A little while after I got diagnosed, I "named" my OCD. This is a common technique that a lot of OCD sufferers use to distinguish between their own thoughts and the thoughts caused by the mental illness: basically we create a name and an image, sort of an identity, for our OCD. My OCD is named "Codi", and she's an angry, unstable teenage girl living inside of my head.
Today, I though I'd post an interview with Codi that I put together during creative writing class. Please note: Codi is a bully, and thus, her comments do not reflect my actual opinions. My words are in bold, Codi's are normal.
You know this is probably going to make people judge us, don't you?
Yes, but I'm hoping it'll help some of them too.
How long have you been around, exactly?
Oh, quite a while. At first I was abstract. When you were little, I was that constant need for attention and approval you had going on. Remember how your ballet teacher said you were the only three-year-old she knew who PMSed? Yeah, that was me. I wasn't really a full person until you were eight, though. When you learned about sex, and weren't ready to face it, I came in to save the day.
Why are you here in my head?
You know the answer. I'm here because you need me.
Because the world is a scary place full of idiots and jerks. It's my job to protect and perfect you.
Why don't you walk me through a day in your life?
God. Whatever. We get up; I yell at you that we have to go to class or you'll fail. Then I yell at you about our face, and I try to get you to fix it. Then we go to class, except there are so many people around us and I hate them all. I don't like them near me, making noises and saying stupid things and judging. We have to wear dark colors so they won't look at us and sometimes they still do, and I hate them.
Our first class is just one example of that. Our teacher is a stupid sexist judgmental idiot and the seats are way too close together and we don't like the Asian guy next to us because he sits too close and he gets up too fast and he looks at us sometimes and he doesn't speak English well and if he doesn't speak English, how are you supposed to talk to him? Not that I want to talk to anybody, but what if I have to tell him not to sit so close to me? But you're an a****** for thinking these things, and you really need to be better than that.
Dealing with lunch is ridiculous too, because here are people in the cafeteria and I don't like them. I don't like their eating noises and their faces and their existence. That's why we sit alone, and we play games on our Kindle, so that they won't look at us or bother us. We have to make lots of plans too, what we're going to do for the rest of the day and how and when. Otherwise we might mess up.
It's a relief to go back to our apartment, thank gosh, where we can sit down and get all our homework done, because having a to-do list is annoying. We have to do all those things now because unfinished work is bad work.
Sometimes we have to leave again for orchestra, which I really don't want to do because we're nice and safe in our apartment, but if we don't go we fail so we have to go, so we go and we sit by our standpartner, who doesn't talk enough and sometimes breathes weird or smells bad, and he doesn't play on time or turn the pages fast enough. Also the girl behind us keeps making this stupid clicking noise. But we're hardly one to judge, because we're not good enough. They know that. They're all thinking it. Look at the way they look at us. I hate them.
Before we go to bed, it's the opportune time for me to sneak in and make you mess with your skin or your hair, because you're off guard, and I can fix it. I mean, that involves self-injury or otherwise making us bleed, which isn't so nice, but hey. Nobody likes ugly people. And at least we made it go away.
Now you have ugly bleeding spots on your face and chest, which is disgusting. You're disgusting. Why can't you ever get anything right?
How exactly does all this help me?
Well, duh. I'm making you perfect. This body of ours? Ewch. Not so great. Our stupid face, for one. God, it's a messy lump of gross. So I help you fix it. And I help you get everything you need to do done, because perfect people don't leave work unfinished. I make you work harder and think more so that you do the right things. I'm also very good at protecting you from other people. I mean, can you imagine if you were approachable? They could be so mean to you. Really, I'm doing you such a favor. Except for the part where you have no friends, and are a loser. God. You think you'd be smart enough to find the good people, so that you wouldn't be so forever alone, you idiot.
Right. Well, I'll talk to you again soon, I'm sure.
Oh, you can count on that.
Tell me, how would you feel if I decided to start learning to drive again?
*shudders* You are a full time job, you know that? Idiot.
Well, there you go. If you have any questions, please ask!
Thanks for reading, and come back next time for our June humor post!
Images via helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com and relieveanxietynow.com.
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