Yup, yup, this mental illness is truly, truly impossible. No words. No fucking nothing. Although, in a matter of words, safest to say we are watching ourselves die slow and mother fucking painfully whilst also trying like absolute fucking craaaaazy to get to something resembling ourselves. That is the truth in many heartbreaking ways, really. This is me deciding that it is OKAY today to be angry as fuck ‘cos this mental illness can even stop you from believing such a fucking thing is OKAY to be! Insatiable, screw-loose mental illness, that it is. I will walk and talk and do it all as best I can. Like I have always, always, ALWAYS done. And I will… be myself as much as I can, and hopefully, one day, that will become even much more than enough for my brain and mind to live a good and proper life with. Because that is what I strive for like no-one’s business. On the good days, on the bad days, even on the utterly impossible days. I’ve tried to do it all, and way I see it now, it’s been the most… incredible thing to behold, having dealt with living with this mental illness, all wrapped-up in years and years of mental rumination and therefore ruin, really. I am a good and smart and entirely petrified man, and of course my words on this subject will seem sad and highly negative a helluva lot of the time. But I cannot for the rest of my life feel like this, like I am living with two entirely separate minds. It isn’t two minds, of course not. What it is, though, is a brain brought to ungodly task whilst one man’s mind tries like crazy to be okay with all that his brain has to deal with owing to this particular mental imbalance. From the age of eleven, and I still back myself one million percent, and why? Because I did and do nothing wrong whatsoever. It’s been over three decades of impossible mental toil and anguish. Of that only I can ever truly attest to it having been such a thing. And I have written all that I can surely write upon the subject of OCD and mental illness. So, yeah, just to… keep on going and to keep on smiling like I was truly born to do. Still the same man. The man with a mightily complex mental illness. The man who writes and writes ‘til blue in the face. That’s a good thing right there, by the way. The man who… tried to make absolutely nothing about himself when, really, the OCD has quite often made the opposite seem to be the only way forward with this thing. I am much more than just still in the game not just because of an amazingly supportive family but also because I have dug my heels in like no-one’s bloody business in trying to be… something resembling myself ❤️ Nothing but utter, utter love, even if it’s hard to see that for myself most of the time. A mind… mesmerisingly blocked from almost everything rational happening around it, and still I try.