Longing

Oh, how I have missed you, OCD blogging community!  I have missed a lot of things.  My life has become so busy as of late (in a good way), that I haven't had much time to reflect on my OCD and my progression in fighting back.  Let's just say that the work is going well, and that explaining further would require more explanation than I currently have time for.  But as usual, this is still where I turn when I feel like I need a place to express my feelings related to OCD, and the trials and triumphs in battling it.

Instead of writing further this evening, I have been wanting to share a couple things I discovered when I went to my parents' house over the holidays.  By "things" I mean high school writing assignments.  These particular assignments caught my attention because they struck me as my attempt to try to capture, in words, this invisible and intangible thing forever keeping me bound and restrained - OCD that is.

Back then, I didn't have a name for it.  I thought it was my nature.  I thought it was simply who I was and the way I wanted to do things.  I am only beginning to see (and to allow myself to believe) how much OCD may have played into my daily life even when I was doing "fine."  I want so badly to believe that those times, too, were heavily governed by OCD, that my way of life back then is not how things "have to be."  I think I know that, OCD or not, there is no one way "things have to be."  Nevertheless, being able to excuse myself from some of the pressure to strive and perfect that I used to place upon myself is, well, so much easier to do when I can call it OCD.  Ultimately though, overcoming the OCD will probably require acknowledging that, OCD or not, my decision to actively pursue being "less than perfect" is just that - a decision.  I am deciding to be imperfect.  I am deciding to stop when I could do more.  I will have accept that, in letting myself relax a bit, there is the risk that I will see someone who has done more, tried harder, etc., and I will have to accept that, whether or not I can justify it as fighting my OCD, I made that decision to do less.

That said I was struck by these two poems that I wrote as high school writing assignments because they seem to describe so well that invisible compelling force of OCD before I even knew what OCD was or had a name for that insatiable force.  The first is just a poem, a poem that I probably had to write in that particular form or style.  The content though, within that framework seems to sum up my exhaustion and frustration within the confines of OCD, even back then.

The next one, I'm pretty sure, was the product of an assignment in which we had to write a poem constructed entirely of headlines cut from magazines and newspapers.  Aside from a connecting word here or there and a few carefully placed punctuation marks, the rest was cut, clipped, and pieced together bit by bit from various print sources. I believe each line of the poem came from a separate headline, but when put back together the collective result seems to capture the feeling of my OCD all too well.

It's strange to go back and read them, now that I have the missing puzzle piece that allows the picture to be completed:  I have OCD.  Everything seems to fall into place.  That invisible, intangible force pushing me to continue onward, no matter what the cost, finally has a name.