If you’ve read my recent post on the Digging the Dirt Instagram, ignore this post.

Just wanted to check in because I haven’t posted recently. I’ve had a rough few weeks. My physical health has taken a hit and this coincides with my mental health also taking a bit of a beating. Currently finding it difficult to leave the house or see anybody. My Dr is switching me to a different medication over the next couple of weeks as depression and OCD have f***ed me up with the double bounce. I’m really hoping that the new medication will help and that I’ll be on the mend sooooon!

Just wanted you all to know that I haven’t given up on the blog – I just want to do it justice and I’m not able to do that right now.

Big love.


Sun, sand, and an internal meltdown or two 

As far as triggers go, some are pretty run-of-the-mill, easily pull-backable situations (no that is absolutely not a word). People sneezing, dogs pooping, loud noises etc etc. These triggers are more of a mild irritant than a day-ruiner. They make me feel weird for mere minutes at a time and then they’re forgotten about (for a while).

A really really really really annoying trigger for me is staying away from home. Not only is it irritating primarily because of the OCD itself, but it’s annoying because of the longevity of these episodes and how much I miss out on.

During phases when the OCD is chilled, I’m able to stay overnight at various locations, but when the OCD is being a difficult bastard, I even struggle to stay overnight at my best friends’ houses. MY VERY OWN BEST FRIENDS, HUH OCD? This can be quite embarrassing for me, although less so now that my friends are all aware of the inner workings of my lil brain. I felt as though it sometime made me come across like a childish hermit who sits in her small, sheltered cave making dinosaurs out of lego at the age of 26. BUT IT’S NOT ACTUALLY LIKE THAT OKAY. Before OCD set up a permanent camp in my brain, I was a normal human that went to lots of parties, slept drunkenly on lots of wooden floors, and was extremely up for virtually all spontaneous trips and plans. 

Currently, I skip between that spontaneous version of me, and the version of me that would rather stay in the safety of my own home whilst re-watching Broad City episodes under a blanket with my dog, sheltering from the germs of the outside world. For me, it’s hard to explain mental illness to people (especially to people who don’t want to hear it) without feeling like an attention-seeking killjoy who just wants everyone to feel sorry for me, so I’ve come across various people whom I’ve cared about in the past that just haven’t understood my inability to “just live” as they so simplistically put it. I’ve been told that my affinity for staying in my own bed overnight is really unhealthy (although I have a sneeeaking suspicion that he just really wanted me in his bed instead…) I know that OCD isn’t healthy – that’s exactly the point of mental illness. A little compassion and understanding wouldn’t go amiss. Even if you haven’t experienced a feeling or a situation yourself, perhaps just trust somebody when they voice the fact that they don’t feel comfortable doing something (shouts to my lovely humans who always make me feel comfortable and heard).

So, what situations scare me when it comes to spending the night, you ask? Literally 99.9% of them. Hotel stays, trips abroad, British holidays, camping trips, hospital stays (ESPECIALLY – GERMS AHOY). Literally any night that I spend away from my comfort zone(s) i.e. my home, the homes of family members, the homes of a couple of my exes.

When some of these potential ‘stay away from home’ plans are thrown out into the atmosphere of possibility by the people around me, I just find the idea of going through with it absolutely impossible. Sometimes I challenge these ‘FUCK NO’ feelings, but sometimes I have to just accept defeat in fear of pushing myself too hard, before yodelling the aforementioned “FUCK NOOOOOOO” into the valleys and beyond from my cosy cosy sofa. You know those days where you just feel really overwhelmed and you have to give in and sit on your bed and be kind to yourself and maybe have 15 mojitos (I’m kidding lol OR AM I – I GUESS WE MAY NEVER KNOW)

Other situations feel like less of a challenge beforehand as the fun definitely outweighs the anxiety. I’m currently on a break in Devon and it’s absolutely idyllic. I’m staying in a little apartment right on the beach, overlooking the sea and the sand dunes. I have no work to do, and abolutely nothing with any weight to worry about. But however well-received a holiday may feel, and however grateful I am to be there, the OCD is ever present. The OCD is like a small, wrinkly Rumpelstiltskin that sits in my handbag, spinning straw into wicked, wicked lies that he waits to feed into my mouth when I’m feeling really genuinely happy (lol my similes are getting out of hand).

