I had someone recently remark that they didn’t understand how JD’s mental illness manifested itself. That is a very fair statement. Having lived with OCD for so long, I have forgotten that most people would not have a clue as to what this means. If you watch Hoarders on TV, you will see what the outcome is (as hoarding can be one of outward manifestations of what is going on inside the person’s mind) but that show does not even begin to touch on what it is like to live this way.

Since I have of late begun to speak more openly of my late husband’s mental illness and behaviours on ye olde blogge, I think it is only fair that I flesh this out so that people reading can have a better understanding of what this was and how it impacted our lives together.

From what I have researched, OCD can manifest in many different ways. I don’t claim that what I experienced is the definitive experience of OCD in a loved one. It is just my story.

I knew JD was quirky already from when I knew him in high school. But that attracted me to him. That he was unafraid to be himself. That he was not a conformer. That he thought for himself instead of accepting and following the status quo.

So when we became reacquainted in (much) later life, I was not surprised that he was still quirky. Although I didn’t know it during those early stages of our courtship and romance and even eventual marriage, JD was a savant when it came to deception and manipulation. He possessed a genius-level IQ. Apparently I am no slouch in the IQ department either, but he could think circles around me. And I let him. Because I came to love (and with that, to trust) him so deeply, I believed what he told me about why he did the things he did. He always had a rational, somewhat believable excuse for his irrational behaviours. So I over-rode my inner voice – my gut, my intuition – and believed him, for many years.

And to be fair to JD (and me), his OCD was not as pronounced when we first became reacquainted. But it progressed over the years and became much, much worse. To the point that I did not believe I could continue to live with him if he did not seek treatment. But then the cancer struck and I never did take that step.

Towards the end of his life, JD’s OCD manifested itself in the following ways (“Reader’s Digest” very condensed version):

• Contamination fears – there were times his hands were red and chapped from incessant hand-washing. He had long and involved showering rituals to cleanse himself before performing especially stressful (to him) tasks, such as opening the mail that came to his building. Mail was not opened for months or years at a time due to this, and only after a lengthy set of showers and only in the nude, his skin glowing white from the dried soap film. He was hinting that when we finally moved house to his building (my current residence) that we shower and change clothes before entering the apartment and that no one else be allowed to enter…ever. We were to have 2 sets of clothes – one for the outside world, and one for the apartment. He wanted us to set up a visiting lounge downstairs for friends and family and to keep the apartment “clean” from contamination.  Anything that touched the floor was contaminated and could no longer be used…but couldn’t be thrown out either – it had to be added to the hoard. Animals were contaminants and anyone that had animals was contaminated. If I visited someone who had animals, the clothes I wore had to be segregated so as not to contaminate any of our possessions further. He took over the laundry duties so as to make sure it was done well enough for his needs. However “un-contaminating” an item was impossible to do, according to him. Because of his OCD, our washing machine and pipes were often blocked due to his overuse of laundry detergents (and soap when showering). Our water bills were pretty impressive for only 2 people. His clothing had to be washed differently and separately from mine. Eventually I too was considered a contaminant in his mind as I was no longer allowed to enter some rooms he considered “clean” at his building. I was banned from cleaning – especially dusting and vacuuming as this could stir up contaminants and blow them around our house. So I had to resort to “stealth-cleaning” when he was not around…cleaning just enough to keep me sane but not enough to alert his hyper-vigilant awareness of everything around him.

 

• Superstitious/Magical Thinking – JD saw omens and portents in everything. If he saw a certain transport company’s trucks pass us on the highway, that was a sign that something bad was going to happen. I learned to try to distract him if I saw those trucks before him, in the hopes he wouldn’t notice. If something fell (on the contaminated floor!!!!) or broke, that was a portent also. He thought he was communicating with dead relatives regularly (mine too!) and that they were sending him these omens and signals to warn him or help him.

