Confessions of Compulsion

com·pul·sion
n.
An uncontrollable impulse to perform an act, often repetitively, as an unconscious mechanism to avoid unacceptable ideas and desires which, by themselves, arouse anxiety.

Thanks to Oprah and Dr Phil, who often keep me company while I'm nursing the baby during Layth's naptime, I've begun to suspect that I have a compulsive disorder. Actually, I think I suspected as much a long time ago. Now I'm certain I have a compulsive disorder. My struggle with my weight is due to compulsive overeating. My cluttered house is due to compulsive hoarding. I'm sure there are other names for other aspects of my behavior that I have yet to discover.

I've found a lot of resources for obsessive-compulsive disorder, which I don't seem to have, according to the online screening I took. I can't find much of anything on general compulsive disorders, though if I specifically look for compulsive overeating or compulsive hoarding, there is information to be found. I'd love to go check myself into a clinic and fix this, but I'm not willing to leave my children, nor is my husband willing to let me leave my children. I'm considering Overeaters Anonymous, but the thought of sitting around in a circle and saying, "Hi, I'm Nikki, and I'm a compulsive overeater" doesn't appeal to me. I'm skeptical about 12 step programs, although I know they've worked for many people. Maybe I'm scared. I don't think I'm in denial at this point, since I'm pretty convinced I finally know what my problem is.

Having always been fiercely independent, I want to fix this by myself, but I'm at a loss for how to go about it. I read everything I can find. I try everything that makes sense that I can think of. The only thing that has really changed since deciding I was a compulsive overeater/hoarder is that now I'm more aware of what I'm doing when I do it, and I now have a rational excuse for my actions: "It's a disorder ... I can't help it."

I'd love to go see Dr Phil and get his help, if only he could guarantee that no one I've known in the past 25 years would see the show, and K wouldn't be upset. K's intensely private and doesn't want any member of his family on TV, whether airing dirty laundry or competing for a million dollars. So here I am, compulsively staying up way past my bedtime as I so often do, unable to tear myself away from whatever I'm doing that makes me happy, thinking about what snacks there are in the kitchen, thinking about American Idol ...

I confess, I just stopped writing to go read the American Idol boards to see who was voted off last night, since my DVR went crazy halfway through the show and recorded nothing but skippy digital weirdness. Carrie and Bo continue to the finals, as I thought. It doesn't even matter who wins now, because they'll both get contracts and do great. I love them both, but I'm really leaning toward Bo these days.

Anyway ...

Every single night I go to bed with every intention of being perfect tomorrow. Getting up early, going for a morning walk, planning a menu and sticking to it, cleaning more than I usually manage to clean, actually going through some of these compulsively hoarded boxes. Every Sunday night, I look forward to Monday, because it's not only a new day, but a whole new week. Not only is there a clean section on the slate, but a whole clean slate! It's very exciting and inspiring for me. Obviously, I have yet to master the perfection I long for, but I'm not giving up yet. There's always tomorrow.