Yeah. It is like having a strait-jacket placed and wrapped tightly around your head, my level of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. That is just the utter truth of the mental matter. It was NEVER about me being smart, or good at writing, or whatever the hell else. Even though, it stands in the way of these things too, and to an extent I cannot really know. It was always ONLY EVER about me getting better from the OCD. My OCD is… I don’t want to entertain it anymore, to be perfectly honest. I know who I am, and what I can do, and how good and decent my mind is. But, I also know just how hardwired in the OCD in me is. I get it, have got that for many, many years. But… how can something so outrageously unruly and mentally scarring take me away from a moment, as well as churn my thoughts around like it’s a washing-machine inside of my head and at FULL-SPEED: 24/7. I wish people saw exactly what I did have to do to survive with this mental illness. I really wish my parents and girlfriend, and brother and sister, too, knew that all I ever wanted, AND NEEDED, is to feel present and to make normal decisions, like any other human-being, really. I know what I am dealing with, but neither can I seem to help it. And, then? Well, it is… the unfairest mental torture I can possibly imagine for anyone. I have it bad, of course I do. But, I also somehow have it so… good?! And that in itself is a rather heartbreaking thing to experience. I wish SO VERY MUCH that… this hadn’t gotten to a stage where it DOES puppeteer my brain. I wish, wish, wish with all of my heart that the rest of my life isn’t to be ruled by this illness. Because it is truly ruled AND RILED by it. Even if I try as hard as I can. And that is the other worry, too. That I cannot try harder than I have so far.