I go away a few times a year, both on British holidays and abroad holidays. Sometimes, I’m absolutely fine during these holidays and the OCD doesn’t flare up at all. Other times, OCD will have been near-to-nonexistent leading up to the holiday and then BAM KABOOOSH WAPOOOOOOW I’m absolutely not okay, and I have none of my home comforts to give me any kind of relief from the alien environment that I’m now perched in, with my hands in my pockets and a look of unsettled disgust etched across my freckled mug.

“So what actually HAPPENS on these holidays when the OCD flares up” I hear you cry from yonder. Well, my dear curious readers – mild examples include very sweaty palms (for it is I, sexy mim), nausea, light-headedness and sometimes an urge to cry publicly (anyone who knows me knows that I’d rather eat my own spleen – or maybe even 12 other people’s spleens for that matter – than cry in public). I feel a frequent need to wash my hands, but no amount of washing is enough, which results in me running my hands under the taps for a ridiculous amount of time. I moisturise my hands repeatedly, before removing the moisturiser straight away. More extreme examples include the fact that I begin subconsciously yet meticulously checking my food before I eat it, and I usually end up eating far less. Sleep evades me unless I take sleep medication, and sand and dirt are enough to induce panic attacks. The infamous intrusive images and sounds then begin (think nails dragging on blackboards and cutlery scratching across plates), which is closely followed by repeated finger-licking and rubbing to try and reduce the intrusive thoughts. I always feel like my fingers are made of chalk, and it gives me an unbearable feeling that I literally can’t explain. All-in-all, it’s enough to add a little distraction to a serene beach holiday.

Some people would probably read this and retort with “Why not just refuse to act out the compulsions, and use logic to tell yourself that everything is fine? Why not block out the OCD for a week whilst you’re away?” I would absolutely love love looove to do this, but more often than not, it feels impossible. The feelings and sensations involved are very real and can feel very physical. CBT advises me to face them head-on for exposure work, so whenever I feel able to, I absolutely do. Believe me, I want to get better even more than anyone else wants me to. However, there is a tenderness that I have slowly learned when it comes to challenging myself. I need to tow the line between recovery and a full mental breakdown, and I feel that (despite the little OCD voice in my head) I’m getting closer and closer to understanding this balance.

One thing outside of exposure work that I find helps me a lot is thinking about WHY the OCD is triggered at specific times such as holidays. The whole time that I’ve been away this week, I’ve been wrestling with my compulsions and obsessions in order to see the lovely view over the top of them. This morning however, I sat down and finally faced writing this post and this made me sit in my head for an hour and question WHY the OCD has been triggered in such a huge way. The most obvious causes (especially when it comes to just overnight stays with friends) are unfamiliar surroundings and a whole new germ-pool. This makes complete sense and I always knew this was a trigger. A lack of my usual ‘safe place’ i.e. my front room is another obvious factor. The final factor however, and one that is exclusive to holidays, is one that I hadn’t realised until I sat down to write, and that’s pressure.

Any situation that involves expectations from me usually results in pressure and for some reason, pressure seems to kick the OCD up the arse in a huge way, making it fire like a dodgy cannon. I just paused without typing for a good ten minutes, trying to surmise WHY I think pressure might have such a notable effect on my mental health. Perhaps it runs parallel to the common idea that, commonly, if one (mentally well or not) stacks up pressure on an event being fun or enjoyable, it will usually end up being a disappointment to some extent. Multiply ‘disappointment’ by OCD and you get obsessive thoughts, secret crying fits and red-raw hands… Perhaps I’m setting myself up for a loss by failing to factor in OCD to my plans. Perhaps I need to become less optimistic. I’m not sure at all, but please feel free to comment if you have any personal experience with this pressure factor.

