Anyone There?

Hey I would live to speak to someone That has OCPD. I have never met anyone that has OCPD as well. Though I suspect a few. I would love to know how you live your life or if you any pointers on how we can overcome certain things in life, marriage, and parenting. I created a FB group but got nothing yet. I know most people don't want to talk about it, but I have taken an almost humorous approach to understanding what I have. I am ok to be called out on something's that I wish I didn't do and even though I feel ridiculous for being how I am I want to expose my OCPD so I can learn from it.

*This story is very long, and I realized after re-reading that I didn't talk much about my OCPD symptoms, only the effects of it on my life. But I needed to get it out. So thanks, whoever still decides to read it.*



I have OCPD. That is only the second time I type that. The first lead me to this forum and your post.

The hardest part is knowing that I will re-read and correct this post until I am absolutely sure I don't sound stupid, mispelled anything, used correct grammar, said something offensive, etc.



My dad has OCPD. I'm pretty positive his mother had it, too.

Growing up I was constantly scrutinized and corrected. Everything from my hair to what I was wearing (modesty was of utmost importance) to how I blew on my hot chocolate. I vividly remember getting chewed out once for grimaving and covering my ears at the screeching sound of the dial up internet connection. School was top priority. In elementary school when teachers would send home folders with completed and graded homework assignments, he would make me redo them until they were perfect, handwriting and all. He wrote, "Anything lower than an A is unacceptable," on a sheet of computer paper and taped it to the inside of my bedroom door. A "B" or lower meant I'd be grounded for the next six weeks, until the next report card came out. Even low A's put him on edge, because it was too close to failure.

I kept my mind busy as a child. Reading was my escape. I was always reading, even under my desk in class. When I got to high school I joined the swim team, also did diving, was an officer in drill team, competed in U.I.L., took all pre-ap and ap courses, was in the Pre Med program offered at my school, participated in HOSA competitions, earned National Scholar award, was a prosecuting attorney for Teen Court, was a member of the Yearbook/Newspaper staff, and attended youth group meetings and weekend camps regularly. I also had a steady stream of suitors, often finding flaws in them just a few weeks into the "relationship."



I used to count the years until I would be free. Free to move away for college. During my senior year when my dad suggested I take my basics at the community college, I was repulsed by the idea.



Finally, glorious graduation and with that, freedom. Or so I thought. My first semester in college is when it all started to go down hill. I skipped class often, either staying in bed or cleaning the dorm like a madman when the guilt got to be too much. I failed one class. During Christmas break I had a huge fight with my dad (this was the first time I fought back) about my grades, I packed my things and called my friend to pick my up. My parents showed up at her house later and much drama ensued as they tried to convince me to go back home with them. I finally agreed and we had a big discussion in which I told them how I felt I needed to be perfect for them, but always fell short. My high school boyfriend and broke up during Christmas break, as well. I didn't fail any classes the next semester, but only because I withdrew from two classes when the possibility of passing was slim due to my excessive absences and missed assignments. My first semester of sophomore year was a blur. I had found a new boyfriend and a group of friends that would fail to notice my spiral into the depths of hell. I often contemplated suicide, but decided I could never do that to my mother and was too scared to go through with it, anyway. I went through cycles of staying in my room all day ruminating and worrying, and partying and binge drinking. I often took sleeping pills, four or five at a time, some nights. Other nights I would sit on my balcony and write haikus about the sun rise while chain smoking. Wine was also involved.

I stopped going to class altogether, and missed the deadline to withdraw, so I failed every class.

Since I was already on probation, I was kicked out of school. For the next year I worked two jobs, lied to my parents about attending school (they had stopped checking my grades after that first semester) and made my on-again off-again boyfriend's life miserable. When we broke it off for good, I started collecting f*** buddies. This was also when my panic attacks started. 4-5 a week. The only thing that could calm me was sitting in the bathtub with the faucet on (not the shower head) letting the water run over my hands and legs. I would be balled up tight againt the faucet and would often lay my forehead on it. I often repeated the phrase, "happy, healthy, whole," because that's all I wanted to be. Before I even knew what a mantra was, I had created my own. This went on for two years.

