the ocd diaries

Chapter 3: Wake Up

A couple weeks ago, on a long drive to Georgia, after all the small talk was used up and there was nothing easy left to say, my mama and I started remembering. We do this often on our drives, after the kids are asleep and night has fallen all around us. It is quiet and dark and safe in the car. The perfect place for telling secrets.

On this particular night, we were remembering parts from my childhood. The ugly parts. I find it simultaneously heart wrenching and incredibly interesting to hear mama's side of my story. I can't imagine how she must have felt, being completely helpless while her child self-destructed right in front of her.

She was the one I always went to. I told her all of my scary, twisted thoughts. Thoughts no 8 year old should ever have. She listened and never batted an eye lash. She never made me feel like I was abnormal (even though clearly I was). She was my safe place and I her constant worry.

I love you for seeing me through mama. Thank you for listening, and loving me. I know I didn't make it easy.

It is a strange sensation, to have your own brain lie to you in your every waking hour. Sending out false alarms that feel SO real and twisting everything you see or touch, say, think or do into a consuming perversion of what really is.

You spend your days talking to yourself under your breath, trying to convince yourself that you're still the same person you were before the obsessions began.  Praying the same prayer over and again pleading for comfort, for forgiveness for things you haven't done wrong but your brain has you convinced that it's only a matter of time until you do. Or maybe you already have.

Lies.

The only peace you have is in sleep. Falling asleep is next to impossible but once you are there nothing matters. There is no elephant sized weight on your chest making it almost impossible to breath. No terrifying images blasting across the screen of your mind causing fear so intense you may throw up. Sleep. The great escape. I slept in the bed with my mom until I got married. Weird yes, but let's face it, I am weird.

To this day I feel guilty and sad whenever I think of those dark times and all the heartache the disease put my family through. I hate to even think about it but remembering helps in a weird way too.

 Thinking back to the scared little girl I was, and remembering all her pain and the years she spent crying and begging and praying for the thoughts and feelings to go away, I feel sad for her yes. But I also feel so grateful for where I am today.  When you've sunk so deep into the black that the only light left is in dreams, there is something unbelievably magical about feeling OK with just being awake.

M