torsdag 13 oktober 2011

All my quirky OCD:s and neuroses

I am not one to brag, but I have suffered from severe depression for about four years, crippling anxiety attacks and eating disorders. Yes, I know, impressive, isn't it? And I'm only 20; doesn't it make you guys so jealous that a girl of mere 20 years ALREADY has established a healthy self-loathing perspective? I'm like the Beethoven of depression, seriously. Having been recently inspired by The Bloggess's openhearted honesty about her disease, I think that this is a good a time as any to just broadcast all my madness into the safe, motherly arms of internet, who would NEVER betray me and show this to my future employers. Here goes.

1. I have had OCD:s since the tender age of 5, when I started to compulsively check the whereabouts of my family, and if they weren't within a few meters reach, I would panic and be convinced that they were all dead and it was my fault. This escalated to the point where I forced all my family members and friends to promise me to never die, even though I was fully aware of the impossibility of such a promise. I mean, pinkie swear must kick cancer's ass, right? RIGHT? As I grew older, this OCD developed into a habit of telling everyone that I loved them before we parted ways, as I was convinced that they would die in a terrible car crash or be eaten by raccoons or some other highly likely scenario. If I for some reason had forgot to tell for example my mother that I loved her before she went to work, I would cry hysterically until she proved that she was alive once an hour. Even though this anxiety has become easier to manage as time passed, I can still wake up in the middle of the night, crying  because I am absolutely sure that my grandmother is going to die due to the fact that I forgot to call her the other day.

2. I constantly compare myself to other women in the department of writing humorously; I have actually been crying whilst reading the Bloggess, Hyperbole and a Half and Steammeupkid just due to the sudden realization that I can never be that funny, and that I am kidding myself with starting this blog and aspiring to be something which is so obviously out of my reach.

3. I am very paranoid. Not in the "government ate my baby and have replaced my hands with metal detectors when I sleep" (THAT WOULD BE AWESOME!) sense, but in the sense that I constantly believe that people hate me and spend all their time awake with marathon sessions of talking about how boring/sad/unfunny/ugly I am. Then I force myself to think with my reason instead of my gallbladder and consider the fact that maybe the world doesn't revolve around me being terrible (sounds silly, doesn't it? Like a new Creationist movement), and you know what I do then? I become depressed because nobody cares enough about me to hate me. I'm like the North Korea of socially awkward people; I make terrible jokes about hobos and genocide, yet people let me be, because I am really no threat to anyone - I'm like a dictatorship that has really let itself go, a mere shadow of its younger, hotter self; letting the population die of starvation and with a capital filled with overly ambitious building projects, but the U.N. says in an empathetic voice "can't we just let her believe that she's a nation that actually matters? Just for a while? Throw her a bone and let her select her cat to be foreign minister, where's the harm?"

4. I have phobias covering snakes, horses, birds, elevators, needles, psychopathic penguins, cancer, feline cancer, the zodiac sign cancer, cheese, avocado, clowns and mint-flavoured beverages.

OK, I withdraw the mint-flavoured beverage-thing. That just makes me seem weird.

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