Are you still with me? At this point in the story I am 22 yrs old.

After distancing myself from/alienating the unhealthy group of friends I had, and stopped having random sex, things started getting a little better. I was accepted back into school after talking to four deans (I can do anything when I put my mind to it) but withdrew from all of my courses half way through the semester. I maintained the illusion though. To this day, I have never admitted that to anyone. My friends still think I attended classes at that time. That November, I met a great guy. We immediatly clicked and fell in love. Things went great except for one month in which I experienced extreme disassociation. That was a scary experience. I only had a few lucid moments, and the rest of the time I felt like I was in water or dense fog. Very disconnected, even from myself. I still don't know what triggered that.

A year after that, New Years Eve 2010, I was told my grandmother had cancer. I was devestated. However, she started treatment and was doing really well. May 2011 my boyfriend graduated with his masters in engineering and asked me to move with him. After much thought and consideration, I agreed. He proposed after we finished unloading the last items from the moving trailer. The next year was the hardest of my life. I was planning a wedding by myself in a new city with no relatives or friends around. My grandmother's health suddenly deteriorated and they decided to stop treatment. I was told that she started sobbing at a dinner with the whole family one night when they were discussing my upcoming wedding. The only thing that kept me going was the daily phone call from my mother, pushing me to do get things done. I smoked weed heavily. Like a quarter a week at my worst. My grandmother passed away a month before my wedding. After that, I started griding my teeth at night, and would get nauseous and throw up after almost every meal. The wedding was beatiful and such a happy occasion, due to the fact that I now have an amazing relationship with my parents and they love my husband and his parents, and vice-versa. However, the week after the wedding I had to be hospitalized twice because I could not stop throwing up. I fell into a deep depression after that, not wanting to leave my bed and feeling very anxious when out in public for too long. After reading a comment on Reddit from someone suffering from Depression, I finally decided to see a therapist.



I feel like this story is long enough. I'm only a few weeks away from getting to present-date, but I'm exhaused and over thinking things. Thank you for listening, if you've made it this far.

I'll have to finish the story another time.

*This story is very long, and I realized after re-reading that I didn't talk much about my OCPD symptoms, only the effects of it on my life. But I needed to get it out. So thanks, whoever still decides to read it.*



I have OCPD. That is only the second time I type that. The first lead me to this forum and your post.

The hardest part is knowing that I will re-read and correct this post until I am absolutely sure I don't sound stupid, mispelled anything, used correct grammar, said something offensive, etc.



My dad has OCPD. I'm pretty positive his mother had it, too.

Growing up I was constantly scrutinized and corrected. Everything from my hair to what I was wearing (modesty was of utmost importance) to how I blew on my hot chocolate. I vividly remember getting chewed out once for grimaving and covering my ears at the screeching sound of the dial up internet connection. School was top priority. In elementary school when teachers would send home folders with completed and graded homework assignments, he would make me redo them until they were perfect, handwriting and all. He wrote, "Anything lower than an A is unacceptable," on a sheet of computer paper and taped it to the inside of my bedroom door. A "B" or lower meant I'd be grounded for the next six weeks, until the next report card came out. Even low A's put him on edge, because it was too close to failure.

I kept my mind busy as a child. Reading was my escape. I was always reading, even under my desk in class. When I got to high school I joined the swim team, also did diving, was an officer in drill team, competed in U.I.L., took all pre-ap and ap courses, was in the Pre Med program offered at my school, participated in HOSA competitions, earned National Scholar award, was a prosecuting attorney for Teen Court, was a member of the Yearbook/Newspaper staff, and attended youth group meetings and weekend camps regularly. I also had a steady stream of suitors, often finding flaws in them just a few weeks into the "relationship."



I used to count the years until I would be free. Free to move away for college. During my senior year when my dad suggested I take my basics at the community college, I was repulsed by the idea.



