Detremental Side Effects of OCD/Hoarding
To demonstrate how much OCD and Hoarding can affect the lives of those involved, I'm willing to share something that all too recently happened to me. There is great pain and guilt, on my part, but also on the part of my daughter, over this occurance.
There is one event that will stand out forever in my mind for it has resulted in changes to mine and my daughter's lives that can not be undone. She, 5 years after the fact, still remembers the exact date with excruciating certainty. This all started the end of October 1999.
It began when I, after 7 years of not dating, even casually, nor going out socially, except for 2-3 times/year with either family or to benefit my job status, put an ad in the Yahoo personals. A man who contacted me in regards to the ad sounded interesting to me and we, after talking a few times, decided to get together to meet. To make a long story short, we dated, my daughter and he were not fond of each other. He seemed to think I coddled her. Before I began to realize this, but after a tremendous pre-amble about the state of our apartment, I allowed him into my apartment. After a rather stormy relationship that lasted all of 2 months at the most, he broke up with me, I begged him not to. I eventually came to the conclusion that he was right, we did NOT belong together. For whatever his reasons, once I realized this, even though I wanted to remain friendly towards each other, he began to stalk me, on the phone and online.
He had introduced me to IRC, internet relay chat. It was in these chat rooms he came and slandered me, calling me a slut and the like. I had, during our relationship, done what he told me not to...that is, to ask around about what others knew about him. He didn't like this and I guess this is what caused him, ultimately, to become my tormentor for a few months. One of his threats over the phone was that he would call CPS-Child Protective Services on me about the condition of my apartment. I told my father and step-mother this. Having shared this information with them, to this day, I do not know if it was the guy or my father/step-mother who called CPS. Then again, one of the ex's threats was that he'd call the fire department for the same reason, reporting a fire or the paramedics reporting someone ill so they'd discover the apartment themselves, but he never did follow through on those.
In either case, they came, asking to see the apartment. Naturally, they could not tell me who complained, but how they worded the complaint, sounded similar to what the ex-bf had said. Then again, I had probably told this to my manipulative father and step-mother so it didn't serve to clarify the who. I will probably never know which party caused action to be taken. Thinking CPS will just come back with a search warrant and knowing there was no way I could clean up that quickly, I allowed them in. I was burning with humiliation. I answered questions and let them talk to my daughter. They left, with the promise to return the following week, expecting the apartment to be clean and up to standards.
I may not always be rational, due to the OCD, however, I AM realistic. I KNEW without doubt, that there was no way I could clean the entire 2 bedroom apartment to the standards of CPS, let alone to my own standards. I was overwhelmed and became completely incapacitated to do any cleaning whatsoever. I had no idea where to start. I only knew I did not want to inflict this upon my daughter and I did not want her removed from my custody. My depression, which had been there, but on a low burner in the background, came to a full, rolling boil.
CPS true to their word, returned. I don't even recall the conversation. I know they said they'd send a home nurse over, realizing I was fully depressed now (not suicidal though, not yet anyway). The visiting nurse was understanding and tried to help by suggesting I ask family to help with the clean-up. I could not do that, to them, to myself. Hopeful, nonetheless, I told CPS and the nurse I would clean up, I really had every intention to, for my daughter's sake, if not for my own.
Around 15 November 1999, I arrived at my daughter's school after my work, at the end of the school day, as I always did. This time, however, the Principal was there to greet me. All that went through my mind was that my daughter was injured severely or something and why didn't they call me earlier in the day. The principal (whom I've known from my being a Brownie Troop leader and working the YMCA after school program, as well as from my daughter attending the school since kindergarten), joined by the security guard, with whom I was friendly, kept telling me to just stay calm, everything is alright and to come to the office. Suddenly, my father arrived. His home is about an hour away from the school so I was getting even more upset thinking, if he was there, something HORRIBLE has happened to my 9 1/2 year old 4th grade angel. I was becoming borderline hysterical before getting to the principal's private office. He kept urging me to stay calm. I believe he was truly looking out for my well being and trying to avoid the gossip mongers. All I wanted to know at that point though, was WHAT happened to my daughter. When they told me that CPS took her a few hours earlier and they took her to be examined at the hospital and then to my mother's for temporary foster care, I went into full hysterics. No one could console me. Whatever happened after that is a total blur. I have no recollection whatsoever, no idea where I went or how I got home or who was there, if anyone. This was the blackest day of my entire life and I've had quite a few dark, dismal days. I had failed...failed as a parent, failed to protect my daughter from tragedy that should have been in my control, failed as a person...and miserably so.
