Category Archives: addiction
The Alienated Stranger.
Obsessive Compulsion is a marauding demon.
The Interweb consolidates. “Many investigators have contributed to the hypothesis that OCD involves dysfunction in a neuronal loop running from the orbital frontal cortex to the cingulate gyrus, striatum (cuadate nucleus and putamen), globus pallidus, thalamus and back to the frontal cortex.” You’ll get this search result at the top of Google.
Happy looping!
There’s more. “Research suggests that OCD involves problems in communication between the front part of the brain and deeper structures of the brain. These brain structures use a neurotransmitter (basically, a chemical messenger) called serotonin.” Yep. That old, familiar, feel good goodie, wrecked by one nasty migraine med, Imitrex, taken for far too many years unawares.
Serotonin reuptake inhibitors are being prescribed, to treat OCD. But, Imitrex is a triptan, which interacts with serotonin (probably causing the OCD, long term.) You got it. Ya cain’t mix duh meds.
Even more currently (2011, these things move slowly) “Recent evidence suggests that the ubiquitous excitatory neurotransmitter glutamate is dysregulated in OCD, and that this dysregulation may contribute to the pathophysiology of the disorder.” Glutamate > Gluten. Sure enough. Gluten intolerance > drug dysregulated neurotransmission > OCD.
Anyhoo…….
So, my hapless grieving partner, alone at home – weeks after his mother’s death – making dinner and drowning his sorrows ends his convo with me on the Messenger phone App. Only, he thinks he can just hang up a Phone call, and leaves the Messenger line open.
For the next twenty odd minutes I listen in, picking up kitchen utensil sound effects and an increasingly persistent, if garbled, female voice continuously talking with no audible response from another vocal source. This could be the TV, but the demon thinks it hears his name spoken. Then, his voice, clearer, making a declarative vulgarity into a complete sentence, and I am captured. Captured, by the devil in the details.
By the time he finally discovers his phone status, our satan in the eaves has created the whole scenario: he’s having another female over for tacos, she’s on her phone until he proclaims the Italian classic: “Let’s eat!”, and they plan their intimate hours directly following dinner. My hollering to Hang Up The Phone! finally draws her attention, he asks What are you doing?, silence ensues, he frets This Is Bad and the phoneline cuts out, me with my conclusion in tablet stone.
But, the demon is tenacious. (They all are; categorically doomed, they persist in the pathetic hope that hanging on will somehow alter their fate. ) My mind now in its full control, the hell’s minion’s story must play out; I must pummel him with decision based texts, including the announcement that all his things will be in a bag at an undisclosed location, and ending with a prophetic Bible verse from the Book of Proverbs about dogs, vomit, and fools.
The clincher: way beyond the normal pale, OCD sends its victims into the realm of the stranger. I contact Suspect #1, a woman with whom my partner has history and who has recently surfaced on his birthday to call him Babe and post a telling salutation. She and I are not acquainted. Devils don’t care who’s been introduced.
I tell her she can have him. I pass judgment on her character. I condemn her to the rubble.
By the time the demon scuttles off, content to have ravaged all reality, she – neither suspect, nor person of interest, according to him – has blocked me. And, given her higher than my level of social intelligence, already gathering her covy of girlfriends to further condemn me to the pit of the Hades by which I have already been entertained.
OCD is a killer. All demons are. They don’t care how many Friends you have on Facebook, or see out, or hoard in, or keep in your pandemic bubble. By the time you’ve been wreaked with the havoc, you’ll lose friends you’ve never even met.
Get thee behind me, Lucifer. You may be son of the morning, but that sky is as red as a sailor’s warning. I’m staying out front, on my wire, scoping you out. My life, and the diminishing few humans who remain in my real and/or imagined realm, depend on such vigilance.
Selah.
Obsess on that.
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Copyright 12/16/22 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, the afflicted, whose name appears above this line. No copying, in whole or part including translation, permitted. Sharing only by blog link, exclusively and directly; no RSS, either. Thank you for hanging on.
littlebarefeetblog.com
AVERSION.
Two magnets opposed cannot touch.
Or, we humans lack the strength to bring them together.
But, what of the psychological forces which repel?
I have no memory of what could have provoked the first episode, nor can I recall the manifesting scenario. All I do know is, my tendency to be easily averted has been lifelong.
Basically, aversion is turning away.
As a force, aversion seems to drive me to move in a direction opposed to that which I would otherwise choose. I can avoid tasks, events, even people, for days to weeks, cause not immediately named. And, my emotional connection to the activity or the person doesn’t seem strong enough to prevent this.
Rejection, or its potential, always lurks as a catalyst.
Often, the behavior of a single, key individual affects whether or not I turn from something toward which I would normally run. It’s as if some negative power or influence attaches itself to what I love, rendering it hostile. Like a poisoning.
Several months ago, I was displaced as pianist by another available candidate who had actually been nominated by me to serve temporarily in my stead when I could not. I made this recommendation on the basis of another’s reference, something I rarely do without knowing the quality of the player. But, ultimately, I lost my seat to this person, the panel in place to choose having determined availability to be the sole criteria in line with their needs.
While all these appeared satisfied with their decision, I was fairly well demolished by it. Gradually, I lost interest in my association with the group and, even more astonishing, my desire to play the piano. Now, every time I so much as look at my beautiful Steinway grand, aversion grips my soul.
The initial emotion was, invariably, anger; how dare anyone infiltrate my precious relationship with the music I made on this magnificent instrument?
Yet, the anger gets directed toward that from which I’m averted! The piano itself embodies the negative force exerted by those who have expressed their rejection of me, as if to become a tool of their power.
The dishes in the sink, waiting to be washed, seize me similarly. If I do not wash them immediately, they become increasingly capable of averting me until not a single clean plate or bowl remains and the task demands attention.
I use the term “lifelong” because I cannot return to a time when aversion was not played out in my realm.
Psychologists posit that trauma is the originator. Pain, and the fear of pain, cause us to do everything in our power to prevent its recurrence. Somehow, trauma causes pain and pain becomes associated with that which we hold dear.
Childhood trauma has many aspects – physical abuse; sexual abuse; emotional abuse. Being beaten; being violated; having love and care withheld. Our brains make connections. A single event can permanently associate the pain it generates with any number of experiences in the future which trigger its memory.
Likewise, the source of the aversion attaches itself like a barnacle to that from which I’m averted. They meld. The source seizes ownership.
Many, many years ago I did experience a memorable trauma, one which can be isolated and named. That episode caused PTSD, a phenomenon still manifesting residually all these years hence. And, what did this affect? My other musical instrument, my priceless cello. The ghosts of the nefarious surround me every time I look in its direction.
My conscious awareness of the cause, plus my love for my students, are the only forces which overcome this realization; I deliberately penetrate the veil of hate every time I choose to grasp hold of that instrument.
Aversion isn’t just a psychological neurosis. It’s the power of hate to command control over that which is loved, very well one of the demons about which the ancients speak.
We must all rise, and stand against such a force. “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.” – Song of Solomon 8.
Nothing should touch that which is loved except love itself.
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Copyright 8/28/22 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, whose story it is and whose name appears above this line. Plagiarists, take your hate and turn away.
littlebarefeetblog.com
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