What OCD and all of its fierce trivialities did to me on a particular – not to leave out peculiar – level is unfathomable by all accords; do not for a mere moment think that I dare to attempt to overembellish or to preach to the thankfully unconverted masses my frightfully bedraggled and God awful plight. This thing for its nasty, overwrought worth is the fight of a lifetime – and you do not realise just how unbecoming of you, not to mention utterly irrational it all actually is ’til wholeheartedly able to finally call yourself an escapee.
But do you ever truly get to escape, though? To call yourself an escapee would be to probably get to call yourself a hero. I ain’t no hero, don’t ever want to be! Besides, aren’t heroes forever left with battle scars that they do not control all that well, be it mental or physical? No thank you on that overall score. Mark my words, it is nauseating, terrifically terrifying, all kinds of a treacherous and upside down mess on wheels. And why, oh why do I persist to continue to write about it, you may well be entitled to ask. Because, put plain and simply, it breathes itself on through me. I am afraid it may always do just that. However, to a balanced extent might be nice, advantageous even when it comes to sought after perfection.
Now, I do fully realise that only those unfortunate enough to have to deal with said disease first-hand – and I do lately tend to taking to calling it a disease because, well, it is a poisonous creature bewilderingly fashioned from a glitch – God only knows where – within the ramshackled brain shall comprehend the intricate details and feelings of absolute hopelessness and loss. Imagine, if you will, seemingly being given quite a fair deal; a personality set to soar, to create and to endear those nearest and dearest to you. An appearance that doesn’t exactly look like an upturned porcupine either. One that is truly aware just how well it can naturally comprehend to taking to life’s tasks for good or otherwise, only for OCD to stand unimaginably in the way of any wished for progression. For it to bombard and harass to a serious point where you lose your natural born will, your ability, and, above all else, agonisingly so your God-given personality.
That, my friends, is the most tragic and paralysing part in all of this – when the personality falters to stop. Nobody will see this but you; I mean, they may see it a little perhaps, but only you – lonely old encapsulated you – gets to feel it, the true muzzle going on behemothly within. You are pushed to play ear-aching mind-games atop preposterous puzzles inside of your own mind against your – and please recall this piece – Every Single Will that you attempt to try and manage as best you can amidst this tumbling, corroding, gargantuan downfall of yours.
I do not know how politically correct it is to even do this – although my surefire insurance is that I am being honest if nothing else if a tad unlearned, and I do hurt so why can’t I? – but when OCD proves utmost in its severity, at least regards my experience, I might want to liken it to the bare frustration and outright anguish a physically disabled person may well feel being bound by a wheelchair. I am not by any stretch saying that OCD is anywhere near as difficult or as debilitating, just manic in its own right. No such over-embellishment on my part once more; I am no such advocate, I simply want to walk upright again, per se. And if I cannot walk upright in a more so metaphorical sense then I will always write. That has to be why these words mean a lot to me; not so much when I am lost, but a hell of a lot when I am not. They’re my bloodline, don’tcha know smile emoticon