I have never written a blog before and I don’t think anyone will be all that interested in reading it, but I figure if it is a way I can face my OCD then I may as well give it a shot.
I have had OCD my whole life, even as a child. I wasn’t diagnosed until around 15 and, unfortunately, a diagnoses is not a cure. It just meant that my invisible demon had been given and name and a face, but I still had to battle it, day in and day out. Some days are alright, some days I can cope. Then other days I feel like I am standing on the edge of the earth and wondering if I can possibly survive another second. When anxiety hits it is hell on earth. With OCD is means never knowing truth. An ultimate, nonnegotiable Truth does not exist in the mind of someone with OCD. When I am a slave to my thoughts I cannot be sure of anything. I can not tell you with any certainty that I am not a pedophile, a racist, a pervert, anything. There is not structural identity in which to hold on to. I envy those who can say for sure who they are. It is a gift that not many people are given.
OCD isn’t always what people think it means. OCD is leaving class in the middle of a lecture to go to the bathroom because you suddenly find you need a place to be alone with your thoughts, a place to take a deep breath and calm yourself. It is lying to your friends about why you do not want to see a certain movie because explaining to them that seeing it might send you into a downward spiral of anxiety will not be understood. It is feeling guilt, all the time, for things no one would think twice about. It is the inability to think that you can never be truly happy because OCD will never allow that to happen. It is a disease. A curse. A flaw. An intruder. A cross to bear all the time.
Medication and therapy can help, but it will always be there. Sometimes I wonder who I would be without OCD. I wonder if all that energy and time I spent worrying could have been used for something else. I think of all the opportunities I turned down out of fear, even the fear of fear. I think of days when my own thoughts stopped me from living my life. For so long I have been (and sometimes still am) a slave to my mind. I think of years of self-loathing and crying and feeling like a broken doll wanting to be fixed. I think of the strain I have often put on my loved ones who want to help but never knew how. I want to be free of OCD and know I can never be and the thought tears me up inside.