Truth is this. We are sitting ducks to the mental slaughter and all I can personally do is to scribble as best that I can with my time and hope, maybe start to pray even, that I don’t fall back to the level of nonstop mental agony which I’ve done in the past. I don’t want to write a book about OCD, thats been done and dusted. I don’t wanna give it the time of day anymore, to feel this eerie need… to even have to insure my sanity, let’s say, with these thoughts on the whole thing. So that people know I tried… all of the time. ‘Cos that is precisely what I have been doing, really, I suppose. Writing with my mind, let’s say, while my brain doesn’t stand a chance. My brain keeps on bloody well timing-out right before my very own eyes. I keep going because, really, there is no other choice, for anyone with a mental illness really. I keep digging deep and trying to teach my imbalanced brain NOT TO ENTERTAIN THE ACTUAL IMBALANCE. I do that, though, and at this stage in proceedings it’s really still not near enough. As I say, we are sitting ducks. As mental illnesses go, this is outlandish for what it actually does to dupe the brain of the sufferer into believing DISASTER IS, OR WILL, HAPPEN. FIX IT NOW!!! OR ELSE… . Surely people can’t be calling me a “legend” for fun’s sake. Surely my mother can’t be calling me “amazing” for no real reason other than to say things. And surely… this cannot be all that OCD really is: a mental imbalance that just cannot afford to be entertained?! Surely people think the world of me, as I see it as best I can, because I am that way, even if the OCD saturates and distorts most of my momentary feelings. I don’t need to be adored, or loved, necessarily. Or even… the best at a single thing. What I do need, though, is my brain to work things out as well as it can, as well as it truly does deserve 😊