amazing! They cradle your head in perfect support almost causing you to forget that your being poked in the ribs my a recalcitrant steel coil.

We brought our pillows home and unboxed them. I slept on mine for a few nights and then it was time to change the sheets and cases. Leslie stripped the old bedding and set our naked pillows aside. When it came time to make the bed, I helped. We had all of the sheets on in perfect teamwork when she picked up the pillows. Without their outer coverings, they were identical. They had the same contoured shape. They weighed the same. They were the same color. They were exactly alike except for one extremely important thing - I didn't know which one was mine! All my life I have been very picky about my pillows making sure that no one else slept on them and that I used mine and only mine in complete fidelity until down do us part.

When she handed me my pillow, she noticed the terror on my face. She was concerned because this was before "The Morning of the Orange" and she still didn't know about the "crazy". "What's wrong?" she said. "I...I...don't know if it's mine," I choked. "They're identical," she replied. She didn't understand and I was still hiding so I couldn't explain. I unboxed that pillow! I and I alone had slept upon it. Now something that belonged to me may have been lost! That's really the fear - losing my stuff. I don't lose my stuff. Everything goes in the same place every time according to years of time-tested ritual and practice. I wasn't appalled at the idea of sleeping on a pillow my wife had used or anything like that. This wasn't about wife cooties. This was about lost stuff and that, my friends, is a big, big, deal to a person with my brand of "crazy".

I couldn't sleep on it. I just laid it aside and rolled over eventually falling asleep in silence on my auxiliary pillow. I awoke, for the usual checking of the house (more later), around 3 am. After staring out the window, deep breathing for 45 minutes, and performing half a dozen decontamination rituals, I was finally able to sleep on the pillow. Leslie now assures me that the two pillows are separate at all times and I shall never again be parted from the one on my side of the bed. Someday, I hope to be free of this junk. Then I may just mix them up myself employing ridiculous things like odd numbers, asymmetrical patterns, and all manor of normal person whimsicality. For now, I'll keep saving for the bed. At this point I would give anything for the ability to get some sleep.

Get to Know Me

Still Day 24

Today was Second Shrink Day. I did most of the talking. It was mainly just more "Get to know me!" (John Lovitz vintage SNL).

I elaborated on the people in my life who share the knowlege of my "crazy." Friends and family mostly. We did speak briefly about church. There will eventually be volumes about that, but scratching the surface was helpful.

Next week we discuss relaxation techniques and how to survive full scale freak outs.


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Second Shrink Day

More Day 24

Here on time. Waiting. Just handled a stressful work situation over the phone. That did wonders for my state of mind.

Strangely, for as much as I have looked forward to this, I feel very anxious. Breathing is labored. Mind is racing. It's like the "crazy" knows it's days are numbered and it's fighting to survive.

My turn.


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The Morning of the Orange

Day 24

If you have followed this blog from it's inception, then you'll remember my mention of the "Morning of the Orange." This was the last straw crisis that prompted my coming clean about being "crazy" after 36 years of hiding it. To fully understand the event, you must first understand my lifelong on-again off-again relationship with oranges. Throughout my childhood, my mother would always have a glass of orange juice with breakfast. She made it from concentrate in this translucent, tubular, container. Every now and again, I would try it, but I couldn't deal with the pulp (I called it pits as in "Oscar, you know I can't stand pits in my orange juice!"). C'mon, fist pump for the obscure Odd Couple reference? Ok, then. Let's just say that orange juice was something I never quite settled into.

Fast forward to college. The dining halls served orange juice with breakfast and, considering breakfast was usually left over pizza and coffee, I thought I'd give it a try. A guy has to have his fruit, you know. Well, you can imagine my surprise to learn that college dining hall orange juice didn't have "pits!" This bit of free experimentation gave way to eating fresh oranges which were delicious. The citrus fruit, once held as the bane of my childhood, was now my friend.

Fast forward to adulthood. After graduating from college, I took a job as a pastor. I was the Associate Pastor of Youth and Music. This is much like being the Associate Pastor of Chaos and Insanity. I worked for a self-serving, manipulative, evil, tyrant of a man that everyone else called "Pastor." We'll have many conversations regarding this phase of my life as this blog continues, but for now you only need know that I was severely used and abused by someone who was supposed to love Jesus. This led to the stomach issues. I worked in these inhuman conditions for 6 1/2 years during which, and for years afterward, I could no longer eat oranges because my stomach couldn't handle the acid.

