wonder manic dysphoria powers, activate!

today's flavor: H Y P O M A N I A
anxiety : 1
agitation : 1


In the past week, I made myself some money by ghost-writing website content, travel book articles, recipes and what-not.  It's not a lot of cash, but it's extra income nonetheless.  Besides, I'm merely on starting rates right now; after I produce 30 articles with good ratings, I can begin receiving up to ten dollars for a churning out a single serving of spam short work.  Not great, but not bad.  It keeps my mind sharp and my hands productive when I'm not ministering, drawing, snapping photos, making jewelry or otherwise occupied by some leisure activity.  Oh yesss, I is a busy bee.

I'd much prefer copy-editing or content-editing to writing though.  I'm quite good at it, given my OC behavior.  Cannily it is also due to my OCB that I find writing tiring, especially creative writing. Anyway, I just applied for an online editing job, and I'm hopingpraying that I get it.  In the meantime, I shall rest for a while to study for a class I'll be teaching on Saturday. Oh yesss, I is a busy bee.

neuroses: 1; productivity: 0

today's flavor: S L I G H T  D E P R E S S I O N
anxiety : 1
agitation : 1

I gave up another job shortly after getting accepted.  I went through a moderately challenging writing test, weeks of training and two qualifying exams, and quit after one day at work. 

The reason in a nutshell: It was too stressful for me.

Look, I have no fear of stress.  I'm not a softie.  On good days, I eat stress for breakfast.  But let me just dissect this particular sort of stress that I would prefer to have none of.

To begin with, I had my doubts whether this was going to be the kind of job I wanted to do.  It seemed easy enough and challenging enough.  But it kind of entailed writing articles (i.e., "making up stories") that may or may not be entirely true. It didn't sit so well with me to contribute to the half-true flotsam and jetsam floating around cyberspace to prey on unsuspecting Google searchers.   I was to be paid to churn out spam.  Not exactly something to be proud of.

But even with that concern, I went through the training and decided to stick to it.  It was a paying job after all that could gain a hefty chunk of income, it was worth trying out.

And then, game on, time for the first day of work. I needed to reach a quota of 10 articles with 200 words each.  Not so difficult really.  There were some keywords I needed to creatively insert, and that really wasn't so hard.  

But it's really much more complex with the obsessive-compulsive behavior.

So yes, my current slight dysphoric / slight depressive wave came with OCB.  Which meant it took me an hour and a half to compose a single short article. Frustrating. An hour and half of typing and retyping and rechecking and paraphrasing and rewording and linking and un-linking and re-linking.  For one freaking article.  We were actually required to work only two hours a day, but I apparently needed more than that.

And on my first day I ended my day at 2 a.m., and I didn't even reach half my quota.  And given the active and obsessive frequency my mind was on that day, I dreamt of keywords and compositions.  That is, whenever I got some sleep -- my "sleep" was too broken and unrestful to be called "sleep".  Darnit.  I was even writing an article for a high-end perfume brand in my half-sleep.

And the next morning, because I hardly got any rest, I was so tightly wound-up. Not in the least bit a good way.  I had writing articles on my mind.  I was obsessing about doing better, writing faster.  I had a major case of the Ants.

And because I didn't get much sleep, my skin broke out, red and sore.  Therefore, seeing myself in the mirror was a cause for even more stress, because I so detest being ugly.  The more I saw my rashes, the more stressed I got, and the more I broke out in rashes.  Oh, the vicious cycle of stress-related inflammations.

Rashes.  That's a warning signal.  I have noted through the years that when my skin breaks out, it's often due to chronic stress.  Well, maybe not this time.

But I still wanted to do the job at that point.  I had faith in myself that I could maybe develop a technique to churn out spam write quality articles in faster time. I can do this.

