My Authentic Self

While sitting on stage as part of a panel during the final Q & A segment of the “OCD Awareness Day” event, I told a story about my pet spider Juan, the zebra knee Costa Rican tarantula that lives in an aquarium in my office next to my desk. Juan has been a part of my life for just over two years, but spiders, specifically tarantulas, have periodically lived in my brain for well over a decade. Disregarding rhyme or reason, the OCD living in one’s brain will produce thoughts and images with full intention of causing disruption and disturbance. One of those images constantly flashing in my line of sight has been spiders. These are not hallucinations – as I am grounded in reality – but unhelpful images, derived from imagination, which invade the mind. As I chat with the lovely mannered clerk at the local pharmacy, an image of spider in her mouth may cross my mind. When I glance at my cup of black coffee, I imagine a tarantula spider resting under the surface, waiting for me to drink it down. Again, I know they are not real, but nonetheless, they abruptly remove me from enjoying moments, make me feel crazy, distract, deter, and trigger despair.

               I spent countless hours working with OCD specialists on the subject of intrusive images of spiders. Some of the therapeutic tasks have been: performing ERP, listening to loop tapes, scripting, watching videos of spiders, staring at photos, pasting pictures of spiders on the wall, planting plastic versions of tarantula spiders in drawers - like my sock and underwear drawer - so that when I reach for my boxer briefs I may latch onto a plastic spider instead. The goal is for my nervous system to eventually grow accustomed to the presence of spiders. As I engaged more in the process of exposure, both the frequency and severity of the images lessened. Yet the image was lingering more than I would have liked, and I thought of another idea not yet attempted: buy a tarantula spider and keep it as pet. What better exposure therapy could there be? I was unsure if this act would be considered a compulsion, diving deeper into the spider vortex, or if it were indeed a healthy, therapeutic approach. Managing OCD for a lifetime often requires risk, creativity, and ingenuity. When the “doubting disease” takes hold, sometimes you have to say to yourself fuck it, and take a chance, unaware of the results.

Owning Juan for two years now has sincerely helped me to reframe how I view spiders in my life. No longer is the image of a tarantula spider solely a dark and disturbing image, but it is also the image of my pet. Just like my two dogs, I must nurture my spider. I love animals, and a spider is a living creature in need of special care, primarily if you invite one into your home. Every week or two, I buy a half dozen live crickets from the pet store, and drop them into Juan’s tank for his meals. I must pay attention to the temperature and humidity in his habitat. Most tarantulas like to hide during the day so I equipped Juan’s home with a cave and a few plastic plants under which he can take cover to feel safe and comfortable. I change the substrate (type of soil) every couple of months to keep it fresh. This process requires removing Juan from his tank by means of a jar, and much encouragement for the both of us. One time, during a moment of courage, I lowered my finger towards Juan while he raised one of his legs, and we touched for about five seconds. Hopefully next time, we can go for ten seconds.

When my best friend, since the 7^th grade – we are 49 years-old now – first saw Juan living in my office, he was perplexed, “Why on earth did you buy a tarantula spider dude?” Wait, had I not told this person, who knows me best, about my trouble with spider images? Had I really kept this hidden for that long? The answer is a resounding YES, I had, but not deliberately. When you have OCD, you hold far too much inside. This is exactly what OCD desires because it thrives in isolation, exploiting shame as momentum. Adopting a tarantula spider as one of my house pets has interrupted this OCD cycle. It has allowed for cognitive reframing. Having conversations about spiders in different contexts has served as a crucial exposure. Integrating a live tarantula into my daily life confuses OCD. The more I lower the intensity of my reaction to a spider image, the less effective it becomes as an OCD tactic. Every conversation with others I have about Juan is also serving as exposure therapy.

If I failed to reveal my spider obsession to my best friend for three decades, then never did I conceive that I would be sitting on a stage in front of a live audience calmly and openly telling my story about spiders. But that’s exactly what I did on Saturday. I did not feel nervous. I did not feel embarrassed. I did not feel shame. I felt whole, authentic, unafraid. Living with OCD can often cause a sufferer to feel as if they are living two separate lives, the one in public and the one in hidden away with obsessions and compulsions too shameful to ever share. In such cases, how can a person know what their authentic self really is? I found my authentic self on Saturday while speaking at the OCD conference. All my parts combined as one person, present, without shame, with confidence, and a comfortability in who I am.