Good Bye House

On July 7, 1989 my parents purchased a home in Holiday Florida. I was 2.

In 2010, the home was put into foreclosure. I was 22.

20 years in one home. 20 years worth of memories. I now live 5 houses down from that old place. The large oak tree that towers above the houses once was a small sapling. It was purchased because the homeowners association required that we had more plant life, so my parents felt getting some saplings would be a good choice. One, placed closer to the house grew, but was a smaller species. The oak, further out by the road, flourished. It ate many of sports equipments... and many brooms and sticks tossed into it to try and pry free said sporting gear. I grew up with that tree.

I remember countless furniture arrangements that we had. Couches, televisions, tables, lamps, beds. I remember nearly every Christmas set up. Every Christmas Tree. One of my most cherished Christmas memories was the year we put the tree up in the back porch. It was incredibly cold that Christmas morning. My poor father, exhausted from a night of wrapping and placing presents had to go out into the cold to fetch us presents one at a time. I don't exactly recall what I received that year, but my brother go bad ass Star Wars Micro Machine Set and an equally bad ass Star Trek Micro Machines Set. There was one year when Santa left one more gift out on the back porch for me. It was my first bike. It was this tiny little white bike. Honestly all that I remember from it was that it was white and small.

That back porch housed more interesting moments than Christmases. There was one year when we took in a stray cat from my mother's work. The cat turned out to be pregnant. After being birthed behind a cardboard and foil cut out of the Liberty Bell, they were sent to live in a closet for a few weeks. When they out grew the closet, the back porch became their haven. There was nothing more fascinating to me than 4 adorable kittens making the back porch their home. I remember how they would sprawl out and soak in the sun those lazy afternoons. The momma cat and her kittens moved on to different places and different homes. One stayed with my parents, BB. He still lives with them now.

This is turning into a rambling of various memories from my time living there. This house held all of my childhood. All of my adolescence. And the beginning of my adulthood. It was the first place where I ever had a girl over, or a girl in my room. Where I spent Sunday afternoon watching football with my father. Where I got into fights with my brother. And where I was comforted by my mother. And then it wasn't ours anymore. We had to move. And I became paranoid about money and finances... I guess I never let go of that house. It's hard though. Every time I leave my house, it is right there. A constant reminder of what's not mine anymore. Of fading memories that don't have points of reference, without minor details that can spark a memory. I drive by and see a new family creating their own memories (Do you think they painted over the growth chart of me and my brother. It was in the closet in the hall way... God I hope they didn't). I know it's not my house anymore, but it feels as if my past and my memories are trampled on with no control. I wonder if they realize how many passed on animals are in the back yard? I wish I could go say hi to some of the cats buried back there...

I guess it's true, the home really is where the heart is. Turns out my heart isn't "here."

I'll end this on a positive memory. It was evening, and getting dark out already, and me and my brother had just gotten home, assumably school. And in the back room of our house, our bedroom, there was nothing on but a TV. My father's face glowed a soft blue as he pressed the buttons on the controller to navigate the Italian plumber. It was a surprise for us, but he couldn't wait to play it himself. We spent hours playing that game, Super Mario Bros. 3. But I'll never forget that image of a dark room, and my father entranced by the video game. That might be one of my most fondest memories.

"Word Vomit"

It's been a couple of weeks since I wrote that last bit...


I've had an idea for something else I want to write about. People describe me as quiet, reclusive, and somewhat antisocial ("somewhat"), but it wasn't always that way. There was once a me who was eager to go out and make new friends, chat up everybody, go out and be the center of attention. Let me introduce you to my 7-10 year old self.

I was always willing to go out of my way for a laugh, or to be brave because I wanted to. I felt like I had all the friends in the world at school. My mom worked at the school so it made me "cool" in my head. I knew my teachers by first name, though I would never call them as such, because I was the "good kid." I never wanted to get in trouble, I never wanted to anger this "God" fellow who seems to be in control of everything. We were never a religious family, but I would always try to pray before bed, or to help fix turmoil in my young life.

But something changed. I became self aware of myself, of my flaws. Unbeknownst to me, I had eaten some sort of Appel of Eden and saw myself through what I felt was the eyes of others. I remember the exact moment.

