So this is my first post; I guess they're supposed to have some therapeutic value and I hope it does. I've never really shared anything with anyone whose not my therapist about OCD or my life, but I'm going to try to be completely honest about things. No minimizing, no downtalking. Just the truth.
I'm feeling vulnerable right now. Not vulnerable to anything in particular, just generally vulnerable. Not hopeless, but kind of despairing, regretting, wishing things had been different. I'm remembering what it was like before I got sick. I feel like I was normal in 8th grade; a little high-strung, a little nerdy, but overall a pretty smart kid with blonde hair and a bright future in front of him. I loved my family, loved baseball, liked music. I trusted people and I trusted the future.
Then things fell apart. By the end of 9th grade, I was full-blown OCD symptoms, and everyone in my school knew it. 10th grade was the worst year of my life, as I not only had visible symptoms, but also got physically sick with an intestinal illness, saw my grades slip, and lost whatever friends I had up to that point. Looking back, I can see why. I was a fucking weirdo; not just with OCD-related tics, but just my personality. I'm sure it was influenced by OCD and intrusive thoughts, but my whole world revolved around religion, compulsions, and myself. I lived within myself, only coming out to perform some compulsive ritual to the cross on the wall. It was sick, and I can't get over how weird it was. Was that really me doing that? Is that the same me that I am now? How has this influenced the rest of my life?
I'm also feeling angry, mostly at the people who ran my school, the "brothers of Mary." Fuck them. They weren't bad guys, most of them, but they were ignorant, and proudly ignorant. For them, 2,000 year old stories were the basis of reality. Not science, not knowledge, but stories, and they were God's truth. Is it any wonder, really, that one kid became really sick with religious OCD? You put it out there, a god who punishes and dies. A god who suffers. A god who loves you intimately but sees your sins. He's everywhere, and you can't escape him. The cross is on a wall in every classroom. How could I not see it? How could I not address it? But they didn't have the means to treat me; no psychologist, no intervention. They just told me a couple of times how much I was missing out on, how much time I was losing during exams. Even in the middle of class, even in front of everyone. How embarrassing.
And at my parents, a little bit. Not as much, but come on! Wake up. Your kid is this sick, and you can't figure out the reason? You can't figure out that it's the environment at his school? It doesn't matter what he says, if he says he's fine. He's not fine! Pull me out of the school before it's too late. Now it's too late. The damage is done. I'm defective now, and I will be for the rest of my life. How can I ever live this down? How can I ever change what happened? How can I ever realize my potential?
I can't ever go back in time, but I want to. I want to so bad, and I want to go to public school. I want a normal life, with friends, and girls, and books, and normalcy. I've never wanted anything more.