The Night Amadeus Set Off My OCD
The conditions were ripe.
Last week I went to see a production of Amadeus and almost had an OCD spiral in the middle of the theatre.
But first, the outfit.
I didn’t take a photo of my outfit on the night I saw Amadeus because I was depressed. Here’s another one instead.
This cashmere/cotton polo sweater and Adidas track pants combo has been the outfit of the winter for me. It’s comfortable, but I still feel like I tried. (Bed unmade, dirty mirror, sorry.)
Onto the anxiety.
My favorite, movie, if I have to choose one, is the 1984 Best Picture Winner, Amadeus.
Period piece with over-the-top costumes and wigs? ✓
Two dudes catfighting over a backdrop of Mozart music? ✓
This early and formative memory of Constanze’s giant knockers? ✓
I digress. When I see the Pasadena Playhouse is doing a production of the Amadeus play that the movie is based off of, I know I have to go see it. My theatre-loving neighbor scores us ‘pay what you can tickets’ and we’re off on a Tuesday night.
A few relevant facts about my physical and mental state that night:
I’m on day 2 of being unemployed.
I’ve just been through my first round of IVF and my doctor has put me on hormonal birth control in preparation for round two. Historically hormonal birth control makes me feel crazy and depressed which is why I haven’t taken it in 10 years. Predictably, I feel crazy and depressed.
I am sick with a bad cold.
I have near constant low-level joint pain from a psoriatic arthritis flare up.
I should also mention I’ve lived with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder for my entire life. It tends to show up, well, always, but especially when my mental and physical defense are down. So the night of the play, the conditions are EXTREMELY RIPE for my OCD to make a fiery entrance. And it does after intermission.
A trio of operatic singers are singing a beautiful piece from The Marriage of Figaro. The spiral begins.
Wow, these people are experts at what they do, I think. They knew they wanted to be opera singers, and they’re incredible at it. The lead actor, he’s been doing this for decades. He has so many impressive credits. He’s an expert at his craft and is delivering this monologue like a pro.
The play itself is starting to fade into the background. It’s now more like a light visual setting for the show going on in my head.
What the FUCK is wrong with you, Natalie? You haven’t committed yourself to any one thing.
You’re not an expert in anything. Jack of all trades, master of none.
Why didn’t you ever choose one thing? You don’t even know what you want to do with your career. Literally everyone is doing more than you.
How good are you even at your job? What do you even DO? You have nothing to show for your career.
Imagine if you’d committed to something hardcore since you were 18. Now it’s too late. What are you even good at?
What the fuck are you going to do for your next job? Will anyone want to hire you? What do you even want to do? Oh my God, I have no skills.
I’ve lost about 5 minutes of the play.
The intrusive thoughts took over and started to spin. I’m feeling the panic rise. Fuck I can’t panic in front of my neighbor and in this crowded theater.
I’ve been down this road many, many times before and if I don’t do something panic is where I’ll end up. Combined with the relentless rumination, my Tylenol is starting to wear off. I’m becoming way too conscious of my congested breathing under my N-95 mask.
Meanwhile, I’m vaguely aware the actor playing Salieri has launched into an impressively long monologue.
This guy is an expert at his craft. You’re not an expert in anything. What do you even do? Oh God, what do I do? Am I good at anythi—
Time to break out the tools. Discipline time. We’re going to drop the rumination. Me and OCD, together.
First I’m pausing, accepting my feelings. Tired, sick, anxious, scared. I’m having the thought that I’m trying to figure out/analyze my self-worth. This is a familiar OCD theme for me. I don’t need to manage or control those thoughts or feelings. They can be there.
Hand is on heart, breathing in.
Those thoughts and feelings can be there as I sit here breathing. They can be there while I look at the kind of ‘meh’ actor portraying Mozart. Those thoughts and feelings can be there while I’m getting bored during this ending dragging on. They can be there as the new thought crystallizes that I like the movie way better than this production.
Okay crisis averted. I feel 10% calmer. I can work with that. As always, the pausing helps. I keep practicing dropping the resistance to panic. Panic, you are welcome here. That also helps, to surrender.
Now I’m writing this a week after the fact and I’m feeling mentally and physically much better. New OCD stuff comes up, but it feels more manageable today. It’s always an ebb and flow, as is everything in life.
Maybe writing this was a bad idea. Who wants to read my neurotic ramblings? What’s the point of me writing this Substack? What if I don’t keep up with it? What if it comes off as vain that I’m writing about my thoughts? Okay, that can all be there too.
And in the words of Antonio Salieri, which I can now laugh at given how on-the-nose the literal monologue was that he was giving while I had my spiral:
“I speak for all the mediocrities in the world! I am their champion! I am their patron saint!”
Thanks for sharing, solidarity in the OCD journey <3