Friday, August 24, 2012

I doubt it. (OCD)


I am discovering - in the deepest parts of me - so much doubt. 

Most days I wake up to a swirl of obsessive thoughts that spin so tight and lift me off the ground, away from reality. 

I'm starting to uncover how much of my life is influenced by false messages, caused by Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I'm starting to toy with the idea of possibly believing for a second that I really have it. That it's real, that it's biochemical, and that it's not my fault. And also, I'm starting to recognize how many false messages I have believed and entertained (though with OCD it doesn't feel voluntary - but it is.)

It is disorienting to realize that much of what I've acted on or agonized over is a voice that I cannot trust. A voice that is not me. It feels like a part of me. It feels so real. It tells me it is real. It tells me not to trust anything else. It warns me against being duped by people and their lies and their agendas. It tells me the author of this book doesn't really know anything.

Why trust anything so new? Didn't people for thousands of years live without anxiety medication, psychotherapy, brain scans, and all of these many, many diagnoses?

I am starting to ask - why is that a helpful thought? How does the fact that people didn't do, or know something mean that I shouldn't trust or believe it now? And really,  who has some "secret agenda" to help me be free from the tyrannical loop of obsessive thoughts. Thoughts that don't resolve, that torture me. Why shouldn't I trust the kind, helping hand, instead of the claws that dig in deeper when threatened?

There are so many reasons to open my hands to the offering of freedom. But the one that stands out today, the one that lets a little light into my heart is this: I do not want to live my life afraid to be wrong, afraid to believe just in case…just in case…what? In case in 10 years they discover more OCD related brain activity in the Caudate Nucleus than the Orbital Cortex - so what? WHO CARES?

Whether passive or stubborn, staying in this familiar hell is cowardice. I am not a coward. I am not a victim. I can reach out of this cloud of doubt to the hands extending hope, and trust. I will not be absorbed. My doubt, and obsessions don't make me more real. My doubt beats me into submission and steals the air from my lungs. It is cruelty to keep it. I can offer myself more than this. I can trust my God to be more than this. To want more for me than this.

I can leave doubt, and her screaming obsessions twisting in the wind, and walk away. 

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