In "Music" class in elementary school, once a quarter we would have "dance" day, or something to that nature. We'd turn down the lights, have dance club lights going, and play whatever pop songs which were popular at the time. We'd form a big circle with the chairs and 5-7 students would dance in the middle. I always loved this day. I would get up in the middle and dance like the biggest goof in the world, pull up all my friends, and just be a normal, carefree kid. I don't know for sure what triggered this thought, it may have been another student's comment, or other students being reluctant to come up and dance with me. But it came my turn to dance in the middle and choose other dancers, and I passed. I remember thinking to myself "I don't want to do that, I don't want to be made fun of." or something to that degree. I never got up to dance in the middle again. It'd be over a decade before I danced publicly again.

This was so out of the norm that the teacher actually came over to check to see if I was alright. Of course I was "alright." Like I'd let anyone know something was wrong right? I still remember my two bullies in elementary school. The two who helped shape my confidence or lack there of. Naturally I cannot "blame" them, but they didn't help the resonating feelings of "I am different" and "I am weird" pulsing through my existence. We'll call them R and B (heh). R supposedly came from money, looking back, considering where we lived,  I now call bull shit. He was a typical bully. Made fun of me for the things I did, called me fat, preyed on my young insecurities. He was stronger than me, but never hit me, but always intimidated me. He was an ass. Then there was B. She was different. She'd make you think she was your friend, and then just be brutally mean to you and demoralize you. Pretty harsh for kids right? I'd later learn that she had a multitude of issues at home, and I'd assume R did as well. I think R moved or went to another school when middle school came around, and B moved back to Michigan.

A few years back I ran into B again and we had a bit of a strange friendship. It was strange mix of romantic, sexual, and psychotic. (Took me awhile to choose "psychotic", but it fits best.) After a short fling(?), whateverthehellitwas, there was a massive falling out. Her insecurities and psychological issues were unfortunately, expressed with anger and rage. It was fortunate that we went our separate ways, but it was still refreshing and pleasing to have someone to wake up next to and kiss you before you leave for work.

Also one time my grandma (bless her soul) called me fat (okay she was pointing out that I was getting a chubby belly, but all I heard was "you're fat!"), so that never helped things. She never meant any harm, but it was one of those things that just stuck.

The once energetic and enthusiastic kid began to withdraw from others and rely on himself for companionship and entertainment. Looking for friendship in Goku, Tenchi, and his team of Pokemon to get him through his young troubles. In the last 5 years or so I have come out of my shell greatly. I am an introvert by nature now, but this is something I can embrace, while still being social and breaking out a bit.




I'll end this with a phone call I had with my mother today.
Mom: How have you been?
Me: Eh... I've been better... It's been a rough week mentally...
Mom: I'm so sorry... You get it from us and I feel terrible for that.
Me: Don't. (Or I said "Nonsense." Either way I was trying to disregard that thought for her).

My parents blame themselves for my psychological issues, and as much as genetics plays into effect a lot of things, I never want them to blame themselves for how my head works. I love them too much for them to bare that burden.

They said it'd be healthy to write...

Hello Internet,

I really cannot think of a good way to start this writing. I could go off with a memory or an antedote about what I'm going to be writing about, but unfortunately I have nothing. I guess I can start with who I am behind these pixels. My name is Pat, I'm in my late twenties and I deal with regular issues someone in their late twenties deal with. Work, saving money, socializing, trying to keep a healthy relationship with my parents, ect. As well as the regular stresses of life, I also deal with Obsessive Complulsion Disorder and anxiety (with a dash of short term memory issues). And as annoying as this is, I am grateful that these are the limits of what is wrong with my head and I fully understand I could be in a much, much, worse boat. But still.

