The Other Side of Darkness (41 page)

I just nod.

Then she goes on, telling me stories and case histories of other
people who have suffered from OCD. My reaction to this news is mixed. On one hand, I am greatly relieved to know that I’m not alone and that this thing that’s plagued me for nearly as long as I can remember actually has a name and, I’m told, a treatment. But on the other hand, I feel so incredibly stupid for not knowing about it sooner. I remember how people have said things to me in the past. My mother, my sister, even Rick pointed out that I had this tendency to obsess over small things. Why didn’t we realize it was an illness? Or maybe they did … maybe it was just me in the dark? But why did it have to go so far?

Speaking of the other people in my life, Rick was here two days before Christmas. He told me that some members of my family wanted to come visit me. They wanted to bring me gifts and wish me Merry Christmas. I told him I wasn’t ready for that.

“What about the girls?” he asked.

I didn’t know what to say, so I simply looked away, said nothing. Oh, it’s not that I don’t love them. I do. I would do anything for them. And for Matthew too. But I am still so ashamed. So humiliated. How does anyone ever survive something like this?

“How about if I bring Matthew and the girls for Christmas? Just to say hello. It would be good for the girls to see you, to see that you’re okay.”

“Okay?” I looked at him with tears filling my eyes. “Okay?”

He sighed. “Well, you know. I think it would be good. And Dr. Doris agrees.”

Christmas Day

Maybe Dr. Doris’s medications are finally doing their job, because I am a bit calmer than I expected when Rick and the kids come to visit.
But it also feels like I’m in a fog, as if things aren’t completely real, but I suppose this is for the best. They all take turns embracing me and telling me they love me. And although I believe them, I can feel the stiffness in their hugs, see the formality of their smiles. They, like me, would like to get this over with.

“We’re having Christmas dinner at Lynette’s,” Rick informs me as they’re getting ready to leave. I know he thinks this should cheer me up, realizing that he and the kids aren’t sitting around our house feeling depressed, but the idea of everyone at my sister’s only reminds me of the old days—of how I’ve always been an outsider, a castoff. And I fight back tears of self-pity as I tell my family good-bye.

As soon as they’re gone, I berate myself for my selfishness, but then I remember what Dr. Doris said and how I need to squelch any negative ranting of my inner voice. So I put in my earphones and play my CD and pretend that God is talking to me. Speaking words of love, encouragement, hope, and kindness. It’s still somewhat unfamiliar. But I like it.

I’m released from the hospital on December 29. I’m not entirely sure this is such a good idea, but Dr. Doris seems to think I’m ready. She has me scheduled for some form of therapy almost every day of the week. Family therapy, group therapy, individual therapy—it seems they have something for everyone. But Rick assures me that he and the kids are willing and that everyone wants to see me get better. I can only hope this is true. And I must admit the meds are helping more now—the fog is lifting some. And there are moments when I can almost see humor in things. Briefly.

I’m amazed at how much I continue to sleep once I’m home.
Rick, following Dr. Doris’s recommendation, set up a bedroom for me in Matthew’s old room. She told him I would need the space for a while. And due to the continuing struggle with my fear of demons and contamination, I appreciate it. Still, Dr. Doris warned me that the only way to conquer these things will be to face them head-on.

“What’s the worst thing that will happen to you if you cannot take a shower?” she asked me one day after I told her about being disturbed because I wanted to take a cleansing shower and the nurse wouldn’t let me. “Tell me, what’s the worst?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question.

“Really, Ruth. What’s the worst thing? Will your toes curl up? Will your hair fall out? Will you smell so terrible that no one will want to be near you? What’s the worst thing?”

I honestly couldn’t think of one single
real
thing. Well, other than how I would feel. “It would make me feel bad.”

“You say that, but taking a cleansing shower doesn’t make you feel better either. You’ve told me yourself that the relief only lasts a short while and then you feel bad again. Not only that, but you end up with cracked and dry skin. It’ll make you old before your time.”