 

• Lateness – We were chronically late almost everywhere but specifically for social events involving his family. These were stressful for JD and he usually had some “very important tasks that had to be done” before we could go, and these would take forever for him to complete due to his need to check and recheck things. I would become very anxious about being late and by the time we got to the event we were both frazzled and exhausted as a result. It was  easier to find a reason not to be social, because of this and everything that went with the whole contamination issue. This, along with JD’s requirement for absolute secrecy about what was really going with him and us, on was very isolating for me.

And last but certainly not least:

• Hoarding – most items of JD’s (and then by association, mine) had a memory attached to them and could not be thrown away. Even if he forgot the so-called importance of an item, it could STILL not be thrown away because he thought it might have been important at one time.  I had a bunch of old margarine containers full of food his mom has prepared for him, taking up valuable space in my freezer. She died in 2002 and I have no idea how long before she died that she made these meals. Eventually this meant I could not throw any OTHER containers of prepared food out of the same freezer because it might have come from his mom but he had just forgot about it. He was skeptical when I affirmed that I had prepared the food in question and I had to defend it by saying those containers did not even exist when his mother was alive. He sorted through the household garbage each week to ensure nothing of “value” was being thrown out so I often found items I had thrown out reappearing in another section of the house like the basement or sun porch (where he kept most of his stuff, and where I was allowed limited or no access so as not to contaminate their contents and stir up dust). Food waste was allowed to be disposed of, but little else. And especially not paper, unless it was shredded first. Even if it was blank paper, it had to be shredded first. And of course he had to view it first to decide if it COULD be shredded. Which he never had time for, so the papers just piled up and up.

Here are some visuals of the clean-up of the hoard at his building in the year following his death. They don’t really do justice to the reality, but it gives the reader an idea. There was a proportionate (to the time spent there) level of garbage at my house (mostly basement and garage) to clean up as well, in first 2 months of widowhood. It took 2 very full rental truckloads to the dump and putting out about a hundred bags of garbage to clean my house up enough to put it on the market.

 

 

 

I could go on (and on and on and on) about the impact of JD’s OCD on our lives and the lives of those who knew us. I hope this is enough for now to gain a better understanding of what people with OCD and their loved ones might be going through.

Rock on,

The WB

 

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Dear Blog,

A very tired and brain-dead widow reporting in tonight on this last night of NaBloPoMo 2016.

I’m back home from my evening event – a movie night put on by my downstair’s tenant, the museum. I drifted off during the show a couple of times for a second or two. And I really enjoyed the movie and had been looking forward to it too! Grrrr.

As I am so brain-dead I had to log onto Facebook to see what the writing prompt was for today as I GOT NUTHIN’, dear Blog.

The prompt was: Have you chosen a word of the year for yourself for 2017?

Hell no…but I’d guess I’d better if I ever want to get this post down and hit the sack. So here goes:

My word is REACH. I will be reaching down deep inside as I start my year-long mandala and art journalling course. I will be reaching up high at work if the opportunities I am currently researching the hell out of do become reality. I will be reaching all around to push my body back to better health and fitness once I get the all-clear from the doctor.

Rock on and reach on,

The WB

 

Dear Bloggie,

After giving myself a stern talking-to, I did manage to haul my ass down the street to yoga class tonight.

Didn’t go last week ‘cos I thought I was coming down with the plague. Still feel that way but no plague in sight so no reason not to go. It’s the plague that cried wolf, clearly. Last week it was in my ear tubes. Now it’s made my throat feel rough – hot and sandy. Like I was screaming my lungs out at a concert the night before. Feels just like the beginning of the flu but it never advances into full-blown disease. Weird.

As I knew would happen, I was glad I went to yoga once it was done…but the gettin’ there?! Oh man.

Received 2 Christmas cards in the mail today. Reminding me that I need to do mine – especially the ones for overseas. I usually love doing this (as I love going to yoga) but right now Everything is Hard.

Yoga, Christmas, writing this blog post…you name it. Everything. Is. Hard.