Anyway, I feel as though I’ve lost my way slightly throughout this post and gone off on a slight tangent, although I quite like doing this as it feels as though I’m writing more of a raw account of the thought processes involved in OCD, rather than a planned essay about it. Writing this post has primarily conformed to my primary goal of helping non-OCDers to understand, and to help OCDers feel less alone, however it’s also been quite cathartic for me. Perhaps now that I’ve realised that pressure plays a huge role in my holiday OCD flare-ups, I’ll be able to find a way of overcoming it on my beach breaks and overnight stays. Perhaps it’ll do f**k all, but at least it’s stopped me from repeatedly licking my fingers like an absolute weirdo for an hour.

I am not weak.

It’s obvious that there’s a huge stigma around mental illness in the UK. Personally, I think it’s improved considerably, but we’ve still got a long way to go.

When I first started this blog, I felt notably anxious about letting my ‘vulnerabilities’ show. I’ve always been the kind of person that’s embarrassed to cry in front of people. Go on – picture me running out of various ex-boyfriends’ bedrooms with my hands covering my reddening face yelling “NO NO NO NO”, whilst blinking manically to force the tears back into my skull, because it’s bloody well happened. MULTIPLE TIMES. I feel like I should apologise every time I cry. I used to deal with my emotions unhealthily by subconsciously converting my sadness into anger. I’ve refused to let people who have hurt me know that they’ve hurt me because then they would’ve managed to crack the hard, British exoskeleton that society has placed around my soft, squishy body. My immediate family members are the only people who ever see my raw emotions. I get home to my front door and I hang up my jagged exoskeleton before I walk into my lounge. WHY ARE WE ALL WEARING EXOSKELETONS????

When I see the people I love crying, I never ever feel embarrassed and I certainly never expect a bloody apology – so why should I burden myself with shame and guilt for having emotions? I realised that I was treating myself with completely double standards.

My blog has helped me to challenge the ideas that I’ve had in the past. I’ve come to learn that if anybody is judging me negatively for what I’ve written, then that’s their problem and – to be frank – I really couldn’t give a flying f**k. 

When I was younger, I (as many probably did and perhaps still do) would read about an individual’s experience with mental illness and feel sorry for them. Not in a demeaning or patronising way – but in a very personal and raw way. But since personally experiencing depression and OCD, my mindset has changed completely. Now, when I read individual’s blog posts and books and honest social media posts, I see these people as so incredibly strong. They’re strong because of what they’ve been forced to face, they’re strong in the ways in which they’ve coped, and they’re strong for sharing their experience, because opening up about mental health can be really f***ing scary. The driving emotion for me when people talk about mental illness is no longer pity, but admiration.

I think that the overall attitude towards people with mental health is changing for the better. Of course there will always be judgement, discrimination, and misinformation, but when I see how normalised discussions about mental health have become among my peers it makes me feel incredibly proud of humans in general. The fact that many young people will sit in a pub and casually discuss their depression with their mates without a second thought over a beer makes me feel a shiny, golden feeling in my soul that I can’t quite explain.

Empathy is innate and it’s a beautiful thing – it’s what takes the edge off of our hard, human exteriors. I’m absolutely not saying people shouldn’t feel empathy towards others – I’m just saying that sadness shouldn’t necessarily be the overwhelming reaction to somebody telling you they struggle with their mental health. Admiration should.

