A little while after I got diagnosed, I "named" my OCD. This is a technique that a lot of OCD sufferers use to create a divide between their own thoughts and the thoughts caused by the mental illness. Basically, we create a name and a sort of identity for our OCD. My OCD is named "Codi", and she's an angry, unstable teenage girl living inside of my head.
Today, I thought 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.
Whatever. *rolls eyes*
How long have you been around, exactly?