I’ve had a tree up for over a week but nary a decoration on it yet. And no inclination to hang any. I will have to force myself to do this, as I forced myself to put the tree up in the first place, and forced myself to go to yoga. And will force myself to send out Christmas cards.

This is not me.

But obviously it IS me. For now, for this time. I am sure this too will pass.

But right now, I accept that Everything is Hard.

Rock on,

The WB

Dear Blog,

There’s been a lot of discussion on Facebook (where I get all my quality news these days…hehehe) about the US Vice-President Elect, Mike Pence, being booed at a Broadway show. Being the curious soul that I am, I read up on Mr. Pence and didn’t like what I found out.

Mr. Pence seems to have a lot of energy to direct towards wanting to target homosexuals and promotes programs for “curing” homosexuals – even going so far as to want to deny medical treatment for any people suffering from AIDS who won’t go into those programs.

It seems to me, dear Blog, that whenever people (usually “straight” men – let’s call a spade a spade) decide to make their name based on persecution of others it is because they are hiding something about themselves. How many times have we read about a well known homophobic pastor or politician found snorting drugs with male prostitutes or having sex with men in public washrooms?

Even my late husband exhibited this type of behaviour. He just would not shut up about infidelity – how it was so wrong and how he suspected members of his family of cheating or starting their now “respectable” relationships as illicit affairs. I was lectured at least once a month about how it would be so bad for our relationship should I ever cheat on him. (No, duh!). For the record dear Blog, I never did nor did I ever have any intention on loving or being with another – JD was my whole world. No matter how difficult our relationship could get at times thanks to the OCD, I never considered venturing outside of it.

Despite having to witness these regular harangues about cheating, the penny never dropped for me.

It got this silly: we were unwinding with a classic movie one night, starring Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy. JD thought they were married in real life and without thinking I told him the truth: Spencer Tracy was married to another but he and his wife lived separately and did not divorce, so he and Katharine did not marry although they were very much a couple.

That was it – he declared that henceforth we could never watch another movie with Katharine Hepburn in it because SHE was a cheater. I made a mental note at the time that Spencer Tracy was not pointed out as part of this ban…hmmmm?

This was just too much for me – the one who usually mentally checked out when these rants began, so as to not engage and prolong them any further – and I snapped back: “Well, I guess we can never watch ANY movies again based on that criteria, including those of your favourite, Clint Eastwood – THAT well-known cheater.”

This was met with blessed silence and then a change of topic.

Of course, now we now how the story ends – with his death and my subsequent discovery of HIS cheating.

Another interesting point – JD would also regularly rant about school teachers – how they were overpaid, underworked, entitled whiners. I was baffled by this behaviour too – especially since so far as I knew JD didn’t even have any contact with teachers since he left high school. How did he know so much about them and their earnings and work schedules and benefits? And why did it bother him so much? Well Blog – guess what? I found out the “other” woman, who was also cheated on by JD, is a teacher.

Guilt makes us do crazy things sometimes, doesn’t it?

So now dear Blog whenever I hear of someone like Mr. Pence who has an unseemly interest in denouncing and controlling others’ behaviour or lifestyle, alarm bells sound in my head. I won’t be surprised if someday there is a very different story about him trending on Facebook.

Rock on,

The WB

Dear Blog,

I came across the most amazing article on my Facebook feed this morning. One that captures concisely and gives a name to the feelings (or more accurately, the lack of them) I have been experiencing over the past few years.

I’ve been thinking about how to write about this wondrous new stage of my life (my freedom from romantic and/or sexual needs) but I just couldn’t find the words. And I wondered if I should be even discussing such a thing. And here Katarina Thorsen has written the post for me – almost as if she was me!

I had questioned if this is what being asexual meant. I’ve read articles about this, and thought the term only applied to those who are of breeding age yet have no interest in romantic attachments. Not to someone who was once a sexual creature but had since grown past that stage. After reading Kat’s words, I can see that this is exactly what I am. An Ace (slang for asexual, I learned today!).

