yes i know it is long, but if you would like to read it here it is :)
My stomach twists
tighter like a shirt twirling up about to be tie-dyed. I sew my eyes shut and words circulate like debris from the back of
my brain around to my eyes. “Have a safe flight.” “Drive safely.” “I love you.” “God bless you.”
All of my life I have relied on these sayings to protect me from any
sort of evil that may come my way. I have no reasonable explanation of where
these phrases originated from, other than to blame my Obsessive Compulsive
Disorder. In order to complete these sentences, I have to combat the evil
creature making a home inside of my brain. I can’t write out the word God.
I’m not allowed to write out the word God- or so my OCD chants to me. Here I am to tell my OCD, “Why yes, I can write out
the word God, then crumple up the paper and toss it in the trash.”
* * *
She sits at the computer, her eyes wandering around the room, stalking
the air. She cannot divert her eyes
from the invisible nitrogen, oxygen, argon, carbon dioxide and other gases that
compose her prey. She has to
write about something because she hasn’t blogged in a month. Her blog is on her
mind at all times but she can’t write just any blog. It has to capture her
fascination with fashion and OCD perfectly. An hour later. In one hour she
could have sent an important postcard, baked a cake, played a game. In this
hour, she did nothing. She sat, sedentary in a dull, grey office chair doing
nothing. She physically could not get herself to post another blog for fear
that it wouldn’t be perfect.
[I have failed to defeat my OCD. I was successful at being able to
leave the house for a sleepover, but I have failed at writing out the
experience. The fear that this journal is going to be graded haunts me. It has
to be perfect. It must be perfect. I have no other choice. And so, I
procrastinate. Perfection is the only option. Aware that my journal may not be
perfect prevents me from actually writing it.]
I’m sick. My stomach is the
debris in a tornado beginning at my esophagus and twisting through to my
intestines. I feel the slightest bit nauseous, so my anxiety about throwing
up convinces me that I will throw up. A knife is thrust into my stomach from the forceful hands of the wind.
Suddenly, my palms are weeping the tears of the tornado
victims- being one of the few
0.1% to experience an F5 tornado (R). My
fingers tremble and crash like the branches of a young tree. My body
freezes from the chill of the absent sun and I fear the worst. I’m not
going to throw up but my brain- my OCD- tells me I am. All because of my fear
of failure. This journal must be perfect. I experience so much success but I
cannot be rewarded by writing about my accomplishments. I let my OCD sneak up
inside of me, like a tornado gone unnoticed
on a radar. I write because I have no choice. I’ve already wasted days
procrastinating, researching OCD stories, trying to figure out if my struggles
are truly OCD- they are. I rely on my typical procrastination route- makeup
tutorials on YouTube. Somehow, staring blankly these so called “beauty gurus”
calms me down. It’s contradictory yet after reading other stories about OCD, I
find that my symptoms are so common. Who would have thought that perfectionism
and procrastination conspire
together? I take a break and my shaky hands pounce from the keyboard. I realize I am not actually sick. My stomach
ache was purely caused by my OCD. I am sure this is the truth. Looking up at
the blinding white word document, I see a page full of letters. Not just
letters, but words. And not just words, but sentences- coherent sentences. The page has become a collage of black and
white. Eliminating the negative white space, I can focus on the words. My
words. My stomach calms and the sun leaps
from behind the clouds as my “fever” subsides. The throbbing inside of my skull
slowly begins to decelerate and I
have succeeded.
Words materialize on the
new blog post. A picture of a
model appears and memories flash through her mind. Her fingers type
endlessly and the insignificant white arrow glides over the “post” button.
It’s out of her hands now. She has no control over whether or not people will
judge her based on her own experiences and opinions. She has set herself free.
Some may agree, while others may ridicule, and some may not ever be
enlightened. She offered what she held, and what she held has been taken. It’s
not hers anymore, it belongs to the thread of fashion blogs that simultaneously
post an array of pictures accompanied by words. Meaningful words and
meaningless words all upon the same seam of blogs.
[Nobody understands and everyone
is judging me. I am the only person in this entire universe with my type of OCD.
Rituals to protect my mom. Rituals to protect myself. Rituals to protect my
family. Rituals to “get an ‘A’.”]
I’m
sitting in my seat and I mask myself in a confidence that not only fools my
peers but myself as well. I’ve told myself how confident I was my entire
life, not thinking I could be anything else. It was the identity I created for
myself. The identity I thought I created for myself. I stare blankly at my past
journal wondering what a confident person would say next.
“I guess I’ll go.”
All eyes
are drilled onto me, and
suddenly I’m the egg shell floating in a glass of Diet Coke. The vinegar is
destroying my structure (R). Students
are staring blankly at the science experiment.
“What’s going to happen next?” They all wonder.