I was about the lowest I could get at this point in my life. This did nothing to motivate me to clean. I thought, If I were a good/decent person/parent, this would have prompted me to get moving on the task at hand. Instead, my hoarding became worse, as did my depression. Even on paxil, I was unable to do more than get out of bed, drag myself to work and drag myself back home. There's many gaps in my memory during this time.
Fast forward to some day in November...family court.
I remember waiting for my court appointed lawyer, I remember waiting in the stiffling waiting area for my turn before the judge. I don't remember details. Suffice it to say, the court appointed temporary fostership (or whatever it's called) to my mother. I, having no say in the matter and realizing it was better than my daughter being amongst strangers, had to accept this fate. Visitation was to be supervised. I didn't understand why. I hadn't abused or harmed my daughter physically or verbally. She was well fed, clean and well dressed. I was to learn that the way we were living was considered, by the law, to be negligent. Still, I didn't then, nor do I now see the need for supervised visitations. That's the court system for you though, return truly battered, neglected children to their parents but keep those who are cared for away from their parents. I do acknowledge that how the apartment was kept, by me, was dangerous to my child's and my own well-being. Not only psychologically, but it was definitely a fire hazard. On that count, I think it was right for my daughter to be removed, but, when I see the conditions some children on the news live in and how they're treated by their parents or even foster parents, I'm appalled and enraged that MY child was kept from me.
I was given, by the family court judge, time to get the apartment in order at which time another inspection would be done to determine if it were suitable for my daughter to live there safely. I was also court ordered to get counseling, which I did. The therapist, in turn referred me to a Psychologist who, via self-answered testing, determined I had OCD. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to truly understand hoarding. I went to the therapist for quite a while, possibly about a year, I don't recall. It helped me sort through issues I had with my family, but did nothing to help me clean up.
Back to family court...
The date for me to return to court so they could determine what would happen arrived. I have no recollection when it was, but I think it was the beginning of spring. My father was there as was my sister (whom I do NOT get along with and rarely, if ever, did). They were there to offer a "solution", that being that my sister and her husband take temporary custody of my daughter. Knowing that the reasons they were doing so were less than altruistic, I had little option but to agree. Again, it was better than my daughter being placed with strangers. The court awarded temporary custody to my sister and brother-in-law. This is the part of the story that must be reserved for another time as it doesn't directly pertain to my OCD, but it is pertainent as it was certainly affected BY it and it, in turn, affected my depression and OCD symptoms.
At the risk of seeming less than grateful to my family for helping out, they could have helped out when I was opening up to them and, asking as best I could for help, turned to them the summer before all of this occured. Rather than affording me time to myself by taking my daughter for weekends now and again, they ignored my requests. They turned this incident as a chance to say "look how wonderful your sister is..." "look how terrible a person you are". Not in those words, but by their actions, it was obvious to me. I'm not saying my OCD or Hoarding are their fault, nor the end results, but I could have used more help, having raised my daughter mostly on my own with little real help from them, even when I resided with my mother and brother. From what one of my brother's friends related to me, my brother was under the impression that he was "helping raise" his neice. I don't think letting her watch him, from time to time as he composed musical tracks in the basement and patting her on the head and saying "hey punkinhead" and taking her for ONE birthday (out of 5) out to roller skate for a few hours counts as "helping to raise" her.
Jump ahead...
My daughter is now 14 years old and in her first year of High School. Considering all she's been through, she's doing rather well. She's relatively happy (considering she's a teen) and she and my husband (since 20 March 2004, though we've been together for almost 5 years now) get along wonderfully. The conditions of her returning to me/us are another story as well...for another time mayhaps.
