Skip to main content

Could I be clinging to OCD?

This may sound odd, but sometimes I wonder if I'm capable of functioning without OCD.

It's been a part of my life for so long it's hard to imagine what it would be like to go through my day without repetitive thoughts, counting, a fear of certain thoughts.

OCD can be excruciating. The effort it takes to do the mental repetitions and the simultaneous effort it takes not to let anyone know I'm doing them is exhausting.

So is it even conceivable that I'd be lost without OCD?

Maybe I think that with obsessive compulsive disorder I always have something to blame if things go poorly. But if OCD were suddenly out of the picture, everything would be my fault. There'd be nothing to blame.


Is it possible OCD has become a safety net that I can't let go of?

It's hard for me to believe that I'm clinging to OCD. So I fight back at the thought -- and maybe the thought, itself, is an OCD thought to begin with.

One thing is pretty certain: I would sure welcome experiencing a day without the drain of OCD. I have this sensation of a huge weight off my back, taking deep long breaths of clean, fresh air. A peacefulness.

That's worth a try, regardless of my doubts.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The day I turned claustrophobic

I never thought I was claustrophobic -- it never even occurred to me that I might be. Until I went for my first MRI. I'm not sure this has anything to do with OCD, though in my case I think it does, because now when faced with an MRI I tend to catastrophize -- focusing on having the worst possible experience in that tube weeks ahead of the actual appointment. For my first MRI I was offered a Valium to keep me calm. I cockily said no, don't need it, and proceeded to get on the MRI table. My recollection is that I didn't start to panic right away, as they slid me head first into the tube. But I do recall starting to get a little uncomfortable. Then they handed me a panic button in case I needed to get out. They turned the machine on and in maybe a second -- at most -- I was hitting away at the button. Kicking my legs up and down. Yelling something to the effect of "Get me out. Now!" Of course I was embarrassed and it goes without saying that I got no furth...
2 comments
Read more

A fear of not knowing

Every Sunday night I feel compelled to check my work email to see what came in over the weekend. It's not that I'm required to, nor do I even need to, it's that I have a great fear of things going on that I am not aware of. It's OCD telling me, "You'd better check to see if your co-workers have been trying to reach you. Maybe you're missing something important. This could when they figure out you're no good at what you do. Check the email. Check it. Check it." Never mind that anyone who needs me can reach me by cell -- everyone has my number and I always have my phone. It's hard to describe the feeling of anxiety that comes over me. I tell myself not to check my email, but 99 percent of the time, it's less painful to essentially start my work week on Sunday night, than it is to ruminate on what might be going on without me knowing. For the first time, tonight, as I was checking my work email I saw a connection with something I used ...
Post a Comment
Read more

OCD, just like my dad

My father used to collect soap. I don't think he meant to, but I remember as a child, walking into my parents' bathroom and seeing a pile, a heap, of used bars of soap on his side of the counter. It didn't strike me as strange, so much, as it did unique. I never asked why there was so much soap -- why he didn't just finish off one bar before starting another -- but I probably wondered. In recent years there have been studies on whether OCD has a genetic component. I've been involved in a couple. But to me, there's no question, now, looking back with more knowledge, that my father's pile of soap was a sign of obsessive-compulsive disorder. My belief is that once he used a bar of soap for what his OCD brain told him was the "right" amount of time, it was time to move on to the next. Maybe OCD told him the old bar was no longer clean. Or maybe it just felt "wrong." My father was interesting in that he would shower just once a wee...
Post a Comment
Read more