It's been a bit of a bumpy few days. I haven't gotten to the point where I was in genuine panic, so I suppose that's a good thing. I have felt a couple of anxiety attacks trying to start on me, but I managed to squash them in their tracks by simply taking a few deep breaths and telling myself, "It's fine. Stop making a big deal of things. Nothing is wrong." I realize that I've gotten myself into a number of messes in my life by thinking with my emotions instead of my head, and while as a right-brained (left-handed) person I will to an extent always be emotional and a little impetuous, I really need to will myself to listen to the logical side of my head more often. I know there's sense in there somewhere. I just haven't used it much.

I've got a lot on my mind lately (aside from the whole fearing I'm a horrible person who's going to turn into a crazy serial killer or something thing). I have been planning to move back home to Massachusetts from Florida, but my car has put a HUGE crimp in my plans by breaking down and costing me $700 to repair. At this point, I know the car is not going to last much longer. I'm thinking about what I'd need as far as a new one, trying to put aside my childish desire to buy another sporty little convertible like the one I've got now, and thinking more in terms of something a little more rugged and resilient that will do well handling in the tough winters of New England. My parents offered to give me flat out their old SUV, which is a very generous offer. I don't like it a whole lot, but it runs well, and it'll handle better in the ice and snow than my car ever could. At first, I put the suggestion down right away when my mom brought it up. Now, though, I'm thinking it might be a good idea. Chalk one up to sensible thinking.

The thoughts are still there, try as I might to ignore them. I love paperback mystery/thriller novels, and right now I'm reading one where a therapist is actually secretly a pedophile and planning to abduct and kill a little girl. He talks about how he tried for years to conform to society norms and such, while harboring his secret desires. Naturally, I started freaking out that that's what I am – some sick-in-the-head psycho just trying to conform. I've never really had the pedophilia fear, but I've always been afraid that I'd turn into some kind of heartless criminal who did awful things to people. I'm sure this sounds nuts, but I actually googled the term "sociopath," and the disorder it described sounds nothing like me. That does give me some comfort, but just the fact that I would even look it up to try to prove something with myself doesn't really help me think I'm any less nuts. The fact that my emotions are numbed by my fear doesn't really help things. I'm constantly testing myself, thinking, "If someone in my family were threatened by some madman, could I help them? If Person X died tomorrow, would I care?" The thing that frightens me is that I don't feel anything. Not when I imagine things, anyway. I can't seem to elicit any kind of reaction out of myself. I tend to think, though, that if it came down to it, if something happened that forced me out of the horrendous world that lies in my own head, I'd know exactly what to do and how to react.

I have a cousin-in-law who has OCD, and blogs openly about it. I admire that he's able to take his struggle public. I don't think I could ever really do it, because I don't want that to be all people see or think of when they look at me. I really haven't approached him about the extent of his demons, what he's been through, and what works for him, simply because based on what he's written, his journey has been very different from mine. I'm also afraid that if I confided in him that I'm suffering from OCD, too, he might tell his wife (my cousin), and she might tell someone else, and before long my whole family will know. He talks about mental illness, and that's a term I've always been afraid of. It's a term used to describe people in court trying to get out of criminal charges, or people in catatonic states in institutions. Not me, right? Not an average person who goes to a job and spends time with her family and goes out with her friends.

More than anything in my life, I want to get through this. I'm accepting the harsh truth that I'll never be "cured" of it. It's just going to have to be part of me, something I live with. But what does recovery mean? To what extent can my life be "normal?" I lived for years unscathed… and now that it attacks me on a yearly basis, I wonder how much worse it's going to get. Will it get to a point where it haunts me every day without mercy? Or will I be able to banish it to a place where it rises up and I can easily swat it away? I know everyone has their struggles to get through, but I don't know if I've got the strength to battle this one for the rest of my life.