Some people might read my posts and feel sympathy towards me, but I want to convey the fact that I am incredibly strong because of the experiences I’ve had. The ‘vulnerabilities’ that I worried about exposing when I started this blog soon became my strengths and my emotional battle scars. They’ve thickened my skin and furthered my empathy in a way that’s pushed me to help others and to start being kinder to myself. Of ruddy course I have my moments of surrender where I just need to curl up in my Mum and Dad’s arms, or where I accidentally demolish three Easter eggs in one go whilst crying manically and listening to the Game of Thrones soundtrack (just a vague example), but these moments of darkness don’t change the fact that I’m capable and mighty. Let’s stop victimising people with mental health issues and start realising how strong and robust they are. Let’s celebrate this new era that we’re entering where mental health is no longer a taboo subject. Let’s all let ourselves cry without judgment to the bloody Game of Thrones soundtrack.

We are tenacious, capable badasses and I just wanted to remind anyone who might have forgotten or may not be feeling it in this moment.

Has OCD affected my creativity?

I’m feeling super uninspired this week and a sinus infection and temperature haven’t helped one bit. I’ve sat down with a mind to write this post four times already, but I just can’t seem to make the words on the page sound nice. Ever the perfectionist – this has made writing a post quite difficult. I just forgot the word ‘temperature’ and had to Google it. Don’t expect too much from this post…

In answer to the title; yes, absolutely. 

I hate clutter, in absolutely every sense. I hate a cluttered room, because it makes my brain feel cluttered and I HATE BRAIN CLUTTER. I hate a cluttered desktop on my laptop. I hate the page to look cluttered when I’m writing notes. I hate t-shirts with images cluttering them up. I hate colours cluttering my body. I hate the clutter of dust. As a child I even hated the clutter of freckles that sat on my cheeks (I mean the face kind not the bum kind…OR DO I????) I’ve always been very particular, even as a child, in terms of coordinating colours and shapes, symmetry, and things needing to be “just so”, as I put it. It wasn’t until my OCD diagnosis that I began to look at my personality traits and decide which of them were just Mim and which of them were mental illness (those little thought journeys are always a mad trip). Creativity usually involves an element of clutter. I think I’m naturally a creative person, but I’ve come to realise that OCD enjoys pissing all over the things that I am and the things that I enjoy. WOOO.

To be an interior designer would be the absolute dream. I spend so much time looking at interior design on the internet and in magazines. I imagine how I’d decorate my personal space if clutter didn’t bother me. I’d have pretty things on shelves covering my walls. I’d have ornaments and shaggy rugs dotted around. I’d have throws and cushions on my bed, and candles everywhere. Unfortunately though, I’m OCD Mim, and my bedroom in particular is clinical and bare. The walls are white, the furniture is white, and my bedsheets are white (imagine my client’s reactions if I became an interior designer lollll). Don’t get me wrong I BLOODY LOVE IT. It makes me feel refreshed, clear-headed and tidy. But I’ve been wondering over the last year or so…do I really love it? Or does the OCD love it…? 

I love art. I love looking at art. I love creating art – mostly painting and drawing. I’d bloody LOVE to be able to bring some of that art into my space, but I just can’t. My painted white walls have nothing on them – no art or photography whatsoever. I use plants to decorate my otherwise whitewash, minimalist space, because for some reason plants don’t count as ‘clutter’. I have upward of twenty canvases sat in a cupboard in my bedroom that I’ve painted intricately with nude bodies, plants, eyes and abstract designs, but they stay in the cupboard so’s not to clutter up my room. I’d love to put some on my wall but each time I’ve tried to put one on my shelf, I snatch it back down again within less than a day because it’s making my surroundings feel busy. I currently have four pieces of framed art in a shopping basket on a bookmarked site, but I can’t bring myself to buy them because that would actually mean putting them up.

When painting and drawing, I can’t let the brush or the pencil flow freely onto the canvas. I have to sketch and plan an idea first, before carefully completing the final piece. That’s not what making art is actually about for me personally. It shouldn’t be about the final product (especially when it just sits in my cupboard), it should be about enjoying the process of making the piece. I wish so badly that I could just paint what I feel, and let the painting be a direct translation from my brain. My last counsellor asked me on multiple occasions to paint or draw self-portraits of myself five years ago compared to now. She wanted me to let it flow without careful planning. Each time I tried to, I’d mix the paint, throw on an old jumper, the paintbrush would reach the canvas and then stop, because for some absurd reason I can’t bring myself to ‘wing it’ in terms of anything at all. I HATE ‘WINGING IT’ ALMOST AS MUCH AS I HATE GROUP HUGS. DON’T MAKE ME WING IT. 

