Here I am again today, a week later and three bad posts on, though it is something I suppose.

My beautiful son is doing amazing things in Austin, Texas and all is right in the world. The home we’re about to get is on my mind. It seems to be good to do this and not drag out the laptop necessarily.  I need to learn a good wee early morning routine that works. my stomach feels pretty bad. I had a doughnut before bed…. now onto maybe something more serious. My illness is on my mind lately. I need and want to write about it in an intelligent and helpful way.

My life has blown up beyond repair multiple times and here I still stand. What’s different this time is medication. It was so disheartening to go online and see what they say about ocd and ocpd. I do not know if I have the pd or now, though I quite suspect it but there’s no way not to notice the ocd.  It’s just that I’m 40 and have finally looked it straight in the eyes all these years. I am so glad that I have finally arrived to where I am now but it has been too, too long in coming. I hope I can help guide people better because this took way too long. I am forty years old.

We’re all kind of hung up on things like not letting shit go and my therapist says everyone has ocd to some degree and this year it was if a giant switch flipped inside of me. It was on the day in January congress was attacked. I was standing with my partner at a street corner in Durango, Colorado. Things are just now beginning to get back to normal for me and I have plenty to say about access. 

What does it look like, feel like, sound like?

For me, it’s the worst thing in the world. It’s downright mean. Sometimes, it comes out of nowhere and smacks me in the face and other times it sneaks up quietly and I don’t notice until it’s too late and I have messed messed up. I am getting a lot better at that now.

In the Victorian era it was better known as “the doubting disease”.  I couldn’t have been better named. It tapes my mouth shut, humiliates me and at its unfathomable height, it screams at me at top volume in my head above my real, actually true thoughts saying terrible, exaggerated and untrue things. It has brought me to my knees several times in my lifetime. When I was 4, I would fall to the ground screaming if I wasn’t “wearing purple on everything “.

If I don’t have the PD, I have come to realize I have had and still have some darkly strong traits of it. I feel a lot less bad about it now since I have survived hell and come out on top nearly every time. See, I am an insufferable know-it-all absolutely certain of my correctness and superiority. A mean bitch. My friends would absolutely insist otherwise and then remember the last time some shockingly insensitive, shitty thing flew out of my pie-hole or  they observed my thinly veiled rage at some insignificant slight as I insist everything is fine (I HAVE to). I have come to learn that a lot of these things are simply very well-honed survival skills. Funny enough, I think a lot of my friends are also like this, though only a few realize it.