The silence of a mind minus rumination is, for anyone, let alone an ocd sufferer, quite a troublesome thing in its own strange and rare way. You are doing things the right way because, well, no one is supposed to be plaguing their own mind with an onslaught of inundated thoughts and fears and worries. No one, yet somehow that is what it is used to, your particular mind. And therefore it tries to drag you back to where, sadly enough, it kinda belongs. Had belonged for a very very long time. That’s a point wherein it kind of goes beyond trusting oneself, that’s rather the point wherein… you have to let your mind relax. Let all that you have done and continue to do steady its ship. Strange. Significantly mind boggling because, well, again, you’re not used to this at all. And yet, you are being dragged, if somewhat, thank Christ, somewhat softly back into place by that lifetime-engrained imbalance, which led to a diagnosis of ocd. Now, that is… ahh, it’s way way way beyond.. I’ve no clue what to say. Like a tug of war, wherein one part you’re comfortably fine and, what’s more, equipped to take on anything, and the other part, you’re basically a walking talking ticking time bomb inside of your mind, even if your nearest and dearest think you’re absolutely fine. There can surely be no more disgustingly disgruntled and decimating a disorder as ocd at its ramped up highest level of asphyxiation. And who gets a front-row seat to the shit-show since the age of eleven while simultaneously trying to push a literary career?

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