If you think I’m clean because I have OCD, you need to see my feet. If you think I’m bothered about germs, you should see where I’ve put my fingers.
Ha! You should see where I’ve put my whole body.
OCD isn’t always about washing hands. OCD attacks us with the things we fear the most.
I struggle with intrusive thoughts and obsessions, violent images, paranoid delusions and all kinds of ridiculous notions I really don’t want in my head. Many people experience these issues from time to time, but for a member of the OCD club they are all-consuming and relentless. In an attempt to nullify the intrusive thought I perform rituals, or compulsions, which are intense repetitive routines, usually in my mind. Because the majority of my compulsions are mental, you can’t always see me perform them.
But this blog is not a lesson in psychology, I’m not going to explain the particulars of the disorder – type OCD into a search engine and take it from there. This story is about me and my personal fight with the disorder, and if you think I’m doing it wrong, I probably am.
Against a psychologists’ wishes, I gave my OCD a personality, an avatar in my mind. To me, my OCD is a crow, an OCDemon born in the boiler room of my mind. He picks and pulls at my brain like it’s a bowl of worms and when he is not eating me alive, he is circling above me, cawing like his black wings are on fire.
Like a birthmark or third nipple, he is a special part of me, and wherever I go Crow comes too. My mission each day is to convince myself he doesn’t matter.
His job is to slowly peck me to death.
Welcome to ocDETOUR. An anxiety-ridden fistfight with mental illness.
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ocDETOUR 