So, I made a new friend through my boyfriend’s best friend.She had OCD, just like mine- same fears, same compulsions- and hers even began at the same age that mine did. But now she’s fine. So fine, in fact, that she’s going to medical school. Daily, she works with biohazardous material, in microbiology, but just 6 years ago she was JUST LIKE ME, terrified of blood, disease, and contamination…………………I was very happy for her and proud of her, and she said that her remission is truly a miracle, and that she has now been able to embrace everything she once feared and obsessed over……..She did everything that I did: talk therapy for years and even some medications that I’ve been on. But why did it work for her and not for me?
…….The only thing that seems to vary between our cases is that she was diagnosed, and therefore treated, earlier than I was. Because she was a younger child, whereas I was 12 when finally diagnosed, perhaps she was more suseptible to treatment………..As happy for her as I am, I found myself feeling jealous in a way that I have never experienced jealousy before. I am not a jealous person, by nature, but I found myself so wanting to have even a glimpse of what she has: the ability to live freely and free from constant fear and discomfort. ……..I felt so sad yesterday, and even today, knowing that someone just like me was able to get better, and yet I am still floundering in this life which often feels more like a sub-existance………….Again, I do not begrudge her her success in any way. I almost cried hearing her speak about what recovery feels like. I didn’t even know that true recovery from OCD was possible or plausible, but there she was, an ex-germiphobe going to med-school.Her story feels as mythical to me as the “Fountain of Youth”, and having discovered that such a thing is possible has shaken me with a strange mixture of sadness, hope, and jealousy, and I am beside myself, wondering: Why not me?