Exhale

Exhale onto the wind

Let the current sweep by

Release the moments

Release the memories

Release the musty air

Inhale into the sun

Breathe in a lullaby

Embrace life's smiles

Embrace sage strength

Embrace the glow of time

My Earliest Memory of Anxiety

When I was 4 or 5-years-old, nearing the start of kindergarten, my preschool had sod installed in the back of the playground. After one of my weekly concerts, where my best friend and I would sing our favorite song, "Follow Me" by Uncle Kracker, for the other students, I noticed the new sod. I found it absolutely fascinating that grass could be pulled up in sheets, and I decided to hide small objects underneath a few of them. Smugly, I placed an acorn under one of the pieces of sod, imagining that a huge tree would grow in it's place.

As soon as we were led back inside, I began feeling incredibly guilty. Clearly if there was supposed to be a tree there, someone would have planted one. The next day, I tried to remove the acorn, but I could never find it. While the sod took root, I had terrible nightmares in which I was playing when a full-grown tree suddenly appeared. In my dream, the adults were baffled and called the police to investigate. The nightmares lasted for weeks, and I lived in a constant state of worry that my crime would be found out.

On one of the last days of preschool, my father was driving to drop me off. I remember suddenly bursting into tears and confessing the illegal tree planting. He reassured me that I had done nothing wrong, and that a tree would probably not grow there, anyway. Instantly, I felt freed.

Now, more than 15 years later, I still think about that instance. Whenever I feel like my thoughts are irrational, I remind myself of the acorn. I can't help but wonder, however, if a tree ever managed too take root.

Welcome to My Mind

Welcome.

There's a boom box in the corner
That never turns off.
It's fine, though--
There's always a reason to dance--
As long as you remember that
Only you can hear the music.

There's a constant rhythm
Keeping the world in time--
Tap, tap, tap,
Knock, knock, knock--
It's impossible to fall out.
Your body will soon keep the beat.

We can certainly converse,
As long as you can hear me
Over the sounds. Oh, and
Pardon the mess.
My thoughts swirled by
Right before you arrived.

It's a work in progress,
It's small and cramped,
But it's my very own.
So, wipe your shoes by the door
And leave your coat behind.
You've arrived.

Welcome to my mind.

Shared Experiences

There's something very reassuring about knowing other people in the world have shared some of your experiences. I'm very much drawn to the field of psychology because I want to understand why the chemicals in my head do what they do, and how those same chemicals influence other people differently. I've found that quite a few people are drawn to the subject for similar reasons.

This past semester, I took a class called Research Methods. Auburn University requires the class before taking most other psychology classes. Because it's required, the class draws a large crowd of psychology students, all who love the field and many of which share certain experiences. During this class, I met another person with OCD--the first time I'd met anyone with OCD. As we talked, I felt myself sigh several times with relief. There was a real human being sitting next to me who understood how I felt on a daily basis.

Me: I'm sorry, but I just overheard your conversation. You have OCD?
Her: Yes, I do.
Me: Oh my goodness, me too.
Her: Real OCD?
Me: I think so. It seems pretty real. Do you count?
Her: Yep. I have to wash my hands a certain amount every night. My boyfriend makes so much fun of me.

And just like that, I was no longer alone.

We may not have exactly the same experiences--for instance, I don't count things, I have a song constantly stuck in my head--but knowing someone else near me understood what I felt made a world of a difference.