As well as art, OCD seems to affect me in terms of the clothes I wear. Until a year or so ago, I primarily wore black. Black was my safe colour. Black jeans, black top, black trainers, black underwear. I always just assumed this was because I love the colour black, and when my Grandma lightheartedly lectured me to wear colour I’d reply with the argument “but black is classic”. I’ve since realised however, that constantly adorning black was simply a way of making my outfit as minimalist as possible. Not too busy. No clutter. Since releasing this and also since seeking treatment for OCD, I’ve managed to overcome it in quite a huge way. Sometimes I wear pink and red now WOAHHH, SLOW DOWN MIM. In fact, I’m wearing bright red as I write this. Somebody please STOP ME. I wore lots of colours last summer. Pastel colours, neon colours and lots of red. It felt nice, and nothing bad happened. Wahey!!

Jewellery has also been a way in which OCD has crushed my creativity a little. I used to be very particular about things matching. I only wear gold jewellery, and when I would wear multiple necklaces, the chains had to be the exact same type. The necklaces also needed to be the exact same shade of gold, and so I always bought the same karat of gold (good God I sound like such a barrel of laughs). I remember on one particular occasion, an ex of mine bought me a gold pendant necklace for my birthday. The necklace was beautiful and at first I adored it, but then the OCD sabotaged my happiness and my subconscious mind started to pick holes in my happiness. The chain had a slightly orange tint to it compared to the yellow gold tone of the pendant. This became an obsessive thought in my head, which caused me a lot of unnecessary worry. It makes me sad that the edge was taken off of this gorgeous gift from the man I loved. It made me feel ungrateful that I’d managed to find fault (though I obviously never shared my obsessive necklace worries with him), and so the OCD guilt hit in full force. Even something as simple and beautiful as receiving a gift turned out to be such a complicated mental event for me. Since starting treatment, I’ve become far more laidback about jewellery, and although I still only ever wear gold, I sometimes mix solid gold jewellery with gold-plated jewellery. I’M WILD, I KNOW! Who needs recreational drugs when you’re into mixing metals?!

One of the techniques I learned when doing CBT is to challenge what exactly it is I’m afraid might happen. What’s the worst that could happen if my room has art on the walls? What’s the worst that could happen if I wear a mix of silver and gold jewellery? I honestly have no clue as to what I’m so afraid of (I don’t think I’m even afraid as such – I just can’t physically bring myself to do certain things). But I guess that’s just how OCD works – logic doesn’t even come into it.

Now that I’ve been diagnosed with OCD, it’s been a pretty scary/fun couple of years trying to work out what’s Mim and what’s OCD. Treating the OCD means that more elements of my fundamental personality are coming through, which is actually really f***ing exciting. I sometimes imagine what I’d be like if I’d never had OCD. I think deep down I’d be a far more creative type, with my head in the clouds, always thinking of the next project I could manifest into reality. I would never wish away the OCD from my past though, because it’s taught me so so much. At the moment, I just feel really grateful that I can wear pink sometimes, and I hope that within the next few years I’ll have conquered a few more areas of the the OCD block that I have corking my creativity. Maybe in a year I’ll have some beautiful art on my walls, or maybe I won’t. I’m not rushing it, I just feel incredibly thankful for the place I’m in right now.

Just a quick thankyou!

When I first started this blog, I was considerably hesitant because fundamentally, I’m fiercely protective about my private life. As well as my own personal nerves, I didn’t hold out much hope in terms of my words reaching or helping anyone. Over the last six months the amount of feedback I’ve had from strangers and acquaintances alike has been unreal! I’m elated that I’ve managed to make at least one single person feel less lonely, let alone multiple people.