Fast forward to last fall. I decided that, since I had been out of parish ministry for seven years, perhaps I could give oranges a try once again. I began by eating one for breakfast. I waited and nothing ignited. While I still can't eat them after noon for some reason, I can eat them for breakfast. This became the new breakfast ritual: 1 orange and 1 bowl of dry Kashi cereal. Enter vehicle, remove lid from cereal bowl. At first stop light, score the orange with handy dandy Pampered Chef orange scorer thingy. While driving, peel orange carefully placing peels on the lid of the cereal bowl. Eat orange making sure to chew equally on each side of the mouth. Eat cereal, two pieces at a time so as to promote equal chewing in each side. In the rare case that there is actually an odd number of cereal pieces, simply bite the last one in half and chew equally on both sides. Place the orange peels safely inside the cereal bowl and place the lid securely on top. Leave in truck and dispose of peels when you get home. (This is the first half of the breakfast ritual. We'll talk about part two another time).

My wife is a bit of a worrier. She was concerned about me peeling an orange while driving, so she began trying to help me by peeling the orange for me. At first I would make excuses and rush out conveniently leaving the orange behind. Then she would send one of my children out with it so I wouldn't forget. On these occasions, I would end up throwing the orange away, because I didn't peel it. One fateful day, as I was trying to conveniently leave the orange behind, she confronted me. This was after the "Night of the Pillows" (more later) and she wasn't going to accept the brush-off. "I can't take it because you peeled it!" I exclaimed. "I'm concerned about you peeling an orange while you're driving!" she said. "You don't get it, this is MY THING! I STARTED THIS, AND I SHOULD BE THE ONE WHO CHANGES IT, NOT YOU!" "IF YOU'RE AFRAID, YOU NEED TO FIND SOME WAY TO DEAL WITH YOU IRRATIONAL FEARS, BUT CONTROLLING ME ISN'T GOING TO WORK!" Angry footsteps. Door slam. completely bewildered sobbing wife left behind.

I reached my truck and drove off as I completely freaked out. I knew what I had done. I knew full well the damage that would remain if I didn't undo it. I knew I needed help. There was a very real danger that this secret could cost me my marriage, my children, and everything that mattered to me. I simply wasn't willing to pay that price, so I called a friend who had been through something similar and began this journey. Facing Leslie that night and coming clean was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but it was the first step toward fighting my way out of this nightmare. Today, I see Coach again and take another step. One at a time, World. That's how we're going to do it. One at a time.

First Shrink Eve Eve

Day 23

I offered you some thoughts on First Shrink Eve, but I didn't tell you what happened on First Shrink Eve Eve (that's the night before the night before First Shrink Day - last Monday). I have to admit that I had a total freak out. I'm serious, this one was first class - choking sobs, hyperventilating, the whole completely unmasculine mess. You see, I realized that walking into the therapist's office meant two things. One, I was officially admitting to someone official that I was officially "crazy". This wasn't just some theory or off-hand diagnosis developed from internet research. This was the real deal, told to someone who was bound by his professional calling and my co-pay to do something about it; which leads us to the next thing. Two, someone was actually going to take away my rituals. This was absolutely terrifying!

Now, anyone who knows anything about therapy, especially this kind, will tell you that nothing happens quickly. Any change that is made will happen slowly over a period of time, so it's not like going to sleep for plastic surgery and waking up looking like someone else. However, the idea of giving up the only things that stand between me and complete and total madness was entirely overwhelming.

You have to understand, World, that this is all I have ever known. It's not like I contracted this thing 5 or 10 years back and I can remember life before "crazy". I have had this for 36 years, since birth! I cannot remember a time when things did not have to happen in even numbers, complete symmetry, or alternating footsteps. I have never known life without OCD. This meant that surrendering to therapy brought a voyage into utterly unknown darkness (with the hope that what doesn't kill me will make me stronger and eventually, I'll be able to function like normal people).

Obviously I got through the freak out, made it to therapy, and Wednesday was a pretty good day, but I felt like I owed it to you to share this. I guess I felt that way because part of the reason for writing this blog is to offer hope to others who may be struggling with OCD. In order to be true to that part of the deal, I feel it is important to show both the beautiful and the ugly. It is the only way truly display the true progression from start to healing. It also helps people who don't have the "crazy" but love someone who does, to understand the way it works.

I had a minor freak out at church today (more about this later, I've shared enough struggle for now). Let's just say that I look forward to talking with Coach tomorrow. It will be nice to have some more victory to write about.

Bad day

Day 21

When I decided to write this blog I knew there would be days like this. I have felt down all day for no reason. I can't explain it, but I'm beginning to understand the chemical aspect of the " crazy".