I have very clear memories of approaching puberty with complete dread. I was witnessing with horror friends who only a few days ago seemed perfectly sane, suddenly lose their minds over smelly, disgusting boys. Instead of wanting to play with me, they wanted to spend hours pouring over the pages of Tiger Beat magazine and arguing over who was cuter: David Cassidy or Donny Osmond? I was bored out of my mind by these sessions. I wanted my old friends back.

However, I knew that my turn was coming. Sure enough, within a few months I was as fascinated by those XY chromosome holders as the rest of my friends.

I hated the way my emotions starting riding a monthly roller coaster. I cried to my mother that I was going crazy. I really thought I was losing my mind, and I was so scared and dismayed. She assured me that what I was feeling was perfectly normal and that it would probably simmer down as time progressed. Dear Blog, it did.

She also told me that someday I will cease to menstruate (another thing I was hating, along with growing breasts and all that extra body hair). I held onto that thought like a lifeline thrown a drowning soul – YES! Someday I will get my pre-puberty mind back again…someday I will be ME again! Yeah, I’d still be stuck with the breasts and the armpit and pubic hair but I’d be used to them by then, I thought.

Well, naturally and eventually dear Blog, I did come to enjoy being a young woman and all of the pleasures and opportunities that afforded me. But when I was hurting from the actions or words of some male I was involved with or wanted to be with, I often thought of my pre-puberty mind and longed for the day when I no longer cared about their attentions.

I’ve been enjoying having ME back again for some time now. When I see people suffering from the agonies of romantic relationships (or the lack thereof), I feel like the sober, designated driver in a room full of drunks. One who was once a drunk herself.

This is my new theme song, I have decided:

Thanking Goddess every day for waking up feeling this way…Rock on!

The WB

 

 

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Dear Blog,

Ya gotta love it when your new boots come with a message.

These are truly the boots for this new era the world has entered into. Some may call it the Dark Ages of Humanity – the Sequel, or the Coming A-Trumpolypse.

I call it a reason for new footwear.

Yes, dear Blog, I did break my Shoe Moratorium…sorta. These being boots and all, I think I could have a pretty solid argument that these don’t qualify as a shoe purchase. (Note from budget-conscious part of brain to self: next time it MUST be called a Footwear Moratorium.)

And dear Blog, please recall that I DID NOT buy any shoes or boots while in Amsterdam…though not for lack of trying. Damn that Birkenstock store at the Albert Cuyp Market for actually closing up shop for vacation…I mean, who in retail does that?!?!

Think about it. You sell SANDALS for a living, and you shutter your shop for almost 3 weeks IN THE SUMMER. WTF???

Anyhoodle, I digress into rant territory when the point I want to make is: I should get credit for superhuman restraint on coming back home without any new shoes. Or boots.

These new boots are my gift to me, I have decided, for surviving 3 years of widowhood and all of the trials, tribulations and shocking revelations that have come with it so far. My excuse story and I’m sticking to it.

Rock on,

The WB

Dear Blog,

As you know yesterday I went public about JD’s cheating, on the 3rd anniversary of his passing (and of my re-birth as The WB).

Since then I’ve been thinking as to my reasons for doing this. I don’t regret it. I think I needed to do this and here’s why:

1. Since the MBA convocation ceremony I attended in June, at which I received degrees for the both of us, I feel like I have fulfilled all of my obligations to my late husband. I made sure he got the recognition he deserved for the effort he put into his studies even as he was dying. I was able to quash my feelings relating to what I know about him now and call up how I felt about him then, when we were in the program together and when we found out about the cancer. I can’t do this anymore because:
2. After that event I noticed my feelings towards him really start to change. For example, I no longer felt upset at our approaching wedding anniversary as I had in the couple of years prior. In fact I feel no love anymore – just empty inside. Maybe this will change over time but I’m not counting on it.
3. His parents are both gone now; his father passed away in early 2015. It must be hard enough to lose a child – I didn’t want to add to his sorrow by telling him what I found out about his son. I didn’t see what purpose it would serve. So I left the old soldier with his happy memories of his boy to comfort him.
4. My mother passed away in December 2015 and I didn’t feel I should be shocking or burdening her with this knowledge when she was already unwell.
5. His sister does not read my blog and is not on social media. See point #3 – not adding to the sorrow applies to her as well. Although I suspect one day we may have this conversation as she could ask a question that precipitates it. Not looking forward to this day.
6. I told my kids and they have been so supportive and empathetic. It has been important in our healing as a family, I feel.
7. My change of feelings about him may become evident in my future postings on this blog and on social media, if it hasn’t already. Mostly, I imagine, by what I am not saying about JD or our marriage anymore. This should explain that change to anybody who might pick up on this.
8. Some people have been very kindly commenting to me about how tragic it is to lose someone you thought of as a soulmate. True, but my dears – you don’t know the half of it. Until now. Yes, I am still a grieving widow but the things I am grieving are not what one would expect. If I can describe my grief in one word, that word is COMPLICATED.
9. It took until just lately for me to process things enough that I could talk about it to a wider audience. Being as introverted as I am, I like to take time to think important stuff through thoroughly if at all possible, before speaking. As there are almost no resources out there for dealing with discovery of infidelity posthumously, this has been difficult for me to sort out on my own.  My thoughts have been all over the map on this one as I try to deal.  Some days they still are. And, ultimately:
10. Almost 3 years later, I feel I am finally ready to open up about this.

Thanks for listening and being there for me, dear Blog.

Rock on,

The WB

Dear Blog,

Today is the anniversary of JD’s death.

I hope he is at peace or reborn or whatever the hell happens when our physical bodies stop working.

Living with JD was not easy, thanks to the OCD which he ultimately refused to seek treatment for. I did my best to help him while we were together. Which came at a cost, of course. It affected my relationships with family and friends. It affected my health. I was in over my head but bound by secrecy and was forbidden to seek help or understanding for either of us.

I didn’t find out until after he died, when I was left with sorting through his hoard of papers and stuff, who I was really married to.

He was a consummate liar and a hypocrite in his dealings with me, in particular. Me – the only person, he told me over and over again, he felt free to really be himself with.

My (once happy) memories of our time together are now and forever tainted because of this. Were his feelings towards me all lies, like his words and actions were? I was so completely fooled by JD I don’t know what was real anymore. I have lost more trust in myself and my ability to perceive, than in him.

I have sought counseling, which was only a little bit helpful. How do you find closure when the other party, the one who might be able to answer your thousands of burning questions, is dead?

I did reach out to the woman he cheated on me with (the only one I know about – I am not so naive as to think there couldn’t be more). She too was duped into thinking he was otherwise unattached, faithful, and in love with her. She thought they were going to get married and start a family. A lovely woman, really.

I just wish she had told me what was really going on when she found out he was living with another woman (me) and immediately kicked his sorry cheating ass to the curb. But she chose to keep her silence and leave our relationship alone. In my opinion she did me a huge disservice by not reaching out to me.

But what is done is done. I was kept in ignorance and kept on living with and loving and supporting this man with my whole heart and being. This unworthy man.

I have been a widow for 3 years today. My life is the best it has ever been. I am very content and happy, for the most part. I am still working through the process of forgiving my husband, which is necessary for me…not for him.

For the first couple of years after I found out, I could still feel tenderness and love and sorrow for him, even as I was reeling with shock and disbelief, hurt and anger. But as time goes on, I can’t dredge up those emotions anymore. I feel like I am just…done.

Someday someone is going to ask me why I don’t have any pictures of JD or our wedding displayed around my place. I don’t know what I’ll say in that moment, dear Blog.

Rock on,

The WB