I’m finding it very helpful to write my OCD story in different forms, to try and understand my experiences from as many angles as possible.
The following is the version I’m working on for my dance/theatre company’s upcoming performances, in which I would read this while my collaborators dance, sing, play music and more.
I wrote it in the third person, using a nickname, with language that felt less diagnostic and closer to poetry. It’s been both challenging and rewarding to read it over and over again in company rehearsals. I hope it can be of benefit to others.
Once there was a boy named Elale.
Elale was very quiet, and shy, and liked to draw.
As he grew, he worried.
He worried about who to talk to at recess, and what to say.
He worried that he would do something to make the adults disappointed.