You push yourself. It’s like a brand new life and also a very, very first one. You realise, suddenly, that it always should have made sense to you for people to be going about their day minus excruciating and never-ending, not to mention nerve-shredding anxiety. That has taken.. yeah, thirty five years for me to actually finally get to understand it for its full and undoubtedly glorious worth. To be able to not only attempt to meet your potential regards the things that you might be capable of achieving, but to also be able to look forward with vigour in going about happily training your agile mind to do the things that might at some stage feel too hard is almost beyond words. However, thankfully it isn’t for me, which I will always be phenomenally grateful both of and for. I’m a little bit of a conundrum regarding what the actual level of my OCD did to me, in that I can never seem to truly explain what it can do as a stand-alone disorder of exceptional menace. But what is really cool now is that people appear to see me as a “very simple person”. Imagine that!! Because, put plainly, I have no bullshit at hand and want to not have to cause myself any heart-ache anymore. And, as a result, that must clearly mean that my mannerisms are looking to do and say things in the simplest and most honest form achievable. On you go – you take what happened, you continue to persist, if and maybe when the OCD might try and wreak havoc again. Because these things don’t just disappear. You smile, you relax, and take yourself through it, as you’ve been doing all these decades so far. Knowing that yours is a good, good and dependable brain now, and that for a long, long while it was just thrown unfathomably off-kilter. You get to a place where you feel perfectly inconsequential. I could write forever, and now I think I just fucking might. It’s beyond comfort – it’s everything, and then some 🙂