Something I find very beautiful is the number of people reading my posts because – whereas they don’t have OCD – they love somebody who does, and they want guidance on how they can support/understand their loved one. Human beans supporting each other’s mental health makes me feel very warm and fuzzy in my lil anxiety-ridden soul.

It just so happens that writing down my experiences and thoughts is turning out to be an extremely enlightening and cathartic exercise for myself, so I just wanted to say a quick thankyou to my followers and readers!

Happy Thursday all 🙂

Sweet sweet surrender

Starting this blog has resulted in me engaging in a whole bunch of introspection. I’m learning so much about myself and my OCD. It’s been real. One of the main things I’ve recently realised is that OCD often causes me to be a control freak. Not in terms of people and relationships, but in terms of my surroundings. I feel anxious and panicky if I lose control of the settings around me, and that’s why certain situations such as loud surroundings, busy places, or a last-minute change in plans can sometimes make me feel very stressed. Anything that I haven’t accounted for can happen in those settings, from sick humans harbouring germs, to someone standing in something gross and dragging it inside, to someone in my company getting harmed. I’m always on high alert during situations that I wasn’t expecting.

However much I instinctively want control, life is just like Kanye West let loose on twitter; life has no manager…it can’t be managed (…expect more Ye quotes btw, Gemini gang). There are moments in my life where control – and therefore safety – is snatched from underneath me and there’s nothing I can do about it. Although these moments often induce an acute fight or flight response, they’re also sort of a weird relief. Imagine feeling so responsible for everyone and everything, and having to complete mental and physical rituals in order to maintain control, and then suddenly the control is just taken away entirely. I don’t have to feel responsible anymore! The rituals stop, the intrusive thoughts stop, and I’ve got space in my head to breathe. It’s hard to explain the logic (can we call it logic?) behind this thinking, so I’ma briefly outline five specific moments of surrender during which my OCD chills the f**k out:


Falling in love

Falling in love is terrifying. It literally has the word “falling” in it because it’s completely out of your control, and also because it feels like you’re falling down an escalator made entirely of knives, into a snake pit filled with burning hot lava. I’ve been in love twice in my life, and there have absolutely been times when I haven’t wanted to be in love but couldn’t help it. But that’s just what love does, isn’t it? It bends you over then yells “GIVE NO QUARTERRRRR”, before making you it’s bitch. You might think you’re in control of your feelings, my sweet mislead readers, but you’re bloody well not. Falling in love has always given me a wild sense of freedom. The control is whipped from beneath me like a glitching magic rug, and I surrender wholly to the oxytocin being pumped around my body. I wondered at one point during my early twenties whether I was a love addict, but I’ve come to realise that I just crave a sweet release from my brain, and love offers this to me on a heart-shaped plate.



Just like when we fall in love, oxytocin (which makes us feel close and connected) is released when we have sex. This, mixed with the animalistic, primal nature of sex means that my rituals stop. Right now, sat on my bed, I can’t think of a single time in my life that I have counted, repeated words, had the urge to clean, or repeatedly licked my fingers during sex (I’m pretty glad really). Perhaps I just haven’t encountered rubbish sex yet, during which distraction may be easier (maybe I’ve jinxed it now F**K). Basically, when sleeping with someone, most people surrender completely to the moment and stop thinking too much in their heads. We surrender to the hormones being released, we surrender to the pheromones of our partner, and we surrender to our bodies. For most human beans on earth, a break from thinking is probably a wondrous relief because we’re all just big meat-sacks full of anxiety really. Imagine this relief for an OCD brain, which almost never has a moment’s peace. It’s a wonder OCDers aren’t all shagging like hamsters on heat, considering.



