OCD ruined my life at one point. I'm scared that I can never fully and satisfyingly express/articulate the STRANGE, BIZARRE, and SCARY ways I acted in public. Talking aloud, fiercely, to myself nonstop. Taking my feet out of my shoes and rubbing them incessantly so it would relax me in a specific way that was never achieved. Doing this in all my classes. Having all of my teachers contact my mom talking about my strange behavior. Not being able to tell people the truth about anything. Not being able to adequately express my reasons for doing these things to my mom or siblings or anything. Seeing myself as a martyr for continuing the compulsions and watching them spiral and feeding the spiral because if I didn't I thought I would be depressed forever. Seeing my Being pulled out of school. Having blisters break out all over my feet and having the strong, sweaty smell linger on my feet and my hands. Doing these compulsions at school, at the doctor's office, at church, at giant church gatherings, in front of huge huge crowds during choir performances, at home, in every room, deeming every room contaminated, everywhere, all the time, all-consuming.
I sat in the same position
I had a whole scheduled network of checkpoints. I continue to be absolutely appalled at what I trained my mind to do.
I lost my siblings' trust. I watched them cry and run to my mother after seeing me get a worn-out tank top from the trash because, even though rubbing it around my waist didn't relieve me anymore, it was less emotionally contaminated than the other one I wore. Then I wrapped it around my waist and tugged and tugged as if no one was nearby, even though I knew my brother was in the room and that he was gawking at me sobbing and blubbering, "Why did she get it out? Why did she get it out of the trash?"
I could only wear very very specific clothes with very specific textures. Soon, rubbing with the cloth didn't do anything. I needed a more intense sensation around my waist, to zap my brain the right way and give me some comfort.
Bear in mind that, all the way through this, I was NEVER comfortable. I was in MISERABLE MISERABLE AGONIZING SOUL-CRUSHING PAIN. My thoughts were stabbing ny heart, telling me how horrible I was, how horrible the world was, how every single object and person and idea and dialogue and action and movement was HIGHLY CONTAMINATED, indicative of my less-peaceful past, and I needed to press EVERY SINGLE external and internal stimulus through MY SACRED FILTER or GOD'S SACRED FILTER to retain peace, stay PERFECTLY FOCUSED, and succeed in every little task PERFECTLY WELL, with no emotional distractions from the people around me (including friends and family), and no extraneous thoughts that distracted me from my holy task in ANY WAY. My mind sped up and sped up and soon I was producing nothing but adrenaline and cortisol. This is according to a psychiatrist. It certainly felt like this.
Sometimes, I hear my mom's voice and I think of how she talked to me when I was sitting in a chair hunched over, rubbing my feet, coursing through a million thoughts with my hair thrown over my face. I was in this position for at least fifteen hours every day. Moving or looking up at all erased my spiritual progress.
My little brother came home from school one day. He walked in on me in the kitchen. I was home from school. My mom had left me a meal, but the chairs were my safe zones where I could continue rubbing and avoid any distracting stimuli like eating. I couldn't cope with opening my eyes, seeing the world, and moving. At one point, somehow, I actually stood up. But I was stuck there for HOURS, doubled over, jerking crazily and grunting out of exhaustion and anger and desperation. I absolutely could not move until I felt some relief. The amount of distress that came with moving was insurmountable, like I was losing losing losing all my compulsions progress. At one point, I was holding a bowl with my medicine, and I was stuck holding it for so long that I screamed with all of the anger in my lungs (I had been quiet as possible before then), hurled the bowl at the floor, and quickly returned to rubbing. I was still standing up, doubled over. This is how my little brother found me when he walked in from school. He said, "I'm home..." then, "Oh," in dismay. I was grunting, panting, and desperately twisting the tank top around my waist. Everything was pitch black for me because, for 95 percebt of the day, my eyes were clamped shut and my face was hidden behind my hair and I was doubled over. I jerked and twisted like a zombie, staying in one place and exhibiting no awareness of my surroundings. I heard my brother scramble up the stairs and call my mom. He started sobbing about how he found me.
I put my siblings through a traumatizing situation. I made their home lives distressing. I don't give a damn if it's my fault. I feel like it's impossible to overcome the pain of losing their trust and making them both sob the way they did. Their cries deeply wound and haunt me.
I thought I lost the respect of everyone I loved. Again, I don't give a damn if it was my fault or not. I was super concerned about my friends' thoughts, but my siblings' and mom's most of all.
I wrecked my mom's life. I did. Every day she was on the phone talking to a friend about my mental breakdown. Between bouts of compulsions and not eating the waffles she made me, I looked up in brief, distracted moments and saw her inside or on the porch sobbing in the phone.
I became an animal. My family didn't address me. They talked about me in the room like I wasn't there. All the time, every day, while my face was in my hair.
My brother said to my sister and maybe to me that he had researched it and he was certain I was schizophrenic. In any case, I fully heard him, and for a minute, I was the pain and frustration and anguish in his eyes.
It's been three years. I was an insane person. My mom told me to my face that I looked like I was going to kill her. This was after she pinned me down in my bed because I would never stop rubbing and trying to get relief. I was furious at her and I wouldn't stay still. I rebelled and disobeyed my mom because I thought I was a martyr---Mom, I'm so sorry, but you don't understand---I MUST and WILL fulfill this noble cause of rubbing my feet and rubbing my tank top around my waist even though I'm bleeding and wounded and raw. It's okay that I'm bleeding; it's GOOD to suffer if it's for a greater cause. I'll suffer forever and ever.
This was all about 3 years ago and I don't know if I will ever overcome the shock of this horrible hell.
