- Date posted
- 7y
- Date posted
- 7y
Oh my goodness, that breaks my heart! As if we “wannabe” like this! I’d hand my OCD over on a plate if I could! Ughhh, some people! d a i s y
- Date posted
- 7y
Lots of judgement about taking medication. Viewed as weak/unnatural. Obviously coming from people who do not know the agony of the disorder!
- Date posted
- 7y
I completely agree, nabil! Why can’t taking medication be a sign that we care about our health instead of weakness? As if deciding to take medication wasn’t one of the hardest decisions of our life. We do it because it’s necessary to function, and for some of us, that’s impossible to do without meds! I take a cocktail of medications and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them! d a i s y
- Date posted
- 7y
my best friend’s mom tried to tell me she had OCD when she found out i had been diagnosed. when i talked to her about it all she said was “oh yeah i have to have everything organized all the time i hate messes.” yes some people have that type of OCD but it’s not that easy there’s so much more to it??when i tried to talk about my themes she had no idea there were more themes than everything needing to be clean all the time. she’s a nurse too. yikes
- Date posted
- 7y
Mentally ill "wanabees"? I spend more that 1/2 my day checking and rechecking ridiculous things like light switches and toothpaste caps. I definitely don't "wannabe" that, but it happens. I guess some people just don't get it if it doesn't happen to them.?
- Date posted
- 7y
Well I was talking to a girl with ocd, and she was very deep in her illness and had convinced herself she was transgender or not in love with her boyfriend. And she told me she’s tired of people being positive when she’s suffering, and wanted to get forums like this shut down ( like what ) then she said they’re all mentally ill wannabes. Which pissed me off tons. All of it came from me giving her advice to go to erp. Bc all she did was rant to me but not take my advice, and get nasty with me whenever I put in my input. Sad ??♀️
- Date posted
- 7y
@rfisher sad thing is she thinks she’s “educated” on ocd and said people with pOCD or whatever themes like that are their actual theme. ( ex people with harm ocd actually wanna harm people ) that pushed me to my breaking point.
- Date posted
- 7y
People like that will never understand what it's like to live with this.
- Date posted
- 7y
@rfisher , exactly, she has ROCD too so you’d expect her to actually know her stuff. ??♀️
Related posts
- Date posted
- 17w
If you are anything like me (and most of you are, because let’s face it, we are all on this chat), you have OCD. Real OCD, not the organisation, matching colours everyone thinks it is. Real OCD. I’ve always known I was different, known that my brain does some waking things and deep down, I’ve always known I’ve had OCD. But there is just something that changes when you finally get the diagnosis. It makes more sense, you have an explanation for your behaviours. So naturally I told my friends. When they ask why I had to stop and step four times on a tile I said ‘oh, I have OCD’. I finally had a word, a tangible concept that I could explain to people. But nobody warned me about the massive misconceptions about OCD. Instead of support or acceptance, my friends seemed to question the diagnosis saying ‘that’s not ocd, don’t you just like things organised?’. And no matter how much I explain it they don’t seem to get it. And that’s the part that feels so cruel. I go through hell in my head and it can all be reduced to a phrase of ‘oh, aren’t you organised’. So please be careful out there you guys, and if someone try’s to downplay your experience, know that you are valid and that what you are going through is probably something that they could never handle. It’s a lesson that took me time to learn, but it’s important because our experience matters. Our real experience.
- Date posted
- 16w
Today I heard a girl say ' no, I know I have OCD because I need to have a clean car'. I asked ''what are you worried about happening if you don't have a clean car' and she told me 'nothing'. And she told me she has to organize her cutlery. She continued to be...well.... oblivious and it's almost like she sees it as a trend for social media. Like what even is that??!! It was so bad for me last year and After all the debilitation I have worked through, it's kind of somehow insulting when someone thinks it's trendy to have. Like why am I still mad about it. This was 12 hours ago and I'm still urked but I know people would get it if I wrote it here! I need absolutely no reassurance, I feel how I feel I'm just mad!
- Date posted
- 13w
I wrote these two poems for an open mike poetry night at my college a few years ago. Freshman year of college my anxiety ate me alive. I chickened out last minute and never performed, but I recently found the notebook I wrote these in and thought I’d share. i’m sO sCareD You say, "Oh my god, I’m so OCD about my notes," while I am drowning in the undertow of thoughts that refuse to let me go. You say, "I just like things neat, you know?" while I check the lock again and again, wondering if this time will be the time my brain believes me— but it never does. It's the monster under the bed except it lives in my head, whispers masquerading as instincts, warnings dressed as logic, fear that wears me like a second skin. And oh, how easy it is to laugh it off, call it a quirk, a habit, a punchline, while I stand at the brink of a thought so loud I can feel it crack my ribs. You say, "I’m so OCD about my computer icons." I say, I can’t hold my mother’s hand without tracing the veins, make sure she’s alive, still beating and bleeding, rewinding, replaying, repeating, repeating, until I become the pattern itself. I say, I live on a hill. And if the picture frames aren’t straight, the ground will shift, the walls will give way, my home will collapse beneath me. And I can’t let it go? I say, I step in threes, three, three, three, reset, three, three— reset. Because if I do it wrong, something worse will happen, though I don’t know what, only that the terror knows it for me. I am not particular. I am prisoner. So when you say OCD, I hope you mean the way it steals— the way it clings, the way it suffocates, because it is not about preference. It is about survival. hallway girl. Why can’t I have the helpful OCD? The organized one, the productive one, the one people praise instead of whisper about? Why can’t my compulsions make me a genius instead of a joke? Why do they make me the hallway girl— “she’s still walking the hallway” as if it’s a comedy show. As if it’s funny to be trapped in my own head. You see it in sitcoms— the guy who can’t handle an uneven stack of papers, the woman who scrubs the counters too much, laugh track ringing loud— but no one laughs at the panic that coils in my lungs no one sees the terror when the stairs don’t add up and suddenly the earth is shaking and I can’t move No one shows the moments I cry over a step miscounted, staring at the hallway, knowing I have to start over, but already too exhausted to move. No one shows the shame, the whispered apologies, the effort of convincing myself this time, maybe, I’ll be strong enough to resist— but I never am. And no one shows the shoes. How I would run, sprint, chase time through our fifteen-minute break, Back to my room, because if they moved— if they weren’t exactly right— my dad would have a heart attack. And it would be my fault. So I checked. And checked. And checked again. Until I was breathless, But still had to sprint back to class and pretend I didn’t leave my mind behind with my shoes. So when they call me hallway girl, I bite my tongue so they don’t see how hard it takes Because if OCD is a joke, why am I the only one who isn’t laughing?
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