Journaling my ROCD fears (you’re not alone) ✨❤️

I was obsessing over the feeling of love, whether I knew what it truly was or not. All my life I had only ever seen toxicity. I never really knew what it looked like to be in a healthy relationship. So I was constantly on the watch for the smallest of red flags. Fine tooth comb in hand and picking apart every piece of my relationship. I couldn’t help it, it wasn’t his fault. He was the kindest most true and genuine person I knew. so why did I question my love. Why did I question if I knew what it was. I knew him. I loved him. But why did something in me feel empty, like there was no space in the box that I checked off as love. It was there before, for years and years, and I never questioned it. Until the illness came in like a hot iron pressed against my skin, branding me sick, and twisted inside. I wanted to love without question, with no effort, with ease like I had for so many weeks, months and years before the lighting that is ocd struck me in the chest. Why did I need such certainty? Why did I panic at the thought of not being in love? Love is love. Love is a choice. Love isn’t always a feeling. That’s what has been said to me. But for so many years I was so sure of it. I felt such immense guilt that I questioned such a strong foundation that we had built together. The words Co dependent, and comfortable, floated through my head like a heavy stone sinking to the bottom of my mind. I was tangled up in the rope of the words that came out of my step mothers mouth. I didn’t want these words. Why were they so deeply trained into my head from the moment they bounced of her lips. They ricocheted around my mind for hours that day; “co dependent” “comfortable”. I love him, I said to myself as my chest began to quake with the need to cry. Why is this fear so real, why can’t I stop questioning it. I’m Ill. Or maybe I’m not. It’s ocd. Or maybe it’s not. The first long relationship I’ve had in my life. Five full years of memories, cherished laughter and tears of joy. Hard times and good times, milestones we’ve crossed hand in hand, side by side. Together we never had to face this new journey of adulthood alone. I felt safe with him, like I was never going to be by myself in a world that was so unkind. I hated the ocd, I hated the doubt, I hated the fear. I didn’t want any of it. I practiced telling myself, maybe I don’t love him. Maybe I don’t love him. Maybe I don’t love him. I don’t love him. I don’t love him. I don’t love him. I don’t love him. I don’t love him. I don’t love him. I don’t love him. I don’t love him. Over and over and over. Could it be the reason that something within me didn’t feel right? Could it be the reason I felt anxiety? Or was it truly the illness that Is called my ocd. I hate that it attacks my self confidence, my comfort, my safety, my relationship with the person who is both my best friend and lover built into one. Sure I could do my life with someone else but I don’t want that. Sure I could live by myself for awhile and see what it’s like to be a girl venturing in the world. But I would miss out on the life I’m building now. I want these obsessions and compulsions to go. I love him. But my ocd says I don’t. I hate it.