about traci foust

9 Dec

“Foust writes like a possessed Lynda Barry” – D.A. Kodelenko, San Diego City Beat Magazine

Traci Foust is the Author of the newly released book Nowhere Near Normal- a Memoir of OCD (Simon and Schuster/Gallery) acclaimed by National Public Radio, the San Diego Union Tribune and Marie Claire. Her work has appeared in several journals including The Nervous Breakdown and the Southern Review.

Her recent short story, The Cruelty of Children, was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and will appear in the Fall 2011 issue Echo Ink Review and the Trey Stories Award Series.

She is currently working on her second book We’re Taking you to a Place Where you can Get Some Rest, A cautionary collection of essays on mixing Vicodin with vodka and why dating your psychiatrist isn’t always the best way to get your own prescription pad. She lives in a place where her love of cigarettes and bacon is frowned upon.

the cruelty of children

25 Nov

preview to short fiction appearing in Echo Ink Review (new issue comes out next week)

It wasn’t a dead baby. It wasn’t cancer. There was nothing to be sad about. For God’s sake they should be celebrating. He says he believes she is right, but he can’t stop thinking about the teeth and the hair. There were also bones. The doctor said that’s not unheard of in a teratoma tumor. Not even the worst he had seen. He told James about the one a few years back, took it from a forty-five-year-old man’s scrotum—same as James. He said the tumor had hands. It looked as if it were reaching right up at him. “It wanted a little hug,” he said.

She says the doctor is a jackass. “He shouldn’t have told you that. Why did he have to show you pictures of the damn thing? He should’ve just sewn you up and ended it there. We didn’t need to see those pictures.”

He is still a little out of it when they drive home. Floaty. He closes his eyes and sees two balloons filled with helium. One goes up. The other won’t ascend. Both of them are foil sacks on the same string.

“Do you think it’s going to rain?” He asks. His stitches itch. Outside the sky of a Los Angeles winter is all broken jars of terra cotta. When he swallows he feels the place where the anesthesiologist pulled out the plastic breathing tube. A plastic tube, he thinks. For one whole hour a tube did the breathing for him.

His wife never answers about the rain.

In the night he is afraid of something that isn’t there.  He paces and sits, paces and sits, tries to make himself bored by looking out the window. “I should get to that back lawn this weekend,” he says. But that’s just to put something in the air. Later, there are more words to take something out of it.

She asks him if he’s in pain.

He says he’s not.

“Then come and watch some television with me.”

In bed he tells himself this: What they took from his body wasn’t alive. It wasn’t really alive. He thinks about the picture. “And see this? The surgeon had said. He leaned on James’ bed, adjusted the screen of his camera, cupping his hand against the fluorescent lights of recovery room. “That’s three strands of hair. There’s that bone piece I was telling you about. Here’s the teeth. Three teeth.”

When James moved his leg he felt the wad of gauze where his right testicle had been. There was a smell in the room like the inside of a toolbox.

Now his sleep is damp and cut up. For a long time he will dream of marsupials.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Echo-Ink-Review/185522154801221

the fastest way down

5 Sep

A Story of my Mother Almost Ending

Thank you for your comments on the preview. This story has been accepted by Emry’s Journal and will appear in their Spring 2012 issue

Traci Foust is the Author of Nowhere Near Normal- A Memoir of OCD

msnbc-today show website interview by joan raymond

25 Jul

By Joan Raymond, TODAY.com contributor

When other young girls worried about boys and lip gloss, Traci Foust worried about worrying. She also worried about swallowing pencils and knives and whether she would inadvertently burn down her house, kill her family, be sent to an orphanage and then be murdered herself.

For nearly three decades, Foust has lived with a diagnosis of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

To help calm her fears, she pulled her hair, snapped her fingers after hearing the word “God,” made sure her collection of Catholic saint statues always faced north, and forced her cat to scratch her.

In her memoir, “Nowhere Near Normal” (Simon & Schuster 2011), Foust, 39, chronicles her OCD journey as a child and young adult. She talks to Today.com about what it’s like living with OCD then and now.

Q: Popular media often portrays people with OCD as simply quirky. What’s the reality?

A: The reality is that you have a hard time holding down a job; you have a hard time being with people. We’re afraid of a lot of things, and we’re irritated most of the time because of over-sensory issues. For me, it’s bright lights, noise and a lot of people.

 

Q: So OCD is still a struggle?

A: I don’t want anyone to get the idea that everything is sunshine and rainbows. I still have to control the OCD with therapy and medication.

Q: It’s 2011, but according to studies there’s still a huge stigma attached to mental health issues. Do you feel stigmatized?

A: Absolutely. I hear people say: “Oh my God, you’re in your thirties, you should be off your meds.” People can make you feel like a loser because of the medication, without even knowing how the drugs work. Some people think you should be able to control these (mental health) problems on your own. If someone can control what they believe is a mental health issue on their own I guarantee they don’t have a clinical diagnosis.

Q: Do you remember when you first felt, well, different?