But then I soon realized that I had a lot of chores and other regular tasks, and that I will have to go through this needless madness every single day now.  In the middle of mixing pancake batter for breakfast, I cracked like the eggs I just mixed with the flour.  Meltdown in the morning.  Cooking pancakes have so often in the past triggered something in me.  I guess it's because they just won't stay round the way I want them to. Of all the talents I am so proud of, making pancakes is just not one of them.  I got so frustrated, the Hubby had to take over the cooking.

Still I proceeded to work after breakfast.  But because I wasn't well-rested the previous night, my allergic rhinitis acted up in the worst way.  The worst way.  Congestion, running, migraines; itchiness in the eyes, ears, nose, throat and mouth.  My eyes and nose swelled up, and for the first time ever, so did my lips. Maybe I ate something I'm allergic to.  Maybe I ate too many eggs between today's breakfast and yesterday's impromptu meals.  To think that my face was already covered in rashes when I woke up.   I took four Loratadine 10mg, and it didn't help much.

I thought about what I ate the past week: it's a whole hurricane of histamines.  Tuna, chicken, chicken, chicken, chicken, mango, egg, egg, egg, egg, egg, egg.  Well done.  -_-

I managed to write one more article in my miserable condition.  Took me two hours.  After that first masterpiece for the day (in which I endorsed a product I have never tried or even heard of), I had to take a break to take a shower that I hoped would wash out all the dust or pollen or hay or egg that was making me all sneezy and itchy.  And then I forced myself to take a nap, in case it would help to restore my resistance.  But I was too antsy to sleep, too sick to stay awake.

In my highly agitated state, I emailed HR to say I'd like to quit.  I gave the job a try, but I don't think I can reach the quota while doing all of the other stuff I still need to do. 

Off the record, I do want the extra income, but I'm not willing to torture myself in this way every day henceforth.  I don't have to.  I'm not desperate yet.  It's a job I don't mind doing, except I think the daily quota is too high for me.  If I can't come up with the pre-agreed amount of spam, I'll end up getting fired anyway, so I might as well get off now and save my pride.  There are other jobs out there, I am sure - more enjoyable jobs that preferably don't involve fabricating semi-truths.

I don't mind stress, but some stress is unnecessary.  And particularly because I'm bipolar, I have to be careful to constantly keep stress at a manageable level.  The rashes are a good sign I'm at a danger point, and the wise thing to do is get more rest.

what stole my sleep this week

today's weather: S L I G H T N O T H I N G
anxiety : 0
agitation : 0


It's a different kind of creative rush, me thinks.

I must say that making a crossword puzzle is much more fun than answering one. I think I've just stumbled into a new hobby - a non-artsy, rather unconventional one.

Wouldn't I be so proud to share that with people when they ask me about what I enjoy doing: "Oh, I construct crossword puzzles," and more emphatically, "for fun". More ammo in my arsenal of pretentious BS that would make me seem so smart and unique. And boring. Hahaha.

I love that I'm so talented, and in a both-brain-hemispheres sort of way. ;) Tsk.

But seriously, I did have a lot of fun. I wrote more about it here and here.


I enjoyed it too much, in fact. Whenever I'd finish a section of words that lined up perfectly, I would find something I'm not entirely happy with, erase all the affected squares and fill in new words. I did that over and over across the entire puzzle. I mean, both the puzzles I worked on. It was borderline perfectionist and obsessive-compulsive. I'm sure it hadn't crossed over to something unhealthy because I was still having a lot of fun.

If the Hubby hadn't made me promise to sleep, I probably wouldn't have bothered. I stayed awake two nights filling up the grid and writing out the clues, and come this morning I still felt alive enough to go right into the day. But a promise is a promise, so I napped until noon.

I Was an Obsessive Compulsive Child

today's weather: B A S E L I N E
anxiety : o | agitation : o
The Hubby and I recently got together with some friends and we got to talking about obsessive-compulsive behavior. We knew quite a few very interesting OCs from the old church, and the usual favorite is the inflexible church administrator who is known to have a passion for taping labels on objects. That guy is really funny. He's an abnormally nice person too, so no one seems to ever mind his uncanny behavior.

