My OCD Triggered

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Life definitely isn’t consistent. It can be for awhile, but the bumps and potholes and twists and turns inevitably return. My OCD, which had been completely absent for quite some time, was triggered again, and I’m really struggling with it. The hard part is that it was triggered by someone I thought was a friend, someone I greatly valued. Turns out she was the fair-weather kind, or maybe never one at all. Maybe the facade was always there, and I chose not to see it because of how much the person I thought she was meant to me.

After my last post this friend unfriended me on Facebook and messaged me telling me how much it hurt her, that she couldn’t be my friend and how she was really doing it for me, or for my benefit. Indeed, she was one of several people who prompted me to write what I did. I saw dozens of her own brazen posts, and each one felt like a punch to the gut. Whether she meant it or not, they all left me feeling like I was stupid, uncaring and pathetic. I did unfollow her because I knew it was best for me, just like I unfollowed several other people, some of which I share the same point of view with. Their posts left me feeling just as sick. I, however, didn’t stoop to unfriending her because, as I’ve stated, I cared about her and valued her friendship so much. I also, in part, understood where she was coming from because I was her once, many years ago. And the reason I changed was because I saw how it was driving away people who meant something to me.

I even have a recent example. Since getting back on Facebook about a year ago I have tried to stay away from controversial topics that will insight anger and hurt. But I recently reposted something of a friend’s that I thought was funny. It was political, and I posted it light-heartedly because it made me laugh, and I thought it was true. A good friend called me out on it, though. She read it as being mean and intolerant. Even though that was the furthest thing from my intention, and not what I meant or felt at all, I deleted the post because her friendship was more important to me than some stupid post on stupid Facebook.

Now, going back to my other friend, as soon as she saw one single post of mine that she didn’t like she told me she couldn’t be my friend anymore. (Sounds ridiculously Jr. Highish, right?!) Her cause was more important to her than a friendship that had lasted almost twenty years. And it hurt. It hurt so much to know that politics was more important to her than a person, than a friend who had been very loyal to her for almost twenty years.

I think the thing that really triggered my OCD, though, was her statement of saying she was doing it for me—like I’m some poor little girl who’s too incompetent to possibly know for myself what’s best for me. I’ve had other friends, family members and an ex-boyfriend who used those same words/tactics on me. It brought all of those past experiences rushing to the surface, and I can’t stop thinking about them. I can’t stop thinking about whether I replied to her the right way. I keep going over and over and over what I wish I could tell her, make her see. And then I keep wondering if maybe they’re all right. Am I stupid? Am I pathetic? Am I incompetent? Deep down, I know I’m not. I have been through so much the last year, and I have learned and grown and accomplished so much. I have had amazing support and help along the way from family, friends and neighbors who truly do care about me. But it’s also because I am strong, because I am capable, because I am smart and I do care. Because I am competent, and no one knows what’s best for me better than I do myself. Yet the thoughts circle. The hurt persists. I had made such strides, and now I feel like I’m back to step one again. Well, maybe not that far, but close.

Luckily, the difference between now and when I really was at step one is that I know I can move forward. My anxiety at driving a car again after my accident evaporated after that very first drive. Now I have no problem driving. Easy-peasy, as my kids would say! I think dealing with the OCD will take a little longer, but I’m not going to let someone who devalues others so much stamp out all of the progress I have made, and any of you out there dealing with the same thing shouldn’t either. I will rise up, and I will recover, even if it takes a little time. You can rise up and recover, even if it takes time.

This is Just How it is Right Now

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Just keeping it real, people. This is how I’ve looked most of the last three days because, yes, ugly-crying is most of what I’ve been doing the last three days. I don’t think I’ll be posting for awhile. How can I talk about hope when I don’t have any anymore. I clung to hope because it was the only thing keeping me afloat. But I’ve realized that everything I had hope in was false. And I can’t do false hope anymore. It hurts more than not believing at all. See, no matter how hard I have tried to do what’s right, no matter how hard I have tried to make my life the way I want it, the way I need it, the way I know it’s supposed to be, I have failed. I have done nothing but sabotage myself. I have brought nothing but pain and hurt into my life. My hope is gone.

I’m to the point where I just don’t care anymore. It’s that numb feeling that overtakes everything else. I will not take my own life because that is the easy way out, and I never do things the easy way, the easy way has eluded me my whole life. And I will not deprive my children of a mother. But if someone came along and stabbed a knife in my gut, I wouldn’t care. If someone shot a bullet into my brain, I wouldn’t care. If someone pushed me off the edge of a cliff, I’d open my arms and soar on the way down, because I wouldn’t care. My hope is gone.

And please, those of you who know me, don’t call or text and ask if I’m okay, because obviously I am not. But I will live. I will keep going. I will do what I have to do, well, because I have to. That is all.

Is There a Point?

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Sometimes I wonder if there’s a point in continuing to do this – to do anything, really, I guess. What’s the point of any of it? I try so hard, yet I never seem to be able to move forward in life. This road I’m on is full of speed bumps of disappointment, u-turns of mistakes and crashes of hurt. How do you keep going when you see nothing but fog and darkness ahead?

 

Hurt

A friend recently shared Johnny Cash’s song, Hurt, with me. I couldn’t believe I’d never heard it before. It was me. It’s the theme song of my life. It seems that no matter how hard I try, hurting myself, whether physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually, is the only thing I really know how to do. Any time I start making progress I do something stupid that puts me back at square one. Maybe even before square one. And then I have to work my way up, only to slide back again. It’s a constant game of Chutes and Ladders, only I never make it to the finish. And that’s all on me.