Well laid plans

         My name is Amy Jo Whitham, I was born in '75 and these are the accounts about my experiences with, OCD's, Depression, Bi-Polar Depression, Post-Pardon depression, Anxiety, and added to those illnesses as an adult are, Multiple Sclerosis, Osteoporosis,  and Breast cancer.  I talk about things that I have experienced in life, and how I have handled them with grace and dignity, but most likely failed miserably and fell flat on my face, with my biggest enemies watching me court side.
I'll start with the thing that I started to do when I was 5, and continue to do to this today. I knew it was something I needed to hide and to never tell a single soul. It was one of my carefully laid out plans I had concocked in my head, trying to find a way to get out of going to school. I just knew that there was some way that I could stay home, safe and sound with my mom near me all of the time. My mom and I were very close. I could count on her for everything. She always stood up for me when I needed someone in my corner. What she didn't do, was make me accountable for my own mistakes. In the end, that was the demise of our relationship. 

It started back in Kindergarten for me, it such a horrible eye opener about 35 years ago. I didn't know how much I needed my mom, until I was thrown to the wolves in 1980. I didn't know what it was called then, but I'm so relieved that it's not Tabu anymore. I can be open and honest with myself now. I have a case of OCD. I was 5 years old, when I started counting. Counting the number of tiles that are on the ceiling, counting how many words were spoken by the actor on tv, or counting how many letters and numbers are on a road sign as we passed them by. The counting, at times, were debilitating. I couldn't stop. I constantly looked to others to see if it was something others did as well, but I didn't see it in anyone's face. So I kept it all to myself, suffering in silence.

           I would fake being sick. I know it was not that different of a plan, but it would be the way I executed it, which would go down in history as "Amy Jo's crocodile tears". I know. It doesn't sound like a big plan, just turn on the water works, Right?? Well, it was the way I manipulated the carefully thought out plan on how I would work the crocodile tears into my "free Amy from what ever she wanted out of" campaign. It didn't take long, when my mom would be there to pick me up from school, and we would go home and watch my moms favorite, and basically only tv show. "All my Children," It was only a short time of me watching every time 

it came on tv, when I got hooked on Daytime TV, ( or any tv for that matter!) 

There was a time, when my mom was a little irritated in the fact that she didn't have time one day to stay home with me. So when we got home, she told me to lay on the love seat upstairs in the living room, while she and the kids she was babysitting at the time, stayed in the newly remodeled kitchen/living room in the basement. As I laid on the love seat there in the living room, where no one ever hung out anymore. The TV was off, the radio turned off, and no one to keep me company. It was a piercing silence. Looking back, this was the first time I felt that I was experiencing symptoms of mental illness. Now, I know there are several different diagnoses of mental illnesses, so if you're thinking to yourself "oh she's crazy", if having an OCD makes you a crazy person, well sign me up for the Loony bin!!!

       It all started in Kindergarten,  like I said, laying on the love seat. I wasn't a bit tired, but for some reason, my mom just wasn't into playing my mind games with me, I was caught! Unlike everyone else, she knew I had an agenda. I wanted to stay home with her, and not go to school, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, she was preoccupied, and didn't want to deal with me that day. So that was the day I started to occupy my time with counting. The first thing to my mind that I can recall counting was the ceiling tiles in the living room upstairs. I am not sure how long I sat there and counted, but I had trouble telling myself to stop. That was the first day I started to believe I was different. Not different good or bad,  but just different. The next thing I can remember about the counting,  is watching TV. I started picking out a actor or actress and I started counting all the words that they said.  If I look back, the other things that I counted were when we were driving down the road. I would read the number of digits on a road sign. For example speed limit 70 is 12 characters and I would count  it like this, "5, 10, 12". The one good thing that ever came of it was I never counted out loud it was always in my head.   that I can recall counting with the ceiling tiles in the living room upstairs. I am not sure how long I sat there and counted, but I had trouble telling myself to stop. That was the first day I started to believe I was different. Not different good,  but just different. The next thing I can remember about the counting is watching TV and I started picking out an actor or actress and I started counting all the words that they said. I don't know how long I had started to do that and it was really hard for me to stop. When I had something better to do besides watch TV I don't recall counting things. If I look back the other things that I counted more thing when I was driving down the road I would read the number of digits on a road sign. For example speed limit 70 is 12 character and I would count  it like this, "5, 10, 12". The one good thing that ever came of it was I never counted out loud it was always in my head After a while it kind of started to feel like it was debilitating at times.

In around seven or eight grade, I started wearing make up. That's when I started plucking my eyebrows, and I would try to pull the mascara off of my eyelashes, and as I did that,  it made my eyelashes sore. It was such a weird feeling to me. The soreness of my eyelashes being turned around and twisted kind of felt good to me. I thought what is this feeling of soreness that makes me almost feel good?? I never told a soul, but there was talk when people would notice that my eyelashes were looking a little bit thinner. I started to make up stories lying and saying that I had a stye on my eye,  and that's why I had to pull my lashes out.

I then later discovered the reason why the pain made me feel better. It was a way to destress a stressful situation. It is called Trichotillomania. Back then, I could not control what was going on in the real world, but I could control what was happening inside of me. As I got older the worst things got worse with me stressing over every little thing. I couldn't watch the news, or read a news paper. because I just couldn't take any bad news. I felt I was on my way to some kind of a nervous breakdown, or something. I just kept thinking something's gotta give, or I need to lay all of these stressor's down before something seriously bad happens to my mind. Now, fastforward to now, I no longer have any eyebrows because they didn't ever grow back, but drawing your eyebrows on is now popular again, so I can make up for what I lack there, and I am so very lucky that at least half my eyelashes grew back, because there are some very good plumping mascaras out there that make me look like I have a nice set of lashes. Whew, I think I dodged a bullet there! There are always consequences to your actions. I, could have been so much more than I am today, but every option that has been presented to me I chickened out. Now, I feel better, I feel like I could still become the dream.