I considered sharing with them about my own OC behavior - since I do qualify as a genuine obsessive compulsive, albeit depending where I should be on the cycle - but I realized my type of OC wasn't going to be as interesting as those of the people they were already talking about. Besides, I didn't want it to seem like I was directing attention to myself. I hate it when people do that, so I shouldn't do it.

no, I am not experiencing the symptoms of depression

today's weather:
S L I G H T D E P R E S S I O N
anxiety : 0.5(?) | agitation : 1
today's unwanted guests: see attendance below



I was earlier insisting to myself that I am not depressed today but just really sad.

I was telling myself that I was sad not due to some hormone fluctuation, but that there was an actual reason reason behind it. But I could not identify a single one.

I was insisting that I was not anxious nor paranoid. But I kept fidgeting like I felt like I was being watched.

I denied that I had trouble getting out of bed the past few. I know of course I did.

I insisted that my crumbling to tears last night after reading an e-mail was rational. A harmless, send-to-all type business e-mail.

I insisted that I am not upset. But the tumbled tumbler on the dresser and the drink on the floor testify to the opposite.

I insisted that I was not hearing noises. It's just that the sound of passing planes, whizzing cars and barking dogs kept spelling out my name.

I insisted that I haven't been feeling any socially anxiety nor the need to be reclusive. I'm just feeling really antisocial. I just don't think it's the right time to mingle with other people.

I was insisting that I had not been obsessive lately. I know because I checked and double checked and double checked and triple checked. Like I checked and double checked and double checked and triple checked my spelling, spacing and punctuations. No, no OCB there. In fact I went to Starbucks, and while I waited for my change, I bothered to fluff the bags of potato chips on display at the counter and propped them up just so they rested equidistantly in a perfect row. I pushed the canisters of mint to one side of their compartment so they made a single crisp edge. And I could not resist transferring one biscuit package to another cubbyhole just so both cubbyholes had the same amount of biscuits packages.

No, I am not experiencing the symptoms of depression.

chopping locks again

today's weather:
SLIGHT ELEVATION + SLIGHT DEPRESSION = SLIGHT DYSPHORIA :(
anxiety : 1 | agitation : 2
today's special but unwanted guest: monophobia


I woke up yesterday morning knowing it was Easter Sunday but not really caring. I remember that earlier in the year, I had a few things planned for Easter, Easter was supposed to be rather significant, but all that has changed now thanks to a treacherous friend called Life. I am left now with a hollow, yearning, feeling.

I looked in the mirror and hated my hair. I wanted to do something drastic. I reckoned that my hair was already so bad, I could't do much worse. The Hubby and I were to leave early for church (yes, 8 in the morning is too early for me), so I had time only for rash decisions. In a random obsessive-compulsive fit, I chopped off a hand-breadth of length from my tresses, dismissing the last of the leftover rebonding from the last treatment that now just make my hair look like Kikuchi Rukia's. I cut it with gusto, finding pleasure in slaying those flyaway guerillas. So it's shorter now again - not exactly boy-short the way I had it around 1998 0r 2003, but more like emo-boy short. After washing and drying of course, and due to the lessened weight, it lost all straightness and settled into my soft, natural waves.

The Hubby seems to like it; he has always preferred short hair on me. I don't dislike it, I'm not too crazy about it, but it's a welcome change. I don't normally like the waves on my hair, but this sort of works. It's just that it lost its luster and there are too many strands waving in the wrong direction. This tells me I ought to seek the help of a professional to tame them. I really do intend later on to go to a parlor to have the cut polished, but I kinda can't afford to spend these days. I'm broke and the Hubby just started in a new job, so I have to curb my wants-but-not-needs. And I thus have to settle for unfabulous hair for now and depend on the iron and various products. Sheesh.