Finally, glorious graduation and with that, freedom. Or so I thought. My first semester in college is when it all started to go down hill. I skipped class often, either staying in bed or cleaning the dorm like a madman when the guilt got to be too much. I failed one class. During Christmas break I had a huge fight with my dad (this was the first time I fought back) about my grades, I packed my things and called my friend to pick my up. My parents showed up at her house later and much drama ensued as they tried to convince me to go back home with them. I finally agreed and we had a big discussion in which I told them how I felt I needed to be perfect for them, but always fell short. My high school boyfriend and broke up during Christmas break, as well. I didn't fail any classes the next semester, but only because I withdrew from two classes when the possibility of passing was slim due to my excessive absences and missed assignments. My first semester of sophomore year was a blur. I had found a new boyfriend and a group of friends that would fail to notice my spiral into the depths of hell. I often contemplated suicide, but decided I could never do that to my mother and was too scared to go through with it, anyway. I went through cycles of staying in my room all day ruminating and worrying, and partying and binge drinking. I often took sleeping pills, four or five at a time, some nights. Other nights I would sit on my balcony and write haikus about the sun rise while chain smoking. Wine was also involved.

I stopped going to class altogether, and missed the deadline to withdraw, so I failed every class.

Since I was already on probation, I was kicked out of school. For the next year I worked two jobs, lied to my parents about attending school (they had stopped checking my grades after that first semester) and made my on-again off-again boyfriend's life miserable. When we broke it off for good, I started collecting f*** buddies. This was also when my panic attacks started. 4-5 a week. The only thing that could calm me was sitting in the bathtub with the faucet on (not the shower head) letting the water run over my hands and legs. I would be balled up tight againt the faucet and would often lay my forehead on it. I often repeated the phrase, "happy, healthy, whole," because that's all I wanted to be. Before I even knew what a mantra was, I had created my own. This went on for two years.

Are you still with me? At this point in the story I am 22 yrs old.

After distancing myself from/alienating the unhealthy group of friends I had, and stopped having random sex, things started getting a little better. I was accepted back into school after talking to four deans (I can do anything when I put my mind to it) but withdrew from all of my courses half way through the semester. I maintained the illusion though. To this day, I have never admitted that to anyone. My friends still think I attended classes at that time. That November, I met a great guy. We immediatly clicked and fell in love. Things went great except for one month in which I experienced extreme disassociation. That was a scary experience. I only had a few lucid moments, and the rest of the time I felt like I was in water or dense fog. Very disconnected, even from myself. I still don't know what triggered that.

A year after that, New Years Eve 2010, I was told my grandmother had cancer. I was devestated. However, she started treatment and was doing really well. May 2011 my boyfriend graduated with his masters in engineering and asked me to move with him. After much thought and consideration, I agreed. He proposed after we finished unloading the last items from the moving trailer. The next year was the hardest of my life. I was planning a wedding by myself in a new city with no relatives or friends around. My grandmother's health suddenly deteriorated and they decided to stop treatment. I was told that she started sobbing at a dinner with the whole family one night when they were discussing my upcoming wedding. The only thing that kept me going was the daily phone call from my mother, pushing me to do get things done. I smoked weed heavily. Like a quarter a week at my worst. My grandmother passed away a month before my wedding. After that, I started griding my teeth at night, and would get nauseous and throw up after almost every meal. The wedding was beatiful and such a happy occasion, due to the fact that I now have an amazing relationship with my parents and they love my husband and his parents, and vice-versa. However, the week after the wedding I had to be hospitalized twice because I could not stop throwing up. I fell into a deep depression after that, not wanting to leave my bed and feeling very anxious when out in public for too long. After reading a comment on Reddit from someone suffering from Depression, I finally decided to see a therapist.



I feel like this story is long enough. I'm only a few weeks away from getting to present-date, but I'm exhaused and over thinking things. Thank you for listening, if you've made it this far.

I'll have to finish the story another time.

*This story is very long, and I realized after re-reading that I didn't talk much about my OCPD symptoms, only the effects of it on my life. But I needed to get it out. So thanks, whoever still decides to read it.*



I have OCPD. That is only the second time I type that. The first lead me to this forum and your post.