This one is pretty self-explanatory. Lots of scotch means one very sloppy, out of control Mim. BIGUP TO ANYONE WHO’S BEEN IN THE COMPANY OF DRUNK MIM BY THE WAY, you deserve compensation. Alcohol causes a break down in inhibitions for most people regardless of OCD, but for me personally, losing control of said inhibitions can be an intoxicating drug in itself. I give absolutely zero f**ks when I’m pissed. I lose control of my mind, my mouth, my volume, and (unfortunately) my taste in men. Loss of control of so many variables causes the ol’ rug to be snatched from beneath me again and I become drunk on relief. My brain becomes silent. I don’t wash my hands repeatedly, I don’t check my food and drinks, and I become (sort of) able to show affection towards human beans. I don’t binge drink very often these days due to my physical health, but when I do, good God it’s nice ‘n’ silent in my mind.


Depressive episodes

Depression can suck my butt. Depression – for me personally – has evolved over the years from an intense feeling of sadness, to complete numbness. I go through fairly hectic, fast-paced cycles of feeling depressed and feeling normal, and usually the depressive episodes don’t last very long. The last part of this winter was an exception however – an unwelcome plot twist if you will – with quite mild depression snowballing over a number of weeks into a big black hole of numbness. This was bloody terrible, don’t get me wrong…BUT…my mum always encouraged me to look for the silver linings in life. I’ve found that when the depression is at its worst – the OCD vanishes. Completely and utterly disappears. I think that this may partly be because I stop giving any shits at all in terms of the whole “lock the door three times over or you’ll die” because I’m like “FINE! TAKE ME, SWEET DEMISE. I’M READY ANYWAY!” So then the OCD becomes powerless, like in Harry Potter when they’re all learning how to conjure their patronus, and when they manage to, their biggest fear becomes obsolete. I think it may also partially be the whole ‘rug being snatched away’ scenario again. You know when you’re depressed and you spiral downwards and everything sort of blurs and disappears, and nothing seems important anymore? It’s that complete loss of control again that I’ve been talking about… Terrifying and yet sort of emancipating in some form.



The strangest and most surprising times that my OCD has given me space has been when I’m grieving. I think this shares a pretty similar explanation to the depression rug-snatch. What could possibly be worse than losing a whole human that you love and cherish? Absolutely nothing. So it makes me feel sort of invincible. Like a powerful farmer hobbling (powerfully) out of his crooked farmhouse made entirely of (powerful) grief to wave a stick and yell “GEDDORFFF MOY LAAAAND” to any problem which may present itself at the gate. Weird metaphor but you geddit right? 

The various moments of surrender that I’ve outlined above both interest me and confuse me. I’d explain them to you in full if I could, but I’ve got no ruddy clue whether my guesses as to WHY this happens are legitimate, so some vague movie-scene exemplars are just gonna have to suffice. It’s all guesswork in this colourful little brain of mine I’m afraid.

Fundamentally, without OCD I think I’d be a pretty chilled human, so these little moments of surrender allow me to be my pure, unadulterated self. This is probably why I’ve fallen in love and partied as recklessly and as hard as I have in the past. Quite dangerous really, (sorry but I’m about to do a Twilight reference) SORT OF LIKE WHEN BELLA SEEKS DANGER SO THAT SHE CAN SEE EDWARD (I’m really sorry, I’ll never reference it again). I think searching for moments of quiet in my head has driven me to some unhealthy situations and scenarios in the past. I feel quite chuffed that I’ve realised this, as having this knowledge means I’m probably less likely to slip into any unhealthy habits when trying to avoid my neurotic alter-ego. I’m also very aware that these moments of surrender are only ever momentary. They’re like little flickers of relief, lasting between two minutes to two days. OCD always returns with a vengeance afterwards, as though it’s making up for lost time. This further adds to my knowledge that avoiding the OCD is unhealthy, and so adds to my reticence towards doing it on purpose.

So basically, I’m a simple kinda gal. I’m relieved when I’m sad and I’m neurotic when I’m happy. My OCD stems from a need for control HOWEVER when I do lose control, it’s f***ing great. Does that make sense to you? Nope, me neither.