So that has become my big question. “What is the worst thing that will happen if I do or don’t do certain things?” And while it doesn’t work with every situation, I can tell that it’s helping. Still, it seems a long and lonely road out of this place. Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it.

I also wonder why God has allowed me to be this way. Dr. Doris said that while nothing is proven, there are reasons to think this disorder has some genetic connections. “It does seem to run in families,” she told me after I described my grandma Clark to her. “And there are certain things that just seem to trigger it too.” She warned both Rick
and me that we’d need to keep a closer eye on our children. “In case you see them developing any symptoms. Early diagnosis and treatment could prevent them from ever getting to the place where Ruth has been.”

God help anyone who ever has to go to the place where I have been. Even in group therapy, where I’ve heard some crazy stories, mine seems to take the cake. Not that I find any comfort in this. But as Dr. Doris says, it’s good to keep nurturing a sense of humor. And somehow she thinks I have one. Although I’m sure it must be hidden pretty deep. And I’m practicing smiling. She says that when you make the effort to smile, really smile, it sends a message to your soul. And I think this may be true. Anyway, I am trying, and the girls seem to appreciate it.

Before being released from the hospital, Dr. Doris made me promise not to reconnect with any of my previous acquaintances at New Fire. She actually had me sign an agreement. Rick had filled her in on my involvement there, and she seemed fairly convinced that this was one of the major keys to my undoing.

“I don’t think that’s going to be much of a problem,” I told her as I handed her back my contract. I don’t add that I would rather be dead than go back to that church. But it’s true.

Two years later

S
ometimes that night on the lonely mountain road where I tried to end my life seems like a lifetime away. Sometimes it seems like yesterday. A lot has happened in these past two years. And while it hasn’t been easy, I think it’s been good. And I think there’s a reason.

I’m still in treatment, although I only see Dr. Doris every other week, and she’s saying that monthly visits might be around the corner. Although I’m not convinced. But one of the things I discovered through my treatments and tests is that I have a very high IQ. I thought this was ironic since I’ve spent so much of my life telling myself that I was stupid, stupid, stupid. Back in grade school, I recall how other kids thought I was pretty smart, and maybe they were right. But somehow my intelligence just got buried beneath all my crazy OCD symptoms.

Speaking of school, both the girls are back in public school, happily reunited with their old friends. They did finish their year at the Christian school, since the school’s policy made any refunding impossible. I suppose it was for the best because everyone there seemed to be fairly understanding. But both Mary and Sarah seem genuinely glad to be back in public school. And I am Sarah’s room mother now, planning for the upcoming Christmas party.

Matthew still works at the bookstore (which I now frequent and
which makes a pretty good mocha), and he still lives with Jason. He has also started taking some classes part-time at the community college. And despite his busy schedule, he still manages to drop by to visit his family on a fairly regular basis or when he’s hungry. He hasn’t decided to come back to church yet (Rick and the girls and I have been back at Valley Bridge Fellowship awhile now), but he does attend on holidays. Mostly I have come to accept that he’s on his own spiritual journey now. And I pray for him.

Rick is still working for the shipping company, but now he’s back to days. Unfortunately, the promotion and raise never fully materialized, but Rick decided it just wasn’t worth it. Things are tight, but then what’s new? And now that I’m not making those insane financial decisions, which we only recently recovered from, we seem to be doing okay. For the most part. Life’s certainly not perfect.

But Rick swears that the counseling we’ve received (as a result of my breakdown, diagnosis, and treatment—thank God for Rick’s health insurance) has been really life changing for him. And, I must confess, it has saved our marriage. Oh, we still have our disagreements from time to time, and my OCD still raises its bossy, ugly head occasionally (something Rick has learned not to point out with too much enthusiasm), but all in all, we are happier than we’ve ever been. And there’s a lot to look forward to.