There is one event that will stand out forever in my mind for it has resulted in changes to mine and my daughter's lives that can not be undone. She, 5 years after the fact, still remembers the exact date with excruciating certainty. This all started the end of October 1999.
It began when I, after 7 years of not dating, even casually, nor going out socially, except for 2-3 times/year with either family or to benefit my job status, put an ad in the Yahoo personals. A man who contacted me in regards to the ad sounded interesting to me and we, after talking a few times, decided to get together to meet. To make a long story short, we dated, my daughter and he were not fond of each other. He seemed to think I coddled her. Before I began to realize this, but after a tremendous pre-amble about the state of our apartment, I allowed him into my apartment. After a rather stormy relationship that lasted all of 2 months at the most, he broke up with me, I begged him not to. I eventually came to the conclusion that he was right, we did NOT belong together. For whatever his reasons, once I realized this, even though I wanted to remain friendly towards each other, he began to stalk me, on the phone and online.
He had introduced me to IRC, internet relay chat. It was in these chat rooms he came and slandered me, calling me a slut and the like. I had, during our relationship, done what he told me not to...that is, to ask around about what others knew about him. He didn't like this and I guess this is what caused him, ultimately, to become my tormentor for a few months. One of his threats over the phone was that he would call CPS-Child Protective Services on me about the condition of my apartment. I told my father and step-mother this. Having shared this information with them, to this day, I do not know if it was the guy or my father/step-mother who called CPS. Then again, one of the ex's threats was that he'd call the fire department for the same reason, reporting a fire or the paramedics reporting someone ill so they'd discover the apartment themselves, but he never did follow through on those.
In either case, they came, asking to see the apartment. Naturally, they could not tell me who complained, but how they worded the complaint, sounded similar to what the ex-bf had said. Then again, I had probably told this to my manipulative father and step-mother so it didn't serve to clarify the who. I will probably never know which party caused action to be taken. Thinking CPS will just come back with a search warrant and knowing there was no way I could clean up that quickly, I allowed them in. I was burning with humiliation. I answered questions and let them talk to my daughter. They left, with the promise to return the following week, expecting the apartment to be clean and up to standards.
I may not always be rational, due to the OCD, however, I AM realistic. I KNEW without doubt, that there was no way I could clean the entire 2 bedroom apartment to the standards of CPS, let alone to my own standards. I was overwhelmed and became completely incapacitated to do any cleaning whatsoever. I had no idea where to start. I only knew I did not want to inflict this upon my daughter and I did not want her removed from my custody. My depression, which had been there, but on a low burner in the background, came to a full, rolling boil.
CPS true to their word, returned. I don't even recall the conversation. I know they said they'd send a home nurse over, realizing I was fully depressed now (not suicidal though, not yet anyway). The visiting nurse was understanding and tried to help by suggesting I ask family to help with the clean-up. I could not do that, to them, to myself. Hopeful, nonetheless, I told CPS and the nurse I would clean up, I really had every intention to, for my daughter's sake, if not for my own.
Around 15 November 1999, I arrived at my daughter's school after my work, at the end of the school day, as I always did. This time, however, the Principal was there to greet me. All that went through my mind was that my daughter was injured severely or something and why didn't they call me earlier in the day. The principal (whom I've known from my being a Brownie Troop leader and working the YMCA after school program, as well as from my daughter attending the school since kindergarten), joined by the security guard, with whom I was friendly, kept telling me to just stay calm, everything is alright and to come to the office. Suddenly, my father arrived. His home is about an hour away from the school so I was getting even more upset thinking, if he was there, something HORRIBLE has happened to my 9 1/2 year old 4th grade angel. I was becoming borderline hysterical before getting to the principal's private office. He kept urging me to stay calm. I believe he was truly looking out for my well being and trying to avoid the gossip mongers. All I wanted to know at that point though, was WHAT happened to my daughter. When they told me that CPS took her a few hours earlier and they took her to be examined at the hospital and then to my mother's for temporary foster care, I went into full hysterics. No one could console me. Whatever happened after that is a total blur. I have no recollection whatsoever, no idea where I went or how I got home or who was there, if anyone. This was the blackest day of my entire life and I've had quite a few dark, dismal days. I had failed...failed as a parent, failed to protect my daughter from tragedy that should have been in my control, failed as a person...and miserably so.