Other people seemed to like it. It's a welcome change. But despite the likes, I am too aware of the misbehaving waves, the dull surface and the jagged cut, so I am just itching to run to the block parlor. Besides, I neither want to have to waste time with the iron nor scoop goop into my hair.

Why does hair have to be such a major issue? Darnit. I wasn't blessed with fine hair so I actually have to make an effort. And until I get to a parlor, it will be a recurring issue, an impertinent squatter at the back of my mind, incessantly poking and stoking my already rising anxiety and agitation.

I thought about shaving it all off, or cropping it real close a la circa 1998. But I'm not so sure about that just yet. If I get too OC in the days between now and the next pay day, I probaby will.

EDIT: Due to my obsession over my hair, I ended up cropping it close. One inch hair all over. Tsk, tsk. It's so darn short now, bordering on cool and psychotic. At least I can't obsess over it anymore now.

flaky-crust zombie

Where I'm at today: S L I G H T E L E V A T I O N
anxiety : 0 | agitation : 0


At this moment (I mean this time that I am now writing), I feel like a zombie with flaky pastry crust and a tender, chunky stewed center. I had but a few hours of sleep this morning. I'm trying not to nap so that it would be easy to fall asleep come bedtime.

Imagine this. After I'd already re-html'd my blogsites and re-designed them again, I did it all over, with other new designs this time. Aside from the fact that I've been feeling a bit more energetic these days, I can't help obsessing. I kept thinking that there was just something about the previous designs that could still be done better. So I did them better. And it took me two whole daylights.

And now though I am very satisfied with the outcome, I still have that it could still be better feeling. Dangit, it's Holy Week, I ought to be taking a break.

Speaking of, I'm kinda disappointed that we cant take a trip out of town this summer. :( Big boo.

Anyway, back to the obsessing business.

By the time I'd finished, I decided to experiment with some code to see if I could make a background that was easy to install. Not for me - for someone else, in case someone needed one. You never know when someone would need an emergency easy-install site background. I didn't really have to do it, but my obsessive compulsions got the best of me. All the what ifs and what not. For some twisted reason, I was enjoying the mental torture.

Luckily there was a power failure around 10 pm, or I would have stayed up all night working on my little creative projects. The outage was just at our house - a freak accident precipitated by unknown factors which resulted in a cable breakage.

Waiting for the power company guys took four disconnected phone calls and a few hours - which wasn't entirely bad, since the Hubby and I spent the time chatting under the clouded-over night sky. It seemed like those Meralco guys really took their time; it must have been past 1 a.m. when they arrived with their unassuming little utility truck.

After the power was reconnected, I tried putting myself to sleep, but I was fully awake despite the diphenhydramine. As a result I stayed awake all night in bed again. But at least I did not work or write or create or anything until my eyes popped out . I just lied there. Yeah. I know when it's time for rest. It's those power company people who don't.

Secretly I was wishing the roosters would start crowing. I was excited to go into the day and continue my creative projects that were interrupted by the power outage. I felt so antsy and I had so many things in my head that I wanted to discuss them with someone.

Knowing it was still a long stretch to daylight and that I didn't feel the least bit drowsy, I decided to have a chat with God. Or rather, to throw my obsessive ideas toward Him. If I was awake by myself and feeling chatty, He was the best One to talk to. He wouldn't fall asleep on me. So on and on I rambled about various things that might have bored another person into a coma. I was hoping this would help put me to sleep, but it just managed to pump me up even more, and before I knew it the Hubby's alarm clock was ringing, telling me it was five a.m. and it time to get up.

By the time the Hubby was up and ready to do some chores (we had decided to do some cleaning around the house while everyone else was away for the Holiday), my consciousness was shimmering out. Shimmering out. The next thing I was conscious of was the fact that it was 9 in the morning and the Hubby was asking me to move to another room because he needed to use the bug spray.