It's been suggested to write out my thoughts and feelings about the struggles I deal with from the OCD and anxiety, and I've been working up the courage and strength to do so. Will this be a one shot post? Possibly. But seeing that it could be a good way to get some frustrations out, then I shall give it a whirl. I've gathered that most people associate OCD with "needing to have everything nice and straight" and "super clean" and other stereo types like that. Well, I can be a complete fucking pig sometimes, so that assumption about OCD is not exactly accurate. Now I will say, everything must be in it's place for my brain. My shoes must be taken off a certain way and placed a certain way on the floor with the laces going a certain way (seriously, the laces cannot cross, wtf man). My OCD is fear based (like I would think most are), but in the sense that "If I don't ActionXYZ a certain way, Important PersonB will die." Which I will agree is completely irrational. But my brain still associates these things and sends the false signals throughout my body causing anxiety and stress. This can come to a head when the OCD take prevelance in already stressful situations. But for now lets talk about some of my more prominant compulsions and intrusive thoughts. 

Going Deeper

A few years back I was ill and if it weren't for modern medicine I would have died. After I was treated I developed a strange breathing pattern while saying to myself (either verbally or mentally) "everything's going to be fine." The best way I can describe the breathing is two deep breaths that in my mind create a tear shape. This compulsion has become a dominant feature in my day to day life. I do my best to mask it from people (My brother being the only person to call me out on it and ask "wtf??"). It has evolved over the last few years to now have the phrase "I'm in control" with the breathing (the irony isn't lost on me here). 

Touching things. Vague yes, but it falls in the "making sure everything is in its place" category I guess. I will have to touch the item with my finger tips and if the sensation is not right, I will feel anxiety and have to start all over. Oh anxiety, your relation to my OCD is a bitch. 

Typing. The compulsion that makes this writing to painfully hard to accomplish. I guess you could say it relates to the last compulsion but I'll try to explain this one out. If I spell something wrong, I just won't go back and find the error and fix it. No. I have to erase the entire word back to the previous word's last letter. This is followed by hitting "backspace" and "space" alternatingly until my anxiety is at rest and I can continue typing. I've had to put this compulsion in place for now while I write this, but the urge and desire to react to it is so painfully strong. 

Hand writing. Fuck, this one makes paperwork at work hard. If I don't like how something is written, or the pen I was using stopped working, even for the tiniest part of a letter, welp, I'm rewriting the letter... Oh and now that letter is WAY darker than the other letters... TIME TO REWRITE THE WHOLE WORD... This leads to chicken scratch and scribbles everywhere. Not that I had the best penmanship to begin with. 

My alarm. There are mornings where I have to wake up incredibly early for work. I never ever ever ever want to be late, so my evening before a shift are spent with me staring at my alarm on my phone for... 5... 10...30 minutes making sure it says the correct time. I'll then close out of the alarm... and forget what I had seen and have to go back to staring at the image. This. One. Kills. Me. 

As for the intrusive thoughts? This ranges losing my job, to losing loved ones. Vividly seeing terrible things in my mind happening to those I love and feeling the pain and greif of the things my imagination has created. The events feel real in my mind, and if breathing a specific way for a few moments or minutes means that someone I love will be alright, then fine, I'll breath a bit. And even writing out that sentance, I feel and sense the /crazy/ that comes with that. There should be no reason for my brain to associate two so terribly seperate things... And If I resist a compulsion and intrusive thought? Panic, anxiety, it becomes hard to breath. That feeling of wanting to dissapear into nothingness, to not exist, to want to peel your face off and melt away into nothingness. I don't think I can express just how skin crawlingly uneasy the feeling of disobaying or ignoring a compulsion is. 

I have good days and I have bad days. The last few days have been good days. I've started taking notices to how long the good days last and how long the bad days last. Depression, Social Anxiety, and Bi-Polar Disorder run in my family, and I feel the apple didn't fall too far from the tree. I noticed the other day that I was feeling REALLY really good and that I couldn't attribute it to anything. As this good feeling swelled for no reason, I realised I was having a manic high moment. There is nothing more jarring though to think about than the fact that "Well since I'm having a super high, when will the super low come?" I guess that is the nature of the way my brain operates.

There is so much more to write about (like the moment I first experienced social awkwardness and how one person randomly coming into my life at various points helped shaped my social anxiety), but for now I feel like stopping. I can already tell that this is not going to be the form and flow of this post is terrible and I'm sure grammar nazis are spinning in their grammar graves. Hopefully I was able to convey some thoughts and how my brain likes to work a bit.