I’m
slowly disappearing, my strong confidence, the confidence that held me together
was breaking apart and only I was aware of the damage.
The
Coke has beaten what was left of the
fragile shell to a pulp and I’m left
in my seat. Still in plain sight of the students who are staring
with empty eyes.
I can
feel my heart slip down to the
basement of my stomach and words begin to drip from my lips. The echo of my words whispers back into my ear and I realize it’s no use. I am
talking about something so personal to me, that nobody understands. How can I explain it confidently as
students just stare at me blankly and form hypotheses?
I know
I’m the only one and there’s no use trying to even explain it. I sweep it off of my shoulder like it’s
really not a big deal.
“Yeah, I mean I really don’t have to repeat
certain sayings before I go to bed at night. And yeah, I don’t have to tap my
feet repeatedly until it feels right.”
“Feels right?”
“Yeah, never mind.”
They won’t understand.
[Cleaning up from paint the town wasn’t as bad as I expected. I got to talk with some of my friends while
joking around with my French teacher who surprisingly exists on the weekends.]
My friends and I began talking about an assignment that we had yet to
write. A senior was wondering what our topics were and I dreaded the question.
“So what’s your topic?”
Pretending to be the nonexistent eggshell, I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle when I
told her my topic.
“Haha… I don’t know... like OCD or something.”
And finally the clouds dispersed. I could feel
the sun’s net beneath me, I wasn’t going to fall. Previously an uneasy flounder
latched onto the hook determining life or death- now confident and swimming
through the sea.
“Oh my God! I have OCD too!”
I was expecting rain but the forecast was wrong
today. I am not the
only kid with OCD.
[Finally, I stepped out of the
cave where I was chained, only seeing what was in front of me. As Socrates explained, I realized that
people exist beyond my line of vision (R). Although some may act as if they
don’t know what I’m talking about, or say they don’t know what I’m talking
about, there is a good possibility that they do. There are actually souls and minds hidden behind the shadows that
Northbrook casts. I have fallen under the stigma of thinking that OCD is
abnormal and “weird,” just like most of the world has. I don’t know why it took
me so long to realize this simple fact. I am not the only one. We can all
discover that although we may seem out of place, we are not. Humanity is
composed of identical minds hidden beneath different faces and the stigmas of a
culture.]
* * *
She sits at the computer again, this time knowing what to write about
but forbidden to write. Not
forbidden by an outside force, but the force of the OCD within her. She wants
to write out the word “god,” not capitalized and written in full. She worries
and decides to write a blog post about something else. She retreats to a
meaningless post about a quote she liked. Nothing personal, nothing of her own.
Just a mere breakdown of a quote orated
by an unknown leader, onto a distant crowd.
[Later that day, I decided to conquer a
compulsive action of mine. It was necessary for me to move on.]
Lifeless skin cells drifted
from my fingertips onto the matte black keyboard. My nails shoveled into frail sheets of skin- I should be stronger than this illness, but I’m
not. This piece of paper could not be thrown out. This piece of paper had to be
thrown out. I took a Post-It note and… paused… I procrastinated… I plucked my translucent cuticles again…I
had to continue. I wrote out the word G-O-D. I threw it out. My heart sank,
like a ball during free fall, with an acceleration of 9.8 meters per second per
second(R). My stomach is being
pinched by my conscience. Did I just curse my family? This is not related
to my religious views and opinions. My
OCD preaches to me that the word “God” can save my family.
[OCD is the most powerful source that one has
control over. A corrupt leader, a demanding parent, and an unreasonable
teacher: one cannot control. OCD is an internal force that permits plenty of
opportunities to defeat. However, people suffering from this power give up with
defeating it. “It is more powerful than me,” many of us say. This power is no
more forceful than a rushing stream.
It may take some help from others, but combating the effects is
possible.]
Blog post: Friday May 18, 2012
Welcome to my new blog! In this
blog, you will be able to find fashion and design inspirations as well as
advice through anecdotes. This blog is ideal for teens with a love for fashion,
a history of OCD, or someone who just wants to escape reality for a few moments
and drift into your "happy place." I hope you find this blog helpful
to take some stress out of your lives and relax a bit. As for myself, I have
grown up with OCD and anxiety for as long as I can remember. Whenever I am in
times of stress whether it be from OCD, anxiety or school, fashion and design
are my escapes. Through different aspects of design and creativity I find
myself able to divert my attention from my worries. I hope you enjoy!
Love,
Maddy
* * *
[The world is a place with many
forces directed at many different targets. Everyone is responsible to
determine how they are going to combat or escape the negative forces received.
Some may not even try to defeat the force, while others may completely
eliminate the force. We are billions of people with all different meanings for
the same words, same actions. If we could let go of our control, and focus on
the positive- the forces would disperse. Maintaining control is not always a
sign of strength. The strongest people are able to release their control and
still maintain power.]