Twelve boring hours later, I find myself tired and wishing for a soft, cozy bed but not wanting to sleep just yet because nothing has happened to my day yet.

an ever-so-slight trichotillomania

severely elevated | very elevated | moderately elevated | slightly elevated | HUNKY DORY! | slightly depressed | moderately depressed | deeply depressed | severe depressed || anx : 0| agit : 0

I just visited the blog of a trichotillomaniac, i.e., a person who has the habit of pulling out her hair (Normally I would place a link to a site that I cite, but I'm not sure she wouldn't mind, so I decided against it this time).

It's quite interesting - for me, at least - to read other people's musings on their own flavor of psychosis, especially those who have conditions similar to mine. Aside from the fact that I am amused by how another person's thoughts could mirror mine, I find it comforting that I am not alone. In this particular case, I am reminded of another little beastie in my menagerie.

Anyway, back to the blog I was talking about. I like how the lady described her condition on her home page: trichotillomania is often seen as an impulse control disorder, but what it actually is is a manifestation of obsessive-compulsive disorder. I take this in and tell myself that that makes perfect sense.

I had a season of a trichotillomania of sorts, when I was a teenager. It didn't get to the point where I was balding, but I did have a semi-bald spot at the top of my head; the spot wasn't so obvious if I parted my hair a certain way, but it was visible enough for people to point it out to me. I remember seeing that thinning patch in a photograph and thinking, "Omg, they're right.. oh no, I'm repulsive!".

The hair-pulling started when I was much younger and simply became more frequent in the teen years. What usually triggers it is a sense that all is not right, the kind of frustrated feeling I get when I touch my hair and notice that it isn't half as nice as I want it to be. For some subconscious reason, I projected my apprehensions onto my hair. Whenever my fingertips feltthe tiniest bit of deviation in my tresses - a slight kink, a misbehaved wave - I knew that pulling out the offending strand/s would make things better. But as natural hair goes, there were always deviant strands, and I always had several to uproot. I even had this sick satisfaction in seeing that I had uprooted a lot of evil hair - that somehow gave me a sense that all will now be better. I did it not because I wanted to, but because I had to. If I didn't, all will not be right.

It's not a problem of impulse control. It's an excessive itch to flatten out the feeling that all is not right.

Finally, one day, I had one of those artist fits and had my hair cropped really, really short - as in, one inch all over. I decided that I could go for a punk / nonconforming artist /modern woman look. Besides, I just got so sick of my stubborn hair, it was time to subjugate it. Keeping it that short had other benefits aside from the cool factor: it prevented me from doing any pulling, at the same time it made my hair appear thin all over so it kinda camouflaged the balding spot.

I suppose that drastic haircut marked the decline of my version of trichotillomania. I haven't been pulling my hair that obsessively and that massively since.

I realize now that the hair-pulling was simply reincarnated into other OC behavior, such as compulsive tooth-brushing, obsessive hand-sanitizing, and so on (This is in addition to my still-consistent, from-childhood-and-never-went-away OCB's like lock-checking, cleaning, rubbing and so on).

I still engage in hair-pulling every now and then as an adult - in fact, I must admit that though I do not have an unattractive bald spot, I right now have a few ultrashort strands on my thickly-covered crown. I manage to stop the pulling by reminding myself of the patch of scalp I spotted in an old photograph of me. I tell myself that I wouldn't want to be a fat, ugly bald old lady.

I realize it has also helped if I set aside a budget for regular hair treatments - it teaches my tresses to more or less behave, and thus somewhat lessens the all is not right feeling. Still the best cure against my hair-pulling it is to not allow myself to be idle.

trigger-drought, trigger-drought

severely elevated | very elevated | moderately elevated | slightly elevated | BASELINE | slightly depressed | moderately depressed | deeply depressed | severe depressed || anx :1 | agit:0

I'm really on the upswing - been really creative these days, been feeling so on edge to do something and go out and do stuff, been tempted every night not to sleep. I'm sooooooo thankful for those little blue diphenhydramine pills that effectively put me to sleep within an hour after taking.