Maybe it was Matthew’s enthusiasm about his college classes or my learning about my high IQ, but I’m considering furthering my education as well. I think I want to study psychology. But just a couple of classes, at least to begin with, since I started working part-time a couple of months ago.

Colleen and Dennis moved back to town after only six months. Apparently his job wasn’t all they’d hoped it would be, and New
Mexico was just “too hot to handle.” So now Colleen and I are job sharing at the clinic, and I have to admit that Colleen always was, and still is, some of the best medicine for me. I think God knew this from that first day he connected us way back in high school when I was looking for a friend who could teach me to let my hair down.

It was Colleen who talked me into going back to Valley Bridge Fellowship. I’ll admit that it felt horribly awkward at first. I was certain that everyone was staring at me or whispering behind my back, but I got over it in time. And now I feel almost totally at home there. It’s also been a huge help in reconstructing my image of God since the pastor there seems to be fairly well grounded and doesn’t take himself too seriously.

I still remember those four words, the ones I heard up on that hill when I was trying to check out. “
That was never me
.” And I know it was God speaking, telling me that I’d been deceived, revealing to me that all that fear-driven crud and the focus on demons attacking from everywhere wasn’t coming from him. It never had been. It was man-made and probably Satan inspired.

It also has given me a new respect for taking the Lord’s name in vain. I inwardly cringe if I hear someone saying, “God told me to do such and such.” Oh, they might not mean it the way it sounds, but I think we all need to be very careful. It’s dangerous to put words in God’s mouth, which most of the leadership at New Fire were doing.

It’s a step-by-step process, coming back to God. Or maybe I’m finding him for the first time. But I’ve come to realize, and to truly appreciate, that God doesn’t want us to live in fear. Where God is, there is perfect peace. That is such a relief.

I saw Cynthia the other day. She was in the grocery store, the one that’s open 365 days a year and the one I swore I’d never go back to.
I bumped into her in the cereal section, and I thought my heart would leap right out of my chest. I was so scared. I know it makes no sense, not to a normal person. But just seeing her standing there, slightly hunched, with her long gray braid trailing down the back of one of her homely, homemade jumpers that reached nearly to her ankles, and all those old memories—the deliverance prayers, the lectures—well, they just seemed to flash before me, and I almost felt sick to my stomach. Her eyes were narrowed as she attempted to read the fine print on the back of a box of Smart Start, and I almost used this opportunity to turn and run the other way. But I didn’t. I stopped and said, “Hi, Cynthia.”

She almost dropped the box of cereal. But then she recovered and asked how I’d been, and I knew I had two options: I could say “fine” and just leave it at that, or I could tell her the truth. Or at least a shortened version. I decided on option two, and by the time I finished, Cynthia broke into tears.

She told me that their church fell completely apart. Bronte, who it turned out had fled from another questionable church, was having an affair with Glenn. They managed to keep the whole thing concealed for quite some time, but when it came to light, it was a death-blow to the church.

“Maybe you’d like to come back to VBF,” I told her as I placed a box of Cheerios in my cart. “The pastor there is a really solid guy.”

“Oh, I don’t know …” She backed away from me almost as if she were spying a demon crouched on my shoulder, just as we’d done in the old days.

But I just smiled at her. “You know what, Cynthia? God showed me that none of that was ever him. God isn’t like that, you know. He doesn’t want us to be afraid.”

Her brow creased as if she was considering this. Then she told me that
she’d be praying for me
, and before I could respond, she scurried away.

Now this just got me. In fact, it aggravated me more than I care to admit. Why should I need Cynthia to pray for me? And I have to confess that I actually started to obsess over this comment, making up responses in my head, things I could’ve or should’ve said to her. Ways I might’ve put her in her place.

And then I just said to myself,
Knock it off, Ruth!
That’s when I recalled Dr. Doris’s favorite question as I picked up a box of Froot Loops for Sarah. What’s the worst thing that could happen if Cynthia
did
pray for me? And I just laughed at myself and laughed at my OCD, and I thanked God that he is so much bigger than all of it!