…just kidding, it stands for obsessive compulsive disorder.
When most people are diagnosed with something, it comes as a shock. Not me. When ol’ doc told me I have OCD I threw my hands up skyward (thought about the fact I should probably wash them) and sang “IT’S ALL MAKING SENSE NOW”.
Between worrying about harbouring infections worms under my skin, or inhaling so much dust that my lungs might drown, or just generally assuming that I am a huge, festering cesspool of contagion that should shut myself in an airtight room to protect my loved ones…I am your average 26 year old woman. *American sitcom smile and wink*
I like to read (as long as nobody else has touched the pages), I loooove my food (as long as I’ve checked it meticulously for living creatures) and MAN do I love a pint or two of whisky (alcohol is sterile…so conveniently that’s never an issue).
I also have an intense passion for making inappropriate/borderline sociopathic jokes about every negative situation I’ve ever found myself in, much to the disdain of my current counsellor. A previous therapist of mine once suggested that I share my humorous outlook on OCD in order to help other OCDers see a light at the end of the pathogen-filled tunnel. So here I am. Writing a very honest blog. For your consumption. (Terrifying.)
I’ll be lamenting the depressing moments, laughing at the funny moments, and sharing some moments that I’ve never shared with anyone before.
If you’re reading this, I’m grateful that I can share my experiences alongside you, and I really hope that I manage to make at least one person smile. Thank you and hold tight.
Next post coming very shortly…