“OCD is a maniacally-laughing, uncontrollably disastrous imp bursting out of me.”
I have morphed into a black hole in the middle of the lives of those I love most, leaving a path of destruction and loss behind me. OCD is this maniacally-laughing, uncontrollably disastrous imp that bursts out of me and takes pleasure in knocking things over, pushing me down and controlling the people around me. OCD has lied and terrified me until there’s nothing left of me to give. It has taken away my sense of self, my sense of home, even taken away my belongings. It has told me to pack up my favorite copy of Wuthering Heights because it’s safer not to touch it. It has told me time and again that I can’t use those shoes, or those shoes, or those shoes… I don’t have things anymore. I don’t have place anymore. And it doesn’t just take from me. OCD took piece after piece of her house until she didn’t feel at home in it anymore. Until she could feel my OCD watching every move she made. Now it’s taking over our home, it took his favorite pair of shoes, and just last week it took his snacks for game night. It takes and takes and takes, and as it takes it just gets bigger. Until finally it takes me. It takes me away from them. OCD takes control of my mind and my body. It takes my sight and my sense of space. It can tell me I’ve touched something that I’m feet away from. It takes my reality. But worse of all it takes my connection to others. It took her sister. It took his girlfriend. It’s a black hole.
Even the areas that seem to have remained untouched by my mind are really scattered with OCD landmines. I can’t just walk down the hall, I have to dodge here, weave there, and turn sideways and scoot through a space that could truthfully fit two of me side by side, but somehow the walls have closed in so that now I can’t seem to fit. He looks at the house and sees a house. He has to get to the bedroom so he walks to the bedroom. I have to go to the bedroom so first I sit there and muster up the willpower just to get up out of my safe spot. I look at the path and I see the “narrow” space between the boots I can’t touch and the chair I can’t touch, and I see all the other previously harmless objects that OCD has taken from me. I see all the opportunities for OCD to take my reality and turn a simple walk to the bedroom into a draining trek that will usually end in frustrated tears and excess washing.
And after all of it’s taking, OCD continues to convince me that it’s me doing the taking. It’s me that’s slowly chipping away at their lives. All I do is take.