I was about the lowest I could get at this point in my life. This did nothing to motivate me to clean. I thought, If I were a good/decent person/parent, this would have prompted me to get moving on the task at hand. Instead, my hoarding became worse, as did my depression. Even on paxil, I was unable to do more than get out of bed, drag myself to work and drag myself back home. There's many gaps in my memory during this time.
Fast forward to some day in November...family court.
I remember waiting for my court appointed lawyer, I remember waiting in the stiffling waiting area for my turn before the judge. I don't remember details. Suffice it to say, the court appointed temporary fostership (or whatever it's called) to my mother. I, having no say in the matter and realizing it was better than my daughter being amongst strangers, had to accept this fate. Visitation was to be supervised. I didn't understand why. I hadn't abused or harmed my daughter physically or verbally. She was well fed, clean and well dressed. I was to learn that the way we were living was considered, by the law, to be negligent. Still, I didn't then, nor do I now see the need for supervised visitations. That's the court system for you though, return truly battered, neglected children to their parents but keep those who are cared for away from their parents. I do acknowledge that how the apartment was kept, by me, was dangerous to my child's and my own well-being. Not only psychologically, but it was definitely a fire hazard. On that count, I think it was right for my daughter to be removed, but, when I see the conditions some children on the news live in and how they're treated by their parents or even foster parents, I'm appalled and enraged that MY child was kept from me.
I was given, by the family court judge, time to get the apartment in order at which time another inspection would be done to determine if it were suitable for my daughter to live there safely. I was also court ordered to get counseling, which I did. The therapist, in turn referred me to a Psychologist who, via self-answered testing, determined I had OCD. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to truly understand hoarding. I went to the therapist for quite a while, possibly about a year, I don't recall. It helped me sort through issues I had with my family, but did nothing to help me clean up.
Back to family court...
The date for me to return to court so they could determine what would happen arrived. I have no recollection when it was, but I think it was the beginning of spring. My father was there as was my sister (whom I do NOT get along with and rarely, if ever, did). They were there to offer a "solution", that being that my sister and her husband take temporary custody of my daughter. Knowing that the reasons they were doing so were less than altruistic, I had little option but to agree. Again, it was better than my daughter being placed with strangers. The court awarded temporary custody to my sister and brother-in-law. This is the part of the story that must be reserved for another time as it doesn't directly pertain to my OCD, but it is pertainent as it was certainly affected BY it and it, in turn, affected my depression and OCD symptoms.
At the risk of seeming less than grateful to my family for helping out, they could have helped out when I was opening up to them and, asking as best I could for help, turned to them the summer before all of this occured. Rather than affording me time to myself by taking my daughter for weekends now and again, they ignored my requests. They turned this incident as a chance to say "look how wonderful your sister is..." "look how terrible a person you are". Not in those words, but by their actions, it was obvious to me. I'm not saying my OCD or Hoarding are their fault, nor the end results, but I could have used more help, having raised my daughter mostly on my own with little real help from them, even when I resided with my mother and brother. From what one of my brother's friends related to me, my brother was under the impression that he was "helping raise" his neice. I don't think letting her watch him, from time to time as he composed musical tracks in the basement and patting her on the head and saying "hey punkinhead" and taking her for ONE birthday (out of 5) out to roller skate for a few hours counts as "helping to raise" her.
Jump ahead...
My daughter is now 14 years old and in her first year of High School. Considering all she's been through, she's doing rather well. She's relatively happy (considering she's a teen) and she and my husband (since 20 March 2004, though we've been together for almost 5 years now) get along wonderfully. The conditions of her returning to me/us are another story as well...for another time mayhaps.
posted by Xintara | 10/16/2004 02:07:00 AM
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