You are talking – thinking – to yourself and no-one else with the ocd imbalance. You get to a place of relative balance from the ruminations and the next thing you must do is to realise that these ARE just thoughts: be it intrusive or whichever, they are just actual thoughts, ie. fabrications of the mind. NOT real life occurrences. That is the problem at its most basic level with an ocd imbalance- the sufferer, or rather the sufferer’s brain, has led itself to believe that these particular and ongoing intrusive thoughts ARE one-hundred-percent either what IS happening, or what probably WILL end up happening. So, that is where the sufferer will need to let the intrusion happen, let it continue on and wait for it to dissipate to the extent wherein they DO NOT FEEL the imbalance anymore. An ocd sufferer is ultimately tasked with rebalancing a brain that has been unequivocally, perhaps genetically, knocked off-balance and at the centre-most part of their brain, wherein decision-making takes place. That is what a sufferer has to sufferer with in utter silence. All of this whilst other people have the audacity to ask you “why are you not working? You must be living the dream.” Truth is, I have been living an absolute and INEXPLICABLE nightmare of a life which only my loving and supportive family can ever wholly understand. Why on earth might I wish to be living at home at the age of thirty-eight and receiving Disability Welfare, which my parents and I had to desperately fight for, even though my doctor outlines everything to do with the imbalance in letter on her part? Even though I have somehow – fuck knows how!! – all awhile managed to keep a stiff upper-lip in attempting like no-one’s business at being the social and fun-loving person that I am, OCD or no OCD. Even though I have to sit with this illness of the brain in taking a high dosage of prescribed medication by my doctor and, what is more, have had to try and explain to people, family included, that my mind is either in a constant state of unmatched and agonising panic, or I should be able to live my life to my truest and balanced potential, which I have most certainly NOT been able to do til now. I have had to hold myself back, I have even had to slow down my career hopes on a financial scale with my scribbles, with journalism which I studied at college, etc. I have tried every single minute of every single hour of EVERY single day of every single year for the past… from the age of eleven to now(38) to allay this nonsensical and utterly intrusive imp of the mind. My mind. Caring and honest and… one that I care so very damn much for, and that has actually been my full-time job, to find MY balance and to l-i-v-e. To live at whatever pace might suit my particular mind, the pace which might suit me going forward. I would back myself above anyone else in this whole debacle and that is why I have somehow(!!) managed to not throw in the towel because, trust me, I have been outrageously close from time to time. I do not deserve questioning about my illness and its details and descriptions so that others can understand it but, rather, I do deserve to be left to my own devices and to try and fight for my balanced mind with this mental illness. Because, mark my words, it IS a mental illness, and that is so very hard to even remember sometimes, seeing as I can become so goddamn bombarded by it all. I never gave up. Never will. And what I have written and created with my scribbles style-wise? It truly does leave me amazed and, what’s more, so damn lucky and proud that I did that. That I continue to create what I hope will some day become seen as unputdownable poetry/prose.

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