Today is not good... I feel there are so many words that they flow too fast for even the speediest hand to type. In the loss of these words I find emotional pain, exhaustion and a sadness at steadily losing faith. All of which is energy sapping. I want to write something positive, to veer away from the dark crevices inside but then this would not be a blog of truth. Not so long ago I took an entire year out of studying to embark on an intensive course of residential Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT).Within this time I learned that my constant smile did nobody any favours. I thought if others knew just how miserable I truly was they would leave me in a second. Who wants to be surrounded by negativity? Worse still, I believed by not smiling I might make others feel as bad as myself. Later I might share my review of these sessions and how I learned to see emotional expression differently, however I guess in writing this blog elements of these old insecurities have returned.
As a fan of quotes perhaps it is easier to take Nike's advice and 'just do it'? ... One ...two...
I have existed with OCD almost my entire life. It is much easier to define the obsessions (persistent intrusive unwanted- and may i insert 'terrifying'- thoughts) which began as a deep fear that my family would die and with time the death fears dissolved into a one that they might get sick in some way-in any way. At the root is a severe emetophobia, where I am extremely scared of vomit. There! Even saying the word is incredibly difficult and I fear doing so will make it happen- so moving swiftly along...
Rather like hungry leopards, my compulsions (actions taken to reduce distress caused by obsessions) seem to like changing their spots but these days it feels as if someone is watching me and telling me what to do. How to speak, what to say, what not to say (at my worst I can remain mute for days) whether to move (I have been frozen in the same position for hours despite intense pain & run accross the road without checking traffic).The number one rule has always been this 'do not speak about your illness to anyone' making it rather hard to seek help & extremely scary writing this blog. I do these things because I fear if I do not people will get sick. It is that simple. During one hospital stay they diagnosed me with 'a psychotic episode' which remains debatable. My 'head' as I call it, directed me to squeeze my then anorexic body under the lounge table and not speak to anyone. Another day I moulded into a tiny ball at the corner wall of the phone booth. I wouldn't budge (couldn't budge) despite the nurses threatening 'We will send your Mum home and tell her you don't want her to visit', which simply reactivated the trauma experienced at school when bullied by a teacher (another story).
For some reason the symptoms are elevated when living independently, perhaps due to the extreme separation anxiety disorder I have pretty much overcome. Since being home things have been better, but outside these walls I will only eat specific food from specific places and will go hungry if these things are unavailable. There are issues with cleaning cutlery using boiling kettle water and if I get burned I often have to burn myself again. I never feel clean after cleaning, a shower & change of clothes is frequently necessary, sometimes throwing clothes away because even washing them multiple times will not get rid of the germs. I recall a time when the thing in my head told me to take an overdose of medication to avoid others becoming ill, I negotiated with it and took just one extra pill but came very close. During my University years I would leave my flat in the early hours of morning. There were two flights of quite steep stairs before the front door and a set of stone ones before the pavements began. Of course i had to skip several steps and was not allowed to turn the light on (my heads rules). In complete darkness I slipped four steps before the second flight and fell to the bottom, but apart from jarring my back I was unscathed. A frequent situation was this. Each evening I walked to Tescos (other supermarkets are available) for my daily tea of cheese & onion sandwiches (or pasty, or pasta, but always the same three options for me), crisps & a banana. I would have my bag of food and telephone my Mum because I was 'allowed' to do that at that time of day. On my way home my head would say 'just keep on walking until I say you can stop & go home'. So I would. It was usually dark & the streets where I lived were not the safest but the prevention of illness far outweighs the risk of getting attacked in my world. I would be exhausted, hungry, have a shed load of deadlines & yes I was scared. Other nights I would head to the beach, stare at the sea and consider walking in until swept to oblivion, or once again walk headlong into darkness half wishing to have my life taken.
So you see, OCD is far more varied than others frequently imagine.
Yet despite the torture it inflicts and the huge chunks of life it has erased (more on that another day) a large part of me is resistant to entering full on into fighting against it. My captor has become captivating...and I don't like it. This has to change... the question is... how? "It won't" It says... and of course right now, I listen.
The battle continues yet this entry concludes and I leave you as I will from now on, with a rather appropriate quote...
"Life Begins at the end of your comfort zone" ~Neale Donald Walsch~
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