Living with OCD

I known for a long time that I had OCD before I knew I had depression and probably before I knew I had anxiety. I constantly overthink and obsession almost over every little thing. I have to be constantly busy. I am constantly thinking what I need to do next. There is no off switch. I have this perfectionist mind where the smallest details need to be in a certain way or a certain order for me to feel “safe” or comfortable.

OCD is actually not about cleanliness or a germaphobic. I thought this was the case until a friend actually told me they can tell I have OCD by how naturally fast I walk all the time and my obsession for things to be in a certain way which makes more sense since I have generalized anxiety and social anxiety.

I struggle with perfectionism because I always felt I was placed on this high pedestal to have the best grades, to be great at so many things. While everyone thought I was above average and even thought I was this super smart person. I thought of myself as average. I never thought I was better than anyone else and half the time I felt less than everyone else.

A lot of people say “I’m so OCD” really do not know what it means and how serious it is. I do not blame them for not knowing. I blame them if they do not want to listen to those who have OCD and what it really means to have it. Claiming to be OCD can invalidate those who suffer from it. It’s not an adjective.

I Am Still Fuctional

I never knew that something was wrong with me. However, many have told me my entire life that something was wrong with me. As I got older, I started to believe this. However, I never knew what was actually wrong with me besides the fact I was weird and not normal like women in this society.

Not to long ago I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. However, I have always been functional. It’s not by choice and if I could I would honestly stay in my room or in my bed to hide from the world.

Every time I wake up to turn off my alarm, I feel just “awake”. I’m not refreshed. I’m sometimes tired and even get a little dizzy sometimes. It’s an invisible illness I’m still trying to understand. The one problem I have is my inability to sit down or relax. When I do lay down my legs are a bit restless like I have to do something. If feel as though if I sit down I won’t get back up and this has happened. Most of the time, I have to force myself to be functional and I always look like I have it a together. The functional part will hide my chronic pain, when I’m feeling nervous, or just feeling worthless. Most of my pain is unexplained. I don’t know why or how especially for someone who never got injured or broken a bone in my body.

As I get older, I doesn’t get easier but I learn more about my invisible illness and that I’m still functional

Fear of Abandonment

Having fears are a part of life. I put on this tough exterior because I do not want anyone to see me falter. However, I have more fears than many can realize. The ultimate fear is abandonment. I had this fear long before I even knew I had anxiety or depression. It is difficult and confusing to those around me especially for most who do not understand.

For me, I over analyze everything. I filter the way I speak and body language as if they will leave and when the smallest thing change, I feel anxious and nervous. I don’t want anyone to be mad at me but even forgetting something I mentioned can leave me feeling left out. It is easy to misread others moods because I always assume it’s because of me. Even if someone tells me it is not, I feel as though they are protecting me feelings. If I can “fix” things then maybe you won’t leave. At the end of the day, I need a lot of reassurance. I will ask if you love me because my brain tends to forget. I really don’t fish for compliments but that is how my brain registers things.

When I was young, I was clingy. A friend even nicknamed me “magnet”. I hated it because I was afraid of another friend leaving. Now I’m much more distant because now I’m protecting or preparing myself from being left or forgotten.

I promise it is no ones fault. As long as a person is patient with me and tries to understand where I’m coming from, I can slowly start to feel a bit normal.