These were all just ruminations and I was just a kid caught-up in a world of utter imbalance, but OCD is extremely different. OCD… and people need to hear this, is a life-taker. I won’t write my warts n all story because it’s too gruesome of the mind for my family and friends to read. Anyhow, they get it already. How could they not have done so at some point or another? It wasn’t ever supposed to be all about me, trust me totally on that score, but the OCD made it that way. At least inside of my head anyhow. Eleven to now, 40 years old, unable to think in a straight line and much, much worse than that. It is as simple and complex, for me at least on the latter of those two words, as my either living extremely well with my OCD, or… just fading away into another thirty years of mental brain lock. I have no words to say when it comes to what this does to someone. It petrifies their mind, it makes their mind feel utterly imprisoned. In an OCD sufferer’s head NOTHING IS SAFE, nothing will be okay, that just the imbalance doing its damnedest to find trouble – i.e. to find… an actual place of comfort. Because that is actually what your poor and addled brain is trying to achieve, in all honesty. See. None of that makes any real sense because, well, OCD is a disorder, a discombobulation of brain. We don’t even know we are sick a lot of the time as we are too busy trying to find a common footing with everyone else and everything that we go through. I won’t ever be able to write how it feels and what exactly OCD does to a sufferer but I can, indeed, say this: that I have tried to be okay with it from the day it may have first reared its ugly head in, well, my head. This is no time for stories. This is time for… working on ERP – exposure/response/prevention. To go all in and all the time with letting the imbalance blow my mind off course while also simultaneously, and it is utterly a simultaneous endeavour and tiring all on its own for that matter as well, trying to approach things of a day as normally as possible. It’s a shit parade and I do know just how lucky I am, the people I have in my life, how they are there for me. But what about the sufferers who lose all of the above owing to their anger, their utter, utter misrepresentation of mind? Because that could easily have happened to me. It still could. Maybe it has. I mean, I can’t know the life I’d have had had I not been often than not glued to a bed. Try attempting to get better with OCD, which it seems isn’t actually a medical option in the first place, whilst also not blowing up at your loved ones, your friends. For me, OCD is perhaps… no word of a lie, about 90 percent of a misrepresentation of who I truly am. Well, maybe more so that percentage in terms of how my mind is working most of the time in misrepresenting my own thoughts and feelings, but owing to my trying outrageously hard to be a decent person even with it crashing all around me, maybe… it’s more so… a 60 percent misrepresentation of who I really am on the outside. I dunno, really. But I do know that I want to have normal-minded options going forward. Everyone wants that. And I won’t stop til I feel that I can get it. I can’t stop. I owe it to myself. I owe it to Mom and Dad and Shane and Claire 💓 If I do have to do it in pain then I’m gonna do it anyway. Heck, I kinda have been