So. Slight upswing.

While unmedicated. Dangerous ground, I know, but I want to see how long I can go without the meds.

In my unmedicated elevations in the past, I could get more annoying than a toddler with ADHD. I know I could get real excitable and excited and tactless and hurtful and violent and aggressive and intrusive. But right now I feel hunky-dory because there's been a trigger drought, hallelujah. And I say hallelujah with utmost heartfelt sincerity, I am not just using it as an expression.

Trigger-drought, trigger-drought.
I'm so happy for this trigger-drought.
I'm so glad I left the trigger-place,
I'm on my way to better days.

I've been using my extra creativity and energy on dressing up my blogs. And dressing them up again. And dressing them up again. Once I'm done with one project, I find a reason to start over. OCB right there.

Right now I have this incredible itch to start over with my Happy Thawts Blog which I have just finished making over, because I decided I don't like the menu bar and I can't find the older posts button.
I am right now restraining myself from doing it over.
And succeeding.
So far.
I made a deal with myself not to touch that Edit HTML button - at least until next Saturday.
I hope I'll be successful. Good grief.

Funny thing: Speaking of OCB, I notice that I've been entering this post in this manner:

Type phrase.
Backspace to erase.
Reconsider
Re-phrase.
Erase again.
Re-type.

Ain't I a piece of work?

another URL change and another

severely elevated | very elevated | moderately elevated | slightly elevated | BASELINE | slightly depressed | moderately depressed | deeply depressed | severe depressed || anx :1 | agit:1

I just changed my URL again this week. Twice.

The first time was because there was this kid who was creeping me out.

This kid was acting like we were friends or something just because I'm bipolar and he might be bipolar. I've actually known him personally for a couple of years now, and I've always known him to be annoying, but it was only recently that he started to annoy me personally. I told him about my aberration one day because he was overreacting about his possibly being bipolar; I did it in good will just so he wouldn't feel like there was something wrong with him. I even gave him some good questions to ask his doctor, and shared some useful links with him - I swear, I was just trying to be nice. Now, how was I supposed to know this kid instantly developed a weird form of attachment to anyone who showed him the slightest bit of concern? Good grief. He thinks that since we have some semblance of affinity he's entitled to ask me personal questions out of the blue and snoop around and get all intrusive - in such a creepy stalker way, like he had no manners or boundaries or the need to breathe his own air. The last straw was when he initiated a FB chat for the nth time in a row, and hinted about something he could have only found out from this blog. So I changed my URL, my blog title and user name in the hopes of shaking him away from here (Of course he can always try to find me via Google search, but then he should read this entry and get the point).

I may just be paranoid, and I may even be overreacting, but I just had to do it.

Anyway, the second time I changed the URL was partially an obsessive-compulsive action to reinforce the previous change, but largely a saner reason: I thought of a cuter, cleverer name for my blog. ^_^ ho ho ho.

I've finally settled with soul marmalade (woot! woot!) - it's not as pretentious as saccharine/venom, and it's not as cliche as sunshine and shadow. I've always loved the word soul and I've often used it in my poetry when I'd be too lazy tho think of another word to refer to my being, my core or just plain me. I've also always loved the word marmalade because it's yummy and it reminds me of Sesame Street and it's got my name in there somewhere. I find delicious the idea of my notions, emotions and so on coming together and simmering into a palatable serving of sorts.

To further give in to my compulsive obsession (or obsessive compulsion), I had to give my site a new look. Yes, I had to. I've been acutely aware of (i.e., losing sleep over) desecration suffered upon this blog, as caused by a few misfortunes associated with the blog's previous reincarnations. Changing as much as I can in gives me a sense of washing off the grime, like a rebirth of sorts.

