A Beginning

Where does one begin when starting a blog about a struggle that is not new?  There is always a beginning, but sometimes even those of us who have been in the battle for what seems like forever could not tell you when it began, or why.  I can say that OCD is insidious, that it steals your peace, and that no struggle or pain in my life has been as torturous and arduous as this beast that I lock horns with on a daily basis.

Early on, in this most recent incarnation of OCD (contamination fears), I could say that I have an idea why it began and when.  However, it would not be entirely true.  While this current battle, approximately four years in duration, is by far the most severe in terms of debilitating repercussions and the path of devastation it has left in its wake, it is not the first.  For nearly a decade, I struggled with eating disorders, the intensity and pervasive nature of which is overshadowed only by my current struggle.  It laid waste to so many opportunities, friendships, and dreams.  In my need to control something, my misguided efforts led me into a miserable trap where I was a prisoner of my own mind and the distorted reflection in the mirror.  Again, with OCD, I am locked inside my mind's overblown and often inaccurate assessments of danger in various situations, and I live in fear.  The face changes, but the feeling, the desperation for reassurance and safety, the need to know, that all remains the same.

I never really felt safe.  There was never an accurate measure of risk; something I didn't even realize I'd done wrong might result in consequences that were devastating.  I was frequently discouraged from taking chances or living life.  And there were things which should have had consequences and didn't.  People failed me so many times on matters which resulted in some really life-altering shit.  I had no healthy sense of control, no feeling of security.  I felt overly responsible and guilty.

I have been abused in multiple ways by multiple people.  People didn't seem to value me as a human being; people used me for what they wanted, regardless of what that was.   And so, I became intent on destroying my exterior; if I appeared already broken on the outside, then maybe I could save what was left of me inside.  Maybe I could be safe and protect myself by wearing a very literal sign that I had already taken all that I could.

I left "home", if you can call it that, at 16.  I never went back.   After I met my husband, I found happiness.  I found trust and love like I had never known.  I thought I'd found my equivalent of happily ever after.

And then, OCD happened, and everything changed.  My life has been a precarious balance ever since, with a very tenuous grip on the desire to remain alive, at times.  OCD takes everything.  It lies.  It deceives.  It owns.  And beating it means staring into the mouth of the lion, and defying every urge you have to run for your life; for if you run, you'll surely be devoured.  It means being strong when there's nothing left, being brave when you're scared shitless, being the voice of reason when your head is filled with lies.

This is a beginning. It's not the beginning.  It's a part of a whole.  It's a part of me.  It's a part of the story.

Welcome to my blog.