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It became plain and obvious to me a very long time ago that no one has any interest in listening to me about my OCD. And why, above all else, is that? But because it will never, ever make any more sense to them than the last time I felt an utter need to bring it up. The reason we bring it up? Because it is literally all that our minds now know, however hard we try with ALL of our willpower and frightful might for that particular thing to not be the very case. And we may well find ourselves having to explain it time and time AND TIME again, but the main reason for this isn’t even always for gaining reassurance or whatever. Well, not all the time anyhow. The real reason for me, anyhow, will have been to do with feeling so mentally brain-locked and trapped and on my own that I simply cannot live without needing help, without needing a listening ear, just needing someone to tell us why this is happening to our brains in the first place. Really, in all of the places. Why? Because it’s an imbalance, but it’s hard and hurts us all the more because the actual level of mental paralysis and anguish that comes along with it and at any given moment is so very extraordinarily surreal regarding its pain and its certainty of disaster occurring. So, an observer might well see a seemingly happy person with friends on a night-out or whatever other social situation that happens as plain as day to them. And they may well also ask themselves, “they can’t be that addled if they are out here tonight and having that much fun.” What else does a sufferer of any mental illness do, though?! Frown non-stop? Because that isn’t even our feelings with all of the OCD lumped in. It’s against EVERYTHING we naturally think and believe, is the imbalance of brain in this instance. Do we stay in our bedroom, trying to get better, which that won’t do either? But with OCD the situation, the amount of people, crowds, surrounding the sufferer doesn’t really make a difference whatsoever, really, when it comes to what they might need to do to eventually feel better. Sure it will often-times up the level of mental anguish all the more for its added busyness happening before us alone. It’s an imbalance of the brain and the rest, however little others might see it, is all happening in our head. It’s… cyclical like nothing else for the sufferer and does make their brain not be able to actually decipher between a normal, unprovoked moment and all-out catastrophe. And all this before anything has happened before our very eyes. So. Our imbalance jumps miles and miles and miles ahead of itself to put out falsely felt flames. Falsely lit flames of UTTER, UTTER doubt and fear. So, then, what IS an actual normal moment of anxiety supposed to feel like for an OCD sufferer? No real clue, as we will have already been placed on dumbfoundingly high levels of mental alert and all of that having begun years and years ago with the imbalance and the rest of it all being this… put plain and honestly, 24/7 horror show happening inside our heads. So there isn’t much of an in-between really for the OCD sufferer, I guess – between a good and a bad day. See, it’s all black and white for them across the board and owing to the strength of that chronic imbalance. A). Everything has to be ok. And B). Everything will be disastrous! How to stop the latter of the two from occurring, and how to… yeah.. that’s it, really. That’s the imbalanced part – deeply engrained – informing us of such a thing. So, yeah, we will look at other people doing their jobs and what-not with their time and otherwise going freely with themselves and not be able to comprehend ONE BIT how to do that as our minds are far too frazzled to do one thing, one step at a time in the first, second, third, fourth, etc, etc. place. Even though we do wish above all else to be able to do these things, of course. For example, I tried to work in a SABA to GO takeaway in Dublin way back and had to apologise to the owner about ten minutes into him trying to show me the ropes because what I was expected to learn came at my addled brain/mind – from those years and years of mental discombobulation and chronically trained-in – as though I was sitting at a cockpit to an airplane and automatically expected to understand everything and RIGHT THEN AND THERE or else… utter catastrophe would occur. That’s how it felt, maybe worse. At least in a pilot’s instance they can at worst stop, take a breath, and step back, whereas an OCD sufferer cannot do that when it comes to their own alerted mind. ALWAYS ON. But I wasn’t flying a plane, obviously, let alone in any real danger. So, yeah, it’s nothing to anyone else observing us other than for them to maybe reply with a helpful: “it’s all in your head, just relax, just teach it to understand this is false anxiety.” That’s utterly understandable, too, as I certainly wouldn’t have a clue what to say to someone else who I cared about and who suffered with OCD other that those exact words maybe, mainly because, well, there’s nothing to worry about until… something crap even happens to somebody and we sure as shit cannot predict that stuff anyhow. So, what about all of the actual GOOD stuff that happens in a sufferer’s day, week, month, etc, etc., huh? We know it’s there, by God do we know it and all the time, but we are too numb and in mental shock and overload to truly partake in any of it. At least I am. So it’s literally akin to lumping someone with a false anxiety in their