Organized Chaos - Volume 7
Crimson Gloves: A Personal Narrative
by Emily
Many people look at my life and say that it is ideal. I am smart and get good grades. I live in a nice house, with a lot of pets and a loving, supportive family. Why do I struggle then? Why can't I see all the good in my life? Why must I always focus on the negative? Why do I worry so much? Why is nothing ever good enough? Why am I not perfect?
The answers came in March of the year 2004, when my world changed forever. After returning home from a family vacation in England, I lost control of my life. All of a sudden I found myself compelled to count things, avoid numbers and their multiples, or write letters or words in a particular way, repeat actions or phrases and other similarly bizarre things. The most frightening part, however, were the thoughts: crazy thoughts that didn't make any sense or sent terror ripping through my body like a switchblade, thoughts of harm coming to me or someone I love if I did not do things in a particular way or a certain number of times. No one knew who I was or what had taken control of me. At first we thought it was a brain tumour. I had every test imaginable until it was confirmed that what I had was Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or OCD, one of the most common, psychiatric problems faced by children. According to the experts, you are born with OCD, but it lies dormant until you reach adolescence, experience a tragic event, or are infected by a certain strain of streptococcal bacteria. I am still unsure of the cause; but one thing is for certain, I had lost control of my life.
Fortunately, I was able to get help. I was seen by a psychiatrist and a psychologist. My treatment plan included medication and cognitive behavioral therapy or CBT. I participated in a twelve-week program at the Hospital for Sick Children with three other girls. I was relieved to discover that I wasn't crazy or alone. In fact, an astounding one in every one hundred people is affected by this disease. CBT gave me strategies to help combat, or at least reduce, my anxieties. They do help me I guess, but they are lot of work and take time and thought. Unfortunately, the medications I have been prescribed have stunted my development and caused me to gain weight.
Starting high school is tough enough without these added stressful issues. I just want to be "normal." Similar to Chanda, in the novel "Chanda's Secret," I want to keep my secret for fear of being judged or treated differently. When I leave my house and the curtain goes up, I skilfully pretend not to have the disturbing obsessive thoughts, disguise the rituals, and make excuses for what some see as "odd" behavior. It can be extremely isolating, being surrounded by so many, yet bottled up in my own little world. At times, the pressure can be so great that the lid flies off in relief when I return home to safety.
Looking back there were signs. What people thought was just typical toddler behavior was actually foreshadowing. I was only four years old and I had my hands washed raw. My bloody, crimson gloves were a result of believing that everything I touched was contaminated. Little did I know that what I was experiencing was far worse than a simple germ phobia. It took three months and several meetings between my parents, my teacher and the principal before I stopped crying myself to sleep in kindergarten class. This was no ordinary case of separation anxiety. I have always been a perfectionist. Even in junior kindergarten assignments were frustrating. My letters were never precise enough. My drawings were never realistic enough. My coloring was never beautiful enough. It would often take me hours and several attempts to produce a piece of work that I was only somewhat satisfied with.
I admit that I still struggle with many of these same issues on a daily basis, especially in times of stress (like during exams), but I am working hard and getting stronger. My family and I have used my experiences to help and educate others. I find myself more tolerant, understanding, and empathetic towards people experiencing similar struggles. I try to encourage my friends to do the same. From the outside, a person's life may seem ideal, but you can never really know.
