Isolation, OCD, and a Request

I recently wrote a longish autobiographical piece about my childhood OCD-based fear of waterslides. (It’s still not polished, and I’m not sure what I’ll do with it after the final edit, so I’m not posting it here.)

Waterslides weren’t the only way OCD affected my life when I was a kid, and my brain eventually deprioritized them in its hierarchy of obsessive-compulsive concerns; I guess waterparks are less socially important for adults, or maybe it just arbitrarily decided to move on to other things.

Over the years, I’ve learned just how random my OCD can be, how it can, and does, pop up in new and creative ways (in addition to the predictable ones). And that, dear readers, is sometimes what scares me most about it: its unpredictability.

This is all to say that my OCD has been really, really bad lately. Debilitatingly so, some days. It, in combination with the treatment demands of the anorexia I’m recovering from at home, has made me feel more isolated than ever. It’s a really challenging place to be. I crave constant distraction from my problems, but I have physical limitations because of the anorexia, and the OCD makes me question everything. It doesn’t help that I’m halfway through a medication change that, my neuropsychiatrist reassures me, commonly makes things much worse before they get better.

While I do the work to achieve the life I want, work that’s especially challenging right now, what I find myself craving most is every sliver of normalcy I can get. This is where, with a certain degree of embarrassment and shame, I’m going to reach out for ideas, for comfort, for concrete support—something I try not to do on a frequent basis on this blog. So if you have a tip, anything to share, or are able to spend some time (virtually) hanging out—craft date, anyone?—get in touch. I’m so appreciative of the many people in my life who are there for me, but at this particular junction, I need a little boost.

The only way through is through.


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