brain pitched to FULL-BLAST and in a way that somehow gets to feel the exact same for that person as if that thing is happening RIGHT NOW AND ALL THE TIME IN EVERY GIVEN MOMENT FOR THEM. Bombs going off everywhere. People dying left, right, and centre. Etc, etc. All of the above bloodshed depicted there is just an attempt at giving people a visual comparison to OCD’s bombardment for the sufferer. Sure it isn’t happening. Even we can see that. However, our mental imbalance cannot comprehend that ‘simple’ fact. Simple to everyone else, in this instance especially, has never been so… not simple at all. It should be but it ain’t that thing. Not at all. And we are tasked with trying to figure a way to turn that off for ourselves eventually because, well, according to the most qualified and learned doctors the world over, that’s the only known choice we have right now. Maybe there isn’t an off-button for it, the OCD. But, for me if there is any button to go with describing my particular attempt at living comfortably with my OCD so far, then it might get to be called a… diehard ability to NEVER STOP TRYING TO CURE THE INCURABLE-button (and living as decent and as smart and as caring a life as I can besides. AND… to scribble away to my heart’s content, OF COURSE. You don’t pick up a book in the library of a day with the title ‘CURING THE INCURABLE‘ written on the face of it and not know that you’re certainly in a fight with this thing 😊 🙇‍♀️ But I didn’t choose the negative sounding explanations that were bound to always nauseatingly come with it either. The “you could turn milk sour” descriptions that come from my mouth, my mind, even. That’s just… how it is bound to sound on the face of it. I mean, last time I checked it wasn’t about pots of gold underneath rainbows and dancing leprechauns called Sean – the OCD. Even if that is actually kinda precisely how I do naturally see things and with that type of worked-in mindset – a happy-go-lucky attitude and perhaps an utter willingness to see the opportunity in a flaw, wherever that flew might arise from, blah, blah… . By the way, an amazing gig with my brother on Tuesday night in the city was just that for myself and Shane – an amazing gig by amazingly talented musicians. However, if I were to explain JUST what my mind went through amidst those few free hours of a Tuesday night regarding the OCD, no-one would say anything other than, “relax, try and teach your mind to understand that nothing is wrong.” And they may also very well find themselves thinking: “Huh?!?” Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it and that I certainly tried my best to feel like myself all of the way through. A forty-year-old man out with his legendary and ever-supportive brother and choosing to have a few beers and good burgers before catching a great gig. However tricky that evening may have become at times for me is unbearable to have to watch happen. He’s one of my best-friends, is my brother, and all I ever wanna do, all that I ever wanted to do, is to show him just how much I appreciate everything he does for me, and for me to do everything I can do for him in return if needs be, too. That goes for him and Claire, Mom, and Dad, and everyone I know and care deeply about. The real kick in the teeth, though? Knowing that giving them what they really want in my particular case would actually be for me to live extremely well with the OCD 😃 I’m still looking to do the unthinkable with the OCD, of course. And by that? I mean to be able to just sit with it all until it becomes no more than perhaps a little whispering and annoying “what-if” of a murmur, begging to be entertained and, therefore, snowballed. **** that. I just do hope that if people do start to fall away, which of course they will, and rather understandably, have done in the past and owing to this whole thing, that they know that I never, ever did a single thing with all of my might other than to try and be okay with my OCD. I never meant to be any kind of hassle, never meant to be a nuisance to anyone, and certainly never meant to have to watch my own personality be avalanched by a mental disorder so… illogical yet so very swimming in… the parts of a person’s brain that, far as I can see and just about understand enough, need logic to move forward in any progressive and normal way. I’m not driving myself in this thing. I mean, I’m trying to be, but mostly I’m in the passenger seat and praying things don’t collapse around the driver in the driver seat, where my OCD may as well be, for the fallout of mind it gives to a sufferer. It’s Friday night after soccer now. I have my tea, I played really, really well. Put in almost a million percent. But, eventually, the overthinking can of course knock me off course somewhat, when a game of soccer becomes an “everything needs to be ok… or else situation in my head.” The outcomes? Who knows how to explain such a thing, really. Often, I probably do end up playing way better than I ever get to realise. Had a cigarette. That part really is disgusting for me but, also unfortunately, it did become a given over time when living with high level anxiety. Ran home after the game and still have stretches to do. Truth is, maybe I do have to never stop moving to live with this, and if so then I’ll happily do all of the things I wanna do with my time and at the best, most useful pace I can manage and just see how the cards fall with it, is all anyone could ever hope for, really. Any normal mind could even ever anticipate 🤜