There is hope in the midst of brokenness
I try to resist, but the longer I last without giving in, the stronger the urge gets. As it has been throughout my life, my mind is relentless, perpetually bombarding me with thoughts, ideas, obsessions: darkness.
I try to let go but…
“Pack for next month’s trip… now”
“Work on your essay… now.”
Obsessive-compulsive disorder has been a reality for me as long as I can remember; every moment of every day filled with intrusion after intrusion, accusing me, threatening me, forcing fathomless anxiety upon my hopeless frame.
Waging war is one thing when the enemy is visible, defined, external. But when the enemy is inside?
One’s own mind is a formidable foe.
A feathery thought to the average person bears a weight of bricks in my mind. The only way to rid myself of the pressing anxiety it brings is to give in and do whatever it urges me to.
Resistance seems futile.
OCD first manifested in earnest in regards to self-image. As I began the turbulent years of high-school, mental whispers of inadequacy about my weight became more and more frequent.
“Face people head-on; don’t let them see your elephantine profile.”
“If you eat that chocolate bar, you’ll never be married.”
“Do you think any girl could love you?”
I give in to the whispers, losing seventy pounds in the span of six months. Counting calories takes over. My parents try to intervene, telling me to simply stop my destructive habits. But they don’t see the battle being waged within, just the outer workings of it.