My ray of hope is that I get to spend the weekend with ratively safe people and I see Coach again on Monday. Talking will help, but waiting until May to get on a medication will seem like an eternity. It's funny, World, when I started this I couldn't bear the thought of taking some sort of medication. Now I almost welcome it. I think I'm just tired of suffering. Soon sleep and yes, Scarlet, tomorrow is another day.


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Meet the Coach

Day 20

Here's the report from First Shrink Day. As I told you before, my shrink isn't really a shrink, he's a clinical social worker. This means he needs a fitting title. His last name is Carter, so I shall, from this day forward, refer to him in this blog as Coach. This is an interesting bit of irony since I'm not much of an athlete. I am, however, a movie buff and Coach Carter was a rather inspiring flick.

Coach is a very kind and patient sort of individual, at least in therapy. He was a sports guy in his youth, but he also has a deep love for classical music and fine art. How's that for well rounded? He listens well and asks intelligent questions, he is an elder in his church, so he'll have some frame of reference for my church issues, and he looks a lot like my wife's uncle Denny. That last one is particularly helpful as I have always found Denny to be a person of compassion who is easy to talk to and great to spend time with.

Here's the plan. 1. Get the OCD under control with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. 2. Get on a medication to help lessen the freak outs and smooth the process. This requires an appointment with a Psychiatrist who works in the same office (the first available appointment is in May, but I'm on a cancellation list. Maybe we'll get lucky). 3. Fully test me for ADHD to see if we need to treat that as well. 4. Continue with all of the above, adjusting as we go, until my "crazy" is under control. All in all it doesn't sound so scary, and so far the people I'm working with are great, so we'll hang in there and see if we can't just beat this thing.

Before I wrap up, I have to send a "shout out" to The Amazing Carolyn. She works the phones for my shrinks. After dealing with sixteen shrinks in nearly a dozen offices over a period of three weeks, I as at the end of sanity and patience. The Amazing Carolyn took it upon herself to beat the bushes for me and hook me up with Coach. I wish all office and phone people cared the way she does, because it made all the difference for me. Thank you, Carolyn. You're the best!

Off to work now. I see Coach again on Monday. I'll let you know what he says. Have a great day, World!

Waiting

Day 19

I am on the lobby waiting. It's first shrink day. Nervous. Trying not to freak out. Forgot my pen, had to use theirs, they had sanitized, so I'm better now. I don't usually have the germ thing, but I'm unusually anxious so maybe that's why. Back to waiting...

A mother with a teenage boy just came in. She is haggling over her balance. I don't have a balance. I'm new. They have a serious cancellation policy-$75. A week ago I might have found it excessive, but after working so hard to even get an appointment, I can understand how precious these time slots are.

Just got a text message fro
my wife. "I love you," she says. I don't know what I would without her. I hear a man's voice. Maybe it's my guy. He's 9 minutes late.

My turn.


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First Shrink Eve

Day 18

Hey World, I apologize for disappearing for several days, but here's the big catch up. Early last week, my new found shrink with the waiting list bailed because he doesn't specialize in OCD. He gave me some numbers and I tried them, but no dice. Four shrinks later, I met my new best friend, The Amazing Carolyn. The Amazing Carolyn answers the phone for group of shrinks in West Chester where I work. She tracked one down and made some calls. That guy was a bust as well, but yesterday, no doubt due to her dogged determination on behalf of all crazy people everywhere, The Amazing Carolyn found a shrink for me! Seriously, a real shrink with an actual appointment and everything!

Now, at this point, I need to offer a bit of clarification, because my shrink isn't actually a shrink. He's a clinical social worker, which is kind of like "shrink lite." The good thing is that he has expertise in helping people with OCD, and that is what counts. So, tomorrow we'll see what the beginning of "better" looks like. I'll keep you in the loop.

On the Run - Looking Out for Spiders

Day Twelve

OK, World, I only have a minute - here goes. Minor freak out at work yesterday. I'm sure it was stress induced.

 Strange dream two nights ago. I was sitting in my living room when someone placed a tarantula on my right shoulder.

I freaked out, which made the spider nervous. I thought it was going to bite me so I grabbed it's fangs with my left hand. Quick as lightning, it wrapped itself around my hand and sunk the fangs into the tip of my index finger. In an effort to keep the poison from going further into my body, I ran to the kitchen and, with my 8" chef's knife, lopped off my finger at the first knuckle. Then I wrapped the wound in towels and headed for the hospital.

Next, I woke up with some nasty heartburn and had to drive to Meijer at 2 am for Pepcid. Not sure what that was all about, but it sure was real. Let hope there are no giant spiders lying in wait for me today.

Whipped but I made it.