New background and header design courtesy of Shabby Blogs. Header customized by myself.

I hope I wouldn't have to change the URL again. And I hope I won't have any more disasters.

So far so good.

url change

severe elev. | high elev. | moderate elev. | slight elev. | BASELINE | slight dep. | moderate dep. | deep dep. | severe dep. || anx: 1 | agit: 2

Today I changed the url for this site. Due to the recent goings-on, I just felt like it was desecrated and didn't want to touch it. Kinda like the feeling you get when someone pretends to spit in your drink so you'd give it to him. Or the feeling you get when you find out some floozy has been fooling around with your boyfriend. Disgusting. I wanted to destroy the blog altogether, but I've invested a lot in it already and I can't discard it just like that. So I simply decided to move to a new spot in cyberspace.

I had to do it. Or so says the ruthless dictator in my mind. If I don't, something bad will happen. So i had to do it.

I also changed the layout a bit so it "feels" different.

I also deleted the last three posts.

When I have a inspiration for the header art, I'll be changing that too.

If you were able to find me here, you're really clever, I salute you.

This time I'll be very selective as to where I leave the links and with whom I'll share.

The thing is, I wish I didn't have to. But readers have tended to misinterpret and chose to think evil rather than good, vilify rather than give the benefit of doubt - and that spoils the honesty in a specialized blog. I don't want to be one of those bloggers who write to please, so I'm pretty much keeping the intent for which this site was conceptualized.

If any more readers want to make more noise than they should, I could always change URLs again.

The O.C. (Obsessive Compulsive)

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 0, agit: 0


I've read some articles on how it's actually not uncommon for those with Bipolar Condition to have Obsessive-Compulsive Behavior.

BMD, particularly depression, goes hand-in-hand with OCD. Comorbidity, it's called. I can't sufficiently explain things in technical medicobabble for why or how (thus a link to an article has been provided) but I sort of see the truth in it - at least in the way that it goes on in my life. It's a sort of coping mechanism, I suppose.

Although I don't think I have the obsessive-compulsive disorder, I admit do have obsessive-compulsive behavior, especially when stressed:

• ritualizing
• obsessive thinking
• imagining germs
• semi-rational fears, (I say semi-rational because I don't want to admit they're irrational)
• ruminating
• arranging and rearranging
• triple-checking
• cleansing compulsions (handwashing / toothbrushing)
  
• pack-ratting
• self-poking
• guilt-tripping
• hand-tapping
• out-of place overpraying
• other things regarding my hands

Concrete examples of how I can go all Adrian Monk:

• I could lose sleep over what to wear the following day due to a mental litany of pros and cons of every possible choice.
• When I am alone at home and lunchtime comes, it could take me the whole afternoon to decide what to eat, or whether to eat at all, so I end up not eating until dinner time when someone else decides what he wants to have.
  
• I cannot answer "Where do you want to meet?" Because I can think of a hundred places I would want to be but would greatly inconvenience either me or the other party.
• At random intervals during the day, I feel the need to brush my teeth again.
• Whenever I work or cook, the times I wash my hands or wipe the work-surface cannot be counted.
• I can go out of the house without money, but never without hand sanitizer. It's not just a girl thing. I NEED my hand sanitizer because touching money, hand rails, public table tops or other people's hands drives me bonkers.
  

During episodes, they manifest themselves as the disorder, so fine, maybe I really am far from slightly neurotic; perhaps do have a (slight - I must insist on slight) obsessive-compulsive disorder.

The obsessions and compulsions - although they could drive me (and others) crazy sometimes - in some twisted way generate for me a feeling of unstable security, particularly in times I feel stressed. The behavior helps me to:

(a) Lie to myself that "everything is under control", or
(b) Nonverbally expression of that underlying desire to keep things manageable.

I realize that underneath it all was a fear of missing a step that could quite possibly ruin my life. I suppose that's why it's much worse when I'm depressed.