"Dreams and rivers and haunting addictions
Lovers and hypocrites and dwindling prescriptions
Turmoil and sunsets and purpose and pain
Oceans and graveyards and secrets and rain
Forever and children and Angels of Sin
Mother and mountains and OBSESSING AGAIN..."
I cannot believe I have only come this far on The List. Damn. At least I picked a seemingly endless source of blogspiration.
Alrighty, then:
"Obsessing again..." The subject matter changes, but the habit (?) does not. Is obsessing a habit? Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps a sickness? I don't know. I'll obsess about it later.
For as long as I can remember, I have been an obsessive thinker. It's not worry. That's different. It's more like the mental equivalent of having to flip a light switch a certain number of times: the thought being the switch. But, the difference between my form of OCD and having to wash my hands ten and a half times or touch my pillow three times before taking a dump, or having to kick the neighbor's cat before pulling out of the driveway is: these are all OUTWARD manifestations of crazy.
I would argue that - while outward crazy creates a lot more room for judgement - INWARD crazy is more difficult to live with. If a friend and I are going out to dinner, for instance, and I feel the need to count a hundred and twenty-six carpet fibers before I can walk out the door, at least my friend is totally aware of my crazy and can sit silently by while I engage in ritualistic insanity. BUT, do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to first find the correct sequence of thought-wording (which can only be accomplished by having the same semblance of said thought over and over again until the correct arrangement is stumbled upon), and THEN have to complete the sequence WITHOUT interruption when nobody even knows that such complete and utter craziness is afoot? It feels kind of like this:
And also like this:
So, I take meds with the full understanding that I cannot expect anything close to full understanding from anyone that has not endured this kind of torment. The meds make me forget just how bad it can get; then I start feeling brave - like I can exist without chemical realignment. But, my reality quickly puts "baby in the corner," again.
And that's all I have to say about that.
I cannot believe I have only come this far on The List. Damn. At least I picked a seemingly endless source of blogspiration.
Alrighty, then:
"Obsessing again..." The subject matter changes, but the habit (?) does not. Is obsessing a habit? Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps a sickness? I don't know. I'll obsess about it later.
For as long as I can remember, I have been an obsessive thinker. It's not worry. That's different. It's more like the mental equivalent of having to flip a light switch a certain number of times: the thought being the switch. But, the difference between my form of OCD and having to wash my hands ten and a half times or touch my pillow three times before taking a dump, or having to kick the neighbor's cat before pulling out of the driveway is: these are all OUTWARD manifestations of crazy.
And also like this:
So, I take meds with the full understanding that I cannot expect anything close to full understanding from anyone that has not endured this kind of torment. The meds make me forget just how bad it can get; then I start feeling brave - like I can exist without chemical realignment. But, my reality quickly puts "baby in the corner," again.
And that's all I have to say about that.
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