The hardest part is knowing that I will re-read and correct this post until I am absolutely sure I don't sound stupid, mispelled anything, used correct grammar, said something offensive, etc.



My dad has OCPD. I'm pretty positive his mother had it, too.

Growing up I was constantly scrutinized and corrected. Everything from my hair to what I was wearing (modesty was of utmost importance) to how I blew on my hot chocolate. I vividly remember getting chewed out once for grimaving and covering my ears at the screeching sound of the dial up internet connection. School was top priority. In elementary school when teachers would send home folders with completed and graded homework assignments, he would make me redo them until they were perfect, handwriting and all. He wrote, "Anything lower than an A is unacceptable," on a sheet of computer paper and taped it to the inside of my bedroom door. A "B" or lower meant I'd be grounded for the next six weeks, until the next report card came out. Even low A's put him on edge, because it was too close to failure.

I kept my mind busy as a child. Reading was my escape. I was always reading, even under my desk in class. When I got to high school I joined the swim team, also did diving, was an officer in drill team, competed in U.I.L., took all pre-ap and ap courses, was in the Pre Med program offered at my school, participated in HOSA competitions, earned National Scholar award, was a prosecuting attorney for Teen Court, was a member of the Yearbook/Newspaper staff, and attended youth group meetings and weekend camps regularly. I also had a steady stream of suitors, often finding flaws in them just a few weeks into the "relationship."



I used to count the years until I would be free. Free to move away for college. During my senior year when my dad suggested I take my basics at the community college, I was repulsed by the idea.



Finally, glorious graduation and with that, freedom. Or so I thought. My first semester in college is when it all started to go down hill. I skipped class often, either staying in bed or cleaning the dorm like a madman when the guilt got to be too much. I failed one class. During Christmas break I had a huge fight with my dad (this was the first time I fought back) about my grades, I packed my things and called my friend to pick my up. My parents showed up at her house later and much drama ensued as they tried to convince me to go back home with them. I finally agreed and we had a big discussion in which I told them how I felt I needed to be perfect for them, but always fell short. My high school boyfriend and broke up during Christmas break, as well. I didn't fail any classes the next semester, but only because I withdrew from two classes when the possibility of passing was slim due to my excessive absences and missed assignments. My first semester of sophomore year was a blur. I had found a new boyfriend and a group of friends that would fail to notice my spiral into the depths of hell. I often contemplated suicide, but decided I could never do that to my mother and was too scared to go through with it, anyway. I went through cycles of staying in my room all day ruminating and worrying, and partying and binge drinking. I often took sleeping pills, four or five at a time, some nights. Other nights I would sit on my balcony and write haikus about the sun rise while chain smoking. Wine was also involved.

I stopped going to class altogether, and missed the deadline to withdraw, so I failed every class.

Since I was already on probation, I was kicked out of school. For the next year I worked two jobs, lied to my parents about attending school (they had stopped checking my grades after that first semester) and made my on-again off-again boyfriend's life miserable. When we broke it off for good, I started collecting f*** buddies. This was also when my panic attacks started. 4-5 a week. The only thing that could calm me was sitting in the bathtub with the faucet on (not the shower head) letting the water run over my hands and legs. I would be balled up tight againt the faucet and would often lay my forehead on it. I often repeated the phrase, "happy, healthy, whole," because that's all I wanted to be. Before I even knew what a mantra was, I had created my own. This went on for two years.

Are you still with me? At this point in the story I am 22 yrs old.

After distancing myself from/alienating the unhealthy group of friends I had, and stopped having random sex, things started getting a little better. I was accepted back into school after talking to four deans (I can do anything when I put my mind to it) but withdrew from all of my courses half way through the semester. I maintained the illusion though. To this day, I have never admitted that to anyone. My friends still think I attended classes at that time. That November, I met a great guy. We immediatly clicked and fell in love. Things went great except for one month in which I experienced extreme disassociation. That was a scary experience. I only had a few lucid moments, and the rest of the time I felt like I was in water or dense fog. Very disconnected, even from myself. I still don't know what triggered that.

