I fucking hate OCD [May. 16th, 2005|11:15 am]

I’ve been feeling awful recently.

Aside from the stress of finals week (which seemed somehow much more intense at the end of this semester than almost any previous semester), the current meds I’m taking are obviously not working on my OCD. I’ve gone full-blown again.

My OCD is most noticeable, I think, when one watches me unmedicated in a relationship. Indeed, I’m quite convinced that the majority of my past relationships ended because of my OCD.

Never before have I worried about Lindsay. I’ve always been able to go to school and work and out for coffee or drinks without ever worrying about whether or not Lindsay would get mad at me or leave me. I was able to assume that we are both in love with one another to such a degree that neither of us could pull out of the relationship without being seriously hurt — essentially, the relationship version of nuclear deterrence: mutually assured destruction.

But when OCD comes galloping back into Dodge, my brain no longer recognizes her need and desire for me. It all becomes about me and how I feel unloved or unwanted or whatever. Everything becomes a possible reason for her to leave. If I tell her I love her too much or ask her to sit with me or cuddle with me, I fear looking too much like a wussy boy with whom she doesn’t want to be seen. If her tone of voice is off (as it often is in her unhappy morning state), my brain immediately begins swirling with reasons for her (perceived) dislike of me. Somehow, my brain refuses to accept what I’ve always known: that she doesn’t like the mornings; this tone of voice isn’t meant for me. It’s meant for the world of mornings.

So I realize how stupid it all is. Rationally, I can see myself as saboteur. Somehow, I just can’t seem to stop my brain from stressing me out. It’s worse now, too, because I know what happiness and self-esteem and the like feel like (Paxil worked well on that level for me), and I just can’t seem to will those positive, healthy feelings to return to me.

But, ultimately, Lindsay is what makes me happy. And maybe rationally, but more likely OCDly, I worry that I’ll lose her because the real me, the unmedicated me, puts so much pressure and responsibility on her.

I hate that, like, last night, I lay in bed at night and my mind can’t seem to stop hoping, wishing, praying that Lindsay isn’t planning to leave me. So I ask her, “Lindsay, I just want to ask you a question to put my mind at ease. It’s an irrational fear, and I just want to get it out of the way. Are you planning to leave me?” And her “no, of course not” is relieving . . . for a while. Then my mind begins again, “Asking stupid, irrational questions like that just may get you left.”

I fucking hate OCD. Doctor’s appointment at 2:50.

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