Disclaimer: There’s an unholy amount of swearing in this post (because I just feel a bit sweary and passionate today) so if you don’t like swearing then that’s completely cool with me and I respect your verbal purity, but my blog is definitely not the one for you buddy.
I wrote a post back in April this year called Sweet Sweet Surrender, which was about situations in which I have no control and the fact that these situations actually helps me in my onward plight against OCD. They offer me beautiful relief. Today, my dear serotonin deficient compadres (and everyone else too), I’m introducing you to Fuckit Mim (my nearest and dearest have already met her on many an occasion – lucky bastards).
Yah, that’s bloody right. That’s me. Well not entirely me – just someone I am sometimes. A bit like Beyoncé and her alter ego Sasha Fierce except my alter ego’s got a shit name and she can be very fucking flighty to say the least.
In my late teens and young 20s I was a bit of a ‘wild child’ as one family member politely put it. A ‘loose cannon’ if you will (also far too polite). ‘Hurricane’ was definitely a noun that has also been tenderly placed upon my head, whilst a sword (with a sheath made entirely from bad decisions and dodgy morals) knighted my shoulders. BEHOLD, HONOURABLE COUNCIL… FUCKIT MIM WAS BORN.
I was wildly unpredictable, incredibly impulsive and really didn’t give many shits about anything at all. My most commonly used phrase was “ahhh, fuck it” – hence the tender nickname. I just clomped around in my big boots, with my pink hair, and did whatever the fuck I felt like doing really. I had a lot of proper bastard fun don’t get me wrong, but in hindsight all of the partying and the questionable behaviour was probably all just a cover up… a ruse… a coping mechanism for big adult issues which I needed to address.
Fast-forward to my mid twenties and I really wasn’t about dat life anymore. I flipped 180 degrees in the space of a couple of years, partly because I was becoming more mature (I have a diary with my friends’ birthdays in now) but mostly because of my wildly illogical and anally retentive mate, OCD.
Even though I’d unknowingly had OCD since childhood, a perfectly-timed combination of shitstorms reached their crescendo in 2016. I just couldn’t cope anymore, and it was then that I was diagnosed with severe OCD. I had done nothing spontaneous for the 2 years prior to my diagnosis. I had stopped socialising with my friends and I began abiding by an extremely strict revision timetable for my exams. I exercised obsessively and my diet was carefully controlled and measured. There was a short spate in January 2016 where I developed agoraphobia and Valium was the only thing that forced me to chill the fuck out.
NOBODY WANTS THIS VERSION OF MIM. NOBODY. She’s boring, neurotic, and prone to angry outbursts due to the Fuckit Mim trapped inside her. “I JUST WANNA DANCE ON TABLES”, screams Fuckit Mim, “LET’S JUST BLACKOUT ON SCOTCH AND SLEEP ON THIS COLD STONE FLOOR.”
Absolutely NOBODY ON PLANET EARTH wants 100% Fuckit Mim let loose 24/7 either – despite the fact she’s super bloody fun. She’s like the Tasmanian Devil on speed, with absolutely zero fucks to give, and a large trail of collateral damage behind her. So… I formulated a plan where I become Fuckit Mim BUT only when necessary.
What is that you’re asking for?! An example?? I shall comply my friends, but only a quick one because it’s Saturday and there are many things to be cleaned and many worries to be worried. (Sometimes I talk like an ominous little leprechaun – y’know the kind that demands the answer to mysterious limericks before allowing you to enter a magical cave but then PLOT TWIST he clubs you to death with a four-leaf clover made of iron.)
Okay…back to the example. Summer 2017 I had an OCD flare up that left me quite upset. Once I began to emerge from the depths of my mind, I decided to hurry along the recovery process (proactive af) by inviting Fuckit Mim out for the afternoon. I had just received my exam results and I was on a high. I wanted the high to continue. I wanted to feel fully, truly, liberatingly happy again. So I went and got a peach tattooed on my arse-cheek (no joke).
The tattoo artist asked me why I wanted it and I told him it had no meaning behind it at all, when in actual fact the sentiment was just very private and personal at that time. I had spontaneously gone to a tattoo parlour and got a permanent fucking PEACH on my arse. That’s gunna be there when I’m 70! But not once have I allowed my mind to fret about whether the ink is neat enough, or whether it was a mistake. It’s one of my favourite tattoos because it reminds me that I don’t have to be controlled by OCD all the gosh darn time. I can temporarily allow Fuckit Mim to come forth and (moderately) fuck shit up every once in a while. I can let myself feel as free as the old Mim, and it will actually be good for my mental health. I just have to maintain a healthy balance because OCD Mim is a bit of a bummer to be around, but Fuckit Mim gets me into considerable amounts of trouble.
(The last time Fuckit Mim gained full control of my actions was at the end of 2016 after a bereavement, but that’s probably one to discuss further after a gin or ten. Carnage.)
I’m now 27, and I’m so done with missing 21 year old Mim. I’m also sooo blimmin’ done with control freak OCD Mim. I think I’ve finally found the right balance now and Fuckit Mim stays under wraps until the right moments. There are a set of (suuuper super chill and spontaneous) terms and conditions, including the fact that I never EVER allow myself to be Fuckit Mim when I’m in a negative headspace, and also I try not to engage in any self-destructive behaviours (e.g. drinking myself into oblivion).
Having OCD is so weird because it’s like my brain completely re-wired itself back in 2016, and I’ve had to reboot and really put in effort at trying to train my brain to be the way that I want it. It’s given me a psychological self-awareness that I didn’t have to this extent before, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. I think (hope) that one day I won’t even have to think about OCD or Fuckit Mim and that I can just go back to living my life on cruise control, but right now whilst OCD is tapping on my shoulder, this works well for me.
Anyway, thankyou all for persevering with this post and it has been an absolute pleasure introducing you to Fuckit Mim. If you want a memorable night out, absolutely invite her. I hope your weekend is sprinkled with a healthy balance of dangerous spontaneity and controlled relaxation.
Fuckit Mim, signing off.