Day Nine

Well, World, I survived the gig last night. I knew that when I finished one of two things would be true. Either I would have worked out the anxiety during the performance and felt better or I would have held it off for hours only to be hit with it extra heavy around 1 am. I don't know that either of these options happened actually. I was so exhausted when it was over that I just went to bed.

I have zombied through the day today including Bible Study tonight and I'm now ready for bed once again. Tomorrow we begin the workout schedule, the new diet, and the new work hours including time spent in the new office. I'm sure my shrink would caution me against three big life-altering changes at once, but if it was really that big of a deal, I wouldn't be waiting 4-6 weeks now would I? Goodnight, World. We'll go at it again tomorrow.

Pencil me in

Day Eight

I'm experiencing some nasty anxiety tonight as I get ready for a gig. That's something I haven't told you yet, World, I'm a musician. I play in a band and, until recently, gigs were the only things in my life that were relatively " freak out free." My theory is that I didn't get done several work-related things that I had planned to do today, and the "crazy" is taking it out on me this way. I guess we'll find out what my shrink says in only 4-6 weeks.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

It's Our Anniversary...

Day Seven

Do you remember those hot, steamy, Jr. High romances when you celebrated everything imaginable like it was some kind of milestone? "Congratulations, Baby, it's our 5 minute anniversary!"

Well, we're not far off, World. This post marks one week in the "crazy" business. In this first week, I had "the" conversation with everyone who needs to know what's going on with me, I found the shrink of my dreams (I just have to wait 4-6 weeks to see him), and I bought my OCD Bible (no, that's not the name of the book - it's just that important right now). I'm learning why I freak out, trying to freak out less often, and looking forward to having someone to talk to who actually studied this crap.

Now I'm off. Headlong into another weekend. Hopefully, I can enjoy it. Have a great Friday, World. There'll be more to say soon, I'm sure.

By the Book

Day Six

I think I finally found my shrink. The only problem is that he is out of the office until Monday and he's not currently taking new patients. His voicemail says that I can go on a waiting list and maybe get in for an appointment in 4-6 weeks. 4-6 WEEKS! Do you know how many freak-outs can happen in 4-6 weeks, World? This is going to be a long, hard month. But, I'm sure that this is the guy. I know that I want a Cognitive Behavioral approach and he is in the network. I'll just have to wait, that's all - just wait.

In the meantime, because I'm just a pro-active or bust kind of guy, I have to do something. Therefore I bought a book. It's a rather comprehensive book written by a foremost expert on OCD and I figure I can at least learn enough in 4-6 weeks to be dangerous in a therapy session. At the very least, I'll be able to tell whether or not this guy knows his stuff. Like I said before, this is my head we're talking about. I'm not about to let just anyone poke around in there so he can bill my insurance and buy that time-share in Cabo, he's been eyeing.

I'll keep you up to date on what I'm learning in the book, but for now, rest assured that progress is being made.

On a side note, I do my writing at a Panera Bread near my office. Panera has definitely become THE place for job interviews and business meetings. I crack up every time I walk in toting my backpack computer case and sixteen people start eyeing me wandering if I'm the guy they are supposed to meet. One of these days I'm going to sit down and interview for something just for kicks. Wouldn't it be hysterical if I made through the whole interview and got hired to some company before they found out? I have the perfect exit, "I'm sorry sir, I'm crazy and I have an interview obsession." "Now about that promotion..."

Still Searching

Day Five

OK, I have now been shrink searching for over a week. I have some new leads today, so hopefully, I'll be able to land one soon. I have learned all about shrink specialties like "Cognitive Behavioral Therapy" and "Psycho-Analysis". I believe I'm looking for one of these Cognitive-Behavior people, but there doesn't seem to be many of them around. I have noticed that they tend to be Psychologists rather than Psychiatrists. I don't know if that's an actual tendency or just the way it shakes out in greater Cincinnati, where I live. I do know that there are only about 5 OCD specialists in this area and three of them aren't in my network and the other two aren't taking new patients. Also, only 2 of the 5 are men. Sorry ladies, but I would really like to see a man on this one. Maybe we can get together over my next neurosis.

I definitely underestimated the anxiety that would come from being turned down my a dozen shrinks. I had a freak-out over it on day 3. The strangest thing was the number of people who just said, "no" and didn't offer to help me find something. It's a good thing that I'm not likely to throw myself off a bridge or anything. I may polish it until it gleams with perfect symmetry in the noon-day sun, but that's the extent of my personal danger.

Today, I will make more calls and maybe, just maybe, I'll find the shrink of dreams. How's that for optimism?