My OCD Journey Daily Battles
My name is Emily Carter (Not Real Name), and I am imprisoned in my own mind and four walls. From the moment I wake up to the second I close my eyes at night, I am at war with the invisible demon in my head. Germs, contamination, disease—these are the enemies I cannot see but feel lurking on every surface, in every breath, in every human interaction. My OCD isn’t just a quirk or an inconvenience; it is a relentless dictator that controls my every move.
The day begins before the sun rises. I wake up feeling an immediate sense of dread, my mind already racing. Did I wash my hands enough before bed? Did I touch my pillow with unclean hands? The questions spiral, and I find myself gripping the edge of my blanket, hesitating to move. Once I muster the courage to leave my bed, the first ritual begins—the handwashing. I turn on the faucet, making sure the water is scalding, and scrub my hands raw. The soap must be lathered just right, covering every inch of my skin for exactly two minutes. If the feeling isn’t right, if I doubt even for a second, I must start over.
Breakfast is another battle. I use disinfectant wipes on every surface, ensuring no invisible threats remain. I prepare my food carefully, but eating is difficult. My mind tells me that a stray germ may have landed on my spoon, that the plate wasn’t clean enough. My stomach knots, and sometimes I just give up on eating altogether. Hunger is easier to endure than the anxiety.
Leaving the house is rare, but when I do, it is an ordeal. If I must go outside, gloves and antibacterial wipes are my armor. I avoid people, keeping my distance even when crossing the street. The idea of someone coughing or sneezing near me sends a wave of panic through my body. If a stranger brushes against me, I have to return home immediately to shower, to cleanse myself of the contamination.
Isolation is my constant companion. I used to have friends, but my compulsions became too much for them to understand. I turned down invitations, avoided gatherings, made excuses until they stopped asking. It wasn’t their fault. I couldn’t expect them to live in my world, a world where every surface is a threat, every handshake an act of terror.
My OCD stems from trauma, a past too painful to revisit yet impossible to escape. The grief clings to me like a second skin and no amount of scrubbing can remove it. The memories haunt me, replaying in my mind like a broken record. I try to keep busy, to drown them out with routines and rituals, but they always find a way in. Intrusive thoughts claw at my brain, whispering worst-case scenarios, reminding me of all the ways I have failed, all the ways I could still lose everything.
Nighttime should be a relief, but it’s not. The checking begins—the door locks, the light switches, the water taps. Did I turn them off? Did I check properly? Just one more time. Just one more. My hands tremble as I repeat the rituals, exhaustion weighing on me like a heavy blanket. Finally, when my mind is too tired to fight, I collapse into bed, knowing that tomorrow, it all begins again.
OCD is not just about cleanliness; it is an all-consuming force that dictates my every action. It isolates, suffocates, and controls. Some days, I wonder what it would be like to be free, to touch a doorknob without fear, to shake a hand without panic. But for now, I remain trapped in the endless cycle, hoping that someday, somehow, I will escape the dark dungeons of my mind.
Whispers in the Dark
They whisper soft but cut so deep,
A thousand voices I cannot keep.
They twist, they turn, they pull, they pry,
They paint my fears across the sky.
A thought so dark, it shouldn’t be—
But there it lurks inside of me.
I wash, I check, I count, I pray,
But still, the thoughts won’t fade away.
They tell me lies I dare not trust,
Yet still, I bend, I yield, I must.
A cycle spins, a web so tight,
Trapping me in endless night.
I reach for peace, but it won’t stay,
It slips through cracks, it drifts away.
Yet hope still hums, a fragile spark,
A distant glow against the dark.
One day, perhaps, I will be free,
And silence will belong to me.
Writtten By E.C.
Conclusion
I have tried therapy, but it has not worked for me. I take medication, but it only dulls the edges of my suffering—it does not erase the pain. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope that one day, I will find a way to forget. That I can erase the memories that haunt me, start a new life, and finally know what it feels like to be truly happy.
Love Emily x
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