It’s hard to hold the fate of the world in your hands. In fact, with the amount of germs and diseases littering the planet, it’s almost impossible. There is so much uncertainty in life, so many attacks on my world that is becomes agonising just maintaining the peace. I mean, I’m no genius: I don’t have a massive, all calculating brain with which I can survey all events within the “Dom-osphere” – You’d need an IQ similar to Stephen Hawking to pull that off.
*Stop it. STOP IT. 1, 2….3. DEFAULT. One more mistake and the world will burn*
Sorry, just ritualising. Ritualising? Can I use that word? ……………….. *Comon’, it’s the only word that works in this context*
Phew, that was time consuming. Another attempted attack on my world. This time wasn’t so bad, just a few petty profligates: although I don’t know what I’ll do about that “Default.” I really didn’t want to use that weapon. Shit. *Remember what you said*
I should probably explain. This is my everyday life as I suffer greatly with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). Now, I know what you’re thinking, and you’d be wrong. My room is a tip and my pencils are absolutely not organised in order of whatever sodding pattern adorns them. Maybe you have this condition, in which case I feel you. I know your pain. I know the frustration you feel every single day. So please forgive me. I’m writing to educate, not angrily berate. You see, there exists a moronic stereotype that we OCD suffers – the heroes keeping the world safe – are just clean, neat freaks that despise disorder. Well, brace yourselves: We are not organisation obsessives. Shocking, right? I couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery, let alone my life for goodness sake.
“But I thought you just like things ordered and hate any mess?” I hear the media believers ask. Yes, I have OCD and I hate mess, oh and I’ve recently started a new diet that renders me diabetic due to its lack of fruit pastilles. Or how I must get anorexia to achieve the ultimate body. This is a lie, fabricated to suit the needs of the ignorant. You cannot pick and choose when to suffer from illnesses like OCD, diabetes or anorexia.
In truth, the severity of my condition leads me to disregard all of the popular perceived ideas like order and patterns, and focus purely on the pathetic intrusive thoughts that pepper my conscience like a machine gunner sprays bullets on a battlefield. My vision becomes clouded and my eyes glaze over, fighting the enemy assault inside whilst simultaneously trying to hide my battle from the outside world. It causes my attentiveness to fall, becoming oblivious to anything not strong enough to break the bond my compulsions form with my malfucntioning brain. I’ve forgotten important aspects of my job, the information seemingly disregarded for more thoughts to cascade in.
*nothi….not….nothing will happen. Leave it, it’s gone. NO, stop!*
The worst part is yet to come, and it creeps its way into the action, under the radar akin to a stealth bomber. However, soon it makes itself known, the beginnings of a very bad anxiety attack and stomach upset rumbling deep within me. It’s at this point the intrusive thoughts step up their invasion, working in tandem with the other evil forces to manipulate my brain into thinking I’m ill. *But I was fine, I didn’t feel ill. No-one has a bug. I haven’t got anything. Please, no. Why does it always happen to me?!*
Three weeks later and I’m at the doctors begging to know what is wrong with me. “It could just be your anxiety,” they say. “These kinds of attacks are common in people with OCD. You may feel horrible, but it’s a false alarm.” A false alarm. There is a phrase I’ve heard again and again since I was diagnosed all those years ago, at the cocky age of twelve. And that’s where I’ll take you next, the beginning of the war.
DominateOCD 