My OCD is centered around emetophobia, which is fear of vomiting. Naturally, contracting the stomach virus would be number one on my “fear hierarchy.” Well, my time finally came and two days ago, I spent the night sweating and trembling on my bathroom floor between heaves. I was able to keep an Ativan down, so I survived, but now, two days later, I am consumed by a desire to compulse. To clean, to sanitize, to Lysol, to throw out everything that may have a germ on it. Why? To keep my fiancé from catching it. Why? Because then my anxiety will last and last and last. Why? Because I can’t trust him to contain the spread of germs. So what? I DONT KNOW. I already had it! I’m the reason the germs are here in the first place! I can’t figure this fear out. The one thing my mind keeps trying to tell me I’m sure of, is that I am not a normal person. You see, I’m a therapist. I’m about to be sitting for my LCSW exam, and I’ll be getting married in the fall. These OCD flare ups make me feel like none of that is possible for me. They make me feel like I will never be loved, or cared for, or respected because my mind is irrational and takes control over me and makes me lose myself. I fight to reclaim myself. I fight to keep my mind and my sanity and my LIFE from this illness that makes me feel like nothing. I felt so good, and now I feel so bad. But the bad is temporary. I am not my illness. I am not the drowning, dark, fear that makes me feel so alone and swallowed and empty. The bad is temporary. The bad is temporary.