Who are you… even when you have a chronic case of OCD? Good question. A telling question for sure. I’m a caring man who tries his very best at turning up for his nearest and dearest, at understanding people as best I can and at being brave beyond words, really. I’ve written all that anyone can surely write so as to inform people around me about OCD when, really, I did not need to be doing that particular thing even if, really, it also helps me too. At least some bit anyhow. I’ve literally dragged my brain and mind through something so damn complex and mentally unique, I think you could definitely say, and still kept my head above water. Because with this illness you’re kinda always sinking. Truth. It’s… OCD and it’s unforgiving and it’s utterly effing-well atrocious for all of its worth. But I’ve dragged myself through it as well as I can, really, even though I do usually end up atop everything else believing that it is actually MY FAULT that this is happening, my fault that I am not able to work, and all owing to that damn bastard of an imbalance at the core. OCD is… a mental jail-sentence by any standard of its reckoning and it will take a person’s mind and brain to a level of discombobulated… distortion so very unique in its looped and highly wound-tight nature that even the sufferer is rarely left anywhere near calm enough to remember what it has just done to them… or even so much as what it will do to them yet again. So you are literally not only tasked with frightfully attempting to somehow, **** knows how, rewire your brain’s mechanisms at an obviously unbelievably fundamental part of the brain’s mechanisms, which HOW THE **** ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BE EXPECTED TO DO if even the world’s greatest OCD doctors don’t get it, but also tasked with… dealing with feeling a million percent like maybe you must be pretending in the first place with all of this seeing as you still only ever end up standing upright and, also, because really your brain and mind are led to believe it should be doing this stuff anyway in so far as stopping the mental anguish from happening in the first instance and that is a thing that only makes you more… confused and… distraught by this disgustingly engrained distortion. I don’t wanna feel anymore like I am writing these things on here as some sort of a safeguard in case anyone does end up thinking I am pretending… to have OCD. Like I am feeling an utter, UTTER need to safeguard a brain and mind from being judged wrongly when, so far as I can see, I have done absolutely nothing wrong whatsoever except to turn up every single day and go again with this thing. How the hell would a person even manage at doing such a thing anyhow? Pretending to have OCD. This illness is wicked from start to finish, we all know that, and what we have to walk with, albeit uniquely different to each sufferer, is the most heartbreaking thing in the world. No, it won’t just stop for me, and yes, it does so far take a miracle of mind for me to be as function-able as I can be. That’s one hundred percent true. I’m in there, of course I am, but I am also pretty much wholly automatically warped in the head in the largest part for having this thing as well as anything else. But I go on because I have to find a way. A way to unearth… a pause to all of the mental and meaningless onslaught which is undoubtedly happening, even when I least suspect it. No, I certainly do not have anywhere near the right amount of control over my own brain and mind going forward with this thing, not by a long shot, but what I do have is the unbroken, somehow, willpower to do as well as I possibly can given the circumstances. And rest-assured the circumstances are rather ******* crazy. That’s it, really. All I have to say about it for now. Walked Joey and took out the bottle bin for the Tennysons who’re on holiday in Galway for three weeks. They gave me the key to their house while they’re away. Thursday evening and I’m trying to relax on the couch and… yeah, live with OCfuckingD