A: I think if you ask this question to anyone with OCD, they’ll tell you the same thing: I always felt weird; I always felt something wasn’t right. I don’t even remember ever being completely relaxed or being able to have fun in the moment. There was always a continuous running dialogue of “what-ifs.”

Q: When were you diagnosed?

A: At about age 12. I was misdiagnosed as schizophrenic before that because a neurologist misunderstood me. When he asked me if I heard voices, I told him my mom and sister talked about me behind my back. He told my mom I was schizophrenic. That set off a lot of drama. About six months later my psychiatrist stepped in and said it was OCD, not schizophrenia.

Q: So that was better?

A: It felt like a relief. I was given all kinds of pamphlets to read. It comforted me that kids my age had this, too. One of the pamphlets said that teens spent 83 percent of time worried about what other people think of them. That helped. One of the things they tell you in group therapy is that nobody is looking at you. They’re worried about what people are thinking about them. That’s such a release.

Q: When did you go on medication?

A: Not until my early 20s. I was put on Buspar and Prozac, and I felt like an entirely different person. I was able to read two gigantic books without worrying about germs or worrying about worrying about germs.

Q: Do you have any advice for parents who are concerned about their kids?

A: The most important thing I can tell any parent that suspects anxiety issues is that for everything that you hear from your child there is something horrific that your child isn’t telling you because they’re embarrassed by it. Parents have to say: I feel there is more you want to me tell me, and when you’re ready, know that nothing is going to make me think you’re a bad person.

Q: What’s life like today?

A: I still have a fear of fire and I don’t go out in the sun. I still have rituals, like checking under the beds, and checking the windows.

Q: What about relationships?

A: I’ve been married three times and have two wonderful sons. I have a great boyfriend now, who understands me. Anxiety issues make you feel like you have to be in control of everything. I don’t blame my OCD for failed relationships. I blame my lack of knowledge on what a relationship was supposed to be.

Q: I’ve had people tell me that they’re glad they have a particular mental health disorder since it makes them more creative, able to see the world differently.

A: I don’t know about that. I wonder what life would be like if I was diagnosed earlier or if I got medication earlier. There are times when I would love to go to the mall or movies without having a pill in my purse.

Q: In your book you talk about problems with germs and lunch meat and your fear of killing your family if the lunch meat wasn’t wrapped properly. What’s it like making a sandwich today?

A: No one goes hungry. It just takes me longer and there’s a lot of plastic and counter wiping. I’d be lost without antibacterial wipes and a dust buster.

Joan Raymond is a freelance journalist whose work has appeared on msnbc.com, Newsweek, the New York Times, MORE and Woman’s Day.

Read complete interview here.

my new column in funny not slutty (fns)

30 May

I’ll Stay Here and Guard the Knife Drawer- An Editorial of  Vicodin, Vodka and Vaginas

I’d like to congratulate everyone for making it through Mental Health month. Those of you whose court dates have been pushed up another week, you know who you are. Besides forgetting all that admittance-is-the-first-step nonsense just in time for Cinco De Mayo, it seems we now have our very own thirty-one days to celebrate the inability to make healthy decisions and produce serotonin. So let’s take a moment to back away from the thrill of marking the night the condom broke with another Mother’s Day card and honor one of the most exalted days of Spring.

I’m talking of course about May 4th: National Renewal Day.

Snopes it if you must, this jubilee of all things expiring is a real holiday. We’re talking about an entire day to not only remember your risk-free trial of the Shake Weight is about to expire— along with your hopes of cougaring your way back into your old high school tank tops—but a legitimate excuse to run to the pharmacy for a medication refill.

As if we needed any.

read the entire article at funny not slutty dot com (Support women in comedy. Tell a friend about FunnyNotSlutty and we’ll show you our wits)

http://www.funnynotslutty.com/

11 Reasons Why Youre Not Getting Laid in Southern California

Think only men have a hard time finding romance under the perfect sun of Southern California? Despite what reality dating shows say, women are also at a challenge when it comes to meeting someone who doesn’t start every sentence with, “Dude, right?”

Here’s some quick time saving interpretations to real profiles of men looking for love/therapy/sick waves in the Golden State. (Sorry I can’t be more global on this. Apparently, after filling out my starter questions to purposely make it look like I was interested in anything that moves, it was decided 75 miles exceeds my how-far-are-you-willing-to-drive-for-true-love limit.)

1. Kevin 34, X-Ray Tech, Orange CountyI enjoy long walks on the beach or just hanging out with friends  = Hope you like sitting at home in front of the TV. As you can see by my lack of interest in anything, we’ll be doing a lot of it.

2. Skylar 31, Consultant, San Diego: Im into hiking, camping, rock climbing, skiing, bicycling, kayaking and anything else to keep me connected with the outdoors =  Does K2 have a candlelight dinner section? If not we can always use my tent and waterproof notebook to watch clips of Man vs. Wild while we eat the homemade jerky I make from recycled backpacks and my own sweat.

