It’s really gonna be all sorts of impossible for me to ever truly describe the level of mental pain that goes with my ocd. It’s an imbalance but the goddamn false mindset it feeds you really is…. wow!!! Atrocious. I’ve gotten through… what I have to say truly is… impossible. I say it not to boast, I don’t have time to nor wish to boast. All I have time to do is to look after myself and my closest people. I do want to maybe write THAT novel, maybe today, tomorrow… who knows. But all my mind ever needed for, really, was to at least have that option. OCD doesn’t give it that option, it doesn’t give it very many options except for resorting time again to trying to mentally survive. But… I can recall it all so clearly, nearly, the level of mental… retardedness that happened to my mind and from as early as eleven years old. But I am still trying to allay it, to truly be able to… not entertain the ocd. Fuck the name, the label. This has stopped me from working, from meeting people, from having normal fears and anxieties about life, from… more than I will ever be able to explain. But I am okay. I choose to be okay with my ocd. I need to be okay with it and to take all of the time I might need and at any given time to bow-out of any such given situation and calm my mind down. Now. What about the part where as I get better in myself, I also find myself having a shockingly fast-thinking mind and personality, a mind that seems to know what to do to look after itself and others? To write like there’s no tomorrow, and to, well.. live like a ‘normal’ person who, as it turns out, ocd aside, isn’t all that normal a person after all. But that I might actually be more capable than I ever wished to have gotten to imagine.