A year after that, New Years Eve 2010, I was told my grandmother had cancer. I was devestated. However, she started treatment and was doing really well. May 2011 my boyfriend graduated with his masters in engineering and asked me to move with him. After much thought and consideration, I agreed. He proposed after we finished unloading the last items from the moving trailer. The next year was the hardest of my life. I was planning a wedding by myself in a new city with no relatives or friends around. My grandmother's health suddenly deteriorated and they decided to stop treatment. I was told that she started sobbing at a dinner with the whole family one night when they were discussing my upcoming wedding. The only thing that kept me going was the daily phone call from my mother, pushing me to do get things done. I smoked weed heavily. Like a quarter a week at my worst. My grandmother passed away a month before my wedding. After that, I started griding my teeth at night, and would get nauseous and throw up after almost every meal. The wedding was beatiful and such a happy occasion, due to the fact that I now have an amazing relationship with my parents and they love my husband and his parents, and vice-versa. However, the week after the wedding I had to be hospitalized twice because I could not stop throwing up. I fell into a deep depression after that, not wanting to leave my bed and feeling very anxious when out in public for too long. After reading a comment on Reddit from someone suffering from Depression, I finally decided to see a therapist.



I feel like this story is long enough. I'm only a few weeks away from getting to present-date, but I'm exhaused and over thinking things. Thank you for listening, if you've made it this far.

I'll have to finish the story another time.

I have traits of OCPD, but I don't think I'm entirely fit for that diagnosis. When I get a management position at a job I'm working, my employees probably hate me, but my bosses love me, if that says anything.

Hey there,

anyone still there?

I'm here. Don't come on EP too often, maybe once a week. It is really the only place I can go to connect with people like myself. I don't have anyone to talk to about the issues I deal with, including OCPD. I don't even discuss such things with my boyfriend in any great depth, as I'm afraid he just can't understand. None of my friends or co workers would guess there is anything wrong with me (I hope!), they just think my life is perfect and that I am so happy. Generally I am fairly happy, I have a fairly good life. Sometimes I wish people knew that I suffer, but I would never want to seem like an attention seeker.



I suffer because the expectations that I put on myself are just too much. I expect so much and am so hard on myself and I cannot stop. Nor do I really want to stop. I honestly want to be perfect in every way. Logically, I know this is impossible, but I continue to strive. Sometimes the pressure is so great that I just shut down and cannot accomplish anything for a time. I get behind on my work, my relationships, and my apartments gets sloppy. This is when the anxiety truly gets me. When I start to lose control, I feel physically ill and cannot sleep. When I do sleep a little, I get terrible dreams and intense night sweats. Sometimes I even break out in hives. This is why I have to keep in control. Its a bit of a vicious cycle I suppose.



Anyway, that's a bit about my life with OCPD. Hope to hear from you, and others too.

I'm here. Don't come on EP too often, maybe once a week. It is really the only place I can go to connect with people like myself. I don't have anyone to talk to about the issues I deal with, including OCPD. I don't even discuss such things with my boyfriend in any great depth, as I'm afraid he just can't understand. None of my friends or co workers would guess there is anything wrong with me (I hope!), they just think my life is perfect and that I am so happy. Generally I am fairly happy, I have a fairly good life. Sometimes I wish people knew that I suffer, but I would never want to seem like an attention seeker.



I suffer because the expectations that I put on myself are just too much. I expect so much and am so hard on myself and I cannot stop. Nor do I really want to stop. I honestly want to be perfect in every way. Logically, I know this is impossible, but I continue to strive. Sometimes the pressure is so great that I just shut down and cannot accomplish anything for a time. I get behind on my work, my relationships, and my apartments gets sloppy. This is when the anxiety truly gets me. When I start to lose control, I feel physically ill and cannot sleep. When I do sleep a little, I get terrible dreams and intense night sweats. Sometimes I even break out in hives. This is why I have to keep in control. Its a bit of a vicious cycle I suppose.



Anyway, that's a bit about my life with OCPD. Hope to hear from you, and others too.