3. Corey 29, Self Employed, Manhattan Beach: I guess you could say I’m kind of a beach bum. I love the ocean and I’ve surfed every day since I was twelve = See Also: fun evening with Kevin the long beach walker. Toss in a flannel Hoodie which doubles as my towel, the inability to stay awake after 10pm and me being, “stoked” about everything. Except whatever it is you want to do.

4. Salvador 30, Personal Weight Trainer, Oceanside: I love a woman who can take herself to the limits. My line of work involves pushing people further than they ever thought they could go, so Im looking for someone who understands this concept and loves staying in shape as much as I do  =  Our intimate activities can best be summed up by the Steroidian Truth—sometimes  a shriveled up dick is just a shriveled up dick. I meant it when I said you’ll have to take yourself to the limits. Hope you’re into veins.

Read More at Funny Not Slutty dot com

Traci Foust is the author of the acclaimed new memoir NOWHERE NEAR NORMAL (Simon and Schuster/Gallery Books) Scroll down to see the NPR interview, reviews, pics and the Amazon link

Review from Sarah Handel- NPR Talk of the Nation (AP)

5 May

Tweeted Review from Sarah Handel- NPR Talk of the Nation

Mar 28 2011
1 note

Nowhere Near Normal, by Traci Foust

I read this book last weekend. First, this is awesome because I was home this weekend, not traveling (a rarity), and I read an entire book. It’s not hard for me to do, in terms of words and page counts, but I’m just never home for a full weekend, with the time to do so. But even on weekends when I do have the time to take a book from cover to cover, I often don’t. Sometimes a book is just a bummer, and finishing it is too much like work.

This is not that book. I have always had a few OCD-ish tendencies, which made Foust’s memoir appeal to me when I pulled it from its mailer envelope at work. But she’s the real deal, and her writing captures that truth with such twisty-turny clarity (it sounds impossible, but in OCD land, it definitely isn’t) that you zip right through the pages. It’s not about watching a freak show, though there are moments that made me gasp with disbelief. It’s about understanding how a child’s mind can go so awry, how thoughts you know aren’t normal — however loaded that word may be — can take over when your brain’s chemistry isn’t enough to correct them.

There’s no happy ending, but Foust impressed me profoundly. She writes beautifully, the kind of prose that you tear through because it’s so seamless, till that one perfect turn of phrase catches you, nearly breathless. Her ability to recall her past is impressive (my own memories of life as say, a second-grader, are shadowy at best). The way she tells the sometimes-horrific stories of her childhood and adolescence is brutal, but you end up believing the stories are both accurate, and important. Recommended.

On sale now wherever books are sold (follow the Amazon link and look inside!)

Seattlest Book Review:

3 May

Book Review: Traci Foust Talks OCD, Family Fun and Burning Eyeballs in Nowhere Near Normal

By Heather Logue on Apr 29, 2011

nowhere.jpg While the majority of California youth were skipping rope and collecting beetles, Traci Foust was scrubbing her hands with Ajax until her skin peeled off, and locking her best friend in a sweltering car, wondering if maybe she would kill her. Yes, these activities are…different, but that is the beauty of Foust’s memoir, Nowhere Near Normal, its utterly distinctive take on childhood. For any of us who have ever turned the car around on the way to work because we’re positive the stove could miraculously have turned itself on (ahem, just once or twice), learning about a girl’s struggle growing up with severe OCD is captivating. The story unfolds with the Foust parents divorcing—the family splitting apart into two locations, and Traci really beginning to struggle with the compulsions and anxieties that make her “abnormal” and drive her family insane. Who needs to unplug all of the appliances every night and lick the electrical sockets? Traci does, because otherwise her family may burn to death in their beds. This frank, strange, and unapologetic logic is what makes Traci a likable (though complicated) narrator. The story leads us through her increasingly complex relationships with her mother and sister, and through the haze of their cigarette smoke we see how lonely it is to be such a different kind of girl. The glance at various approaches to child psychology also intrigues—especially when seeing which professional methods actually have any affect on Traci’s recovery.
As Traci continues to grow up the story electrifies with things at a breaking point with her newly, and zealously, religious mother—culminating in Traci’s impromptu trip to Santa Cruz, a land of sex, drugs, and poetry. Though she eventually returns home, Traci still feels lost, and when Part Three of the memoir opens with news of her mother’s death (a subject touched upon much too briefly)…things seems bleak. The lack of emphasis on her family connectivity towards the end of the book is my only complaint—it feels a little insufficient in contrast to the palpable emotions early on.
But Nowhere Near Normal does inspire in the end, with a conclusion as distinctive as the entertaining and hilarious voice that has been leading us on this trip. Foust has a knack for making you love her, even if her character isn’t always likeable, and even a description of how her great-grandmother tried to burn her own eyeballs with matches is somehow lyrical.
As Edgar Allen Poe (her favorite poet growing up) once wrote, “From childhood’s hour I have not been as others were; I have not seen as others saw; I could not bring my passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken my sorrow; I could not awaken my heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone.”
And really, I couldn’t sum it up any better.

On Sale Now Anywhere Books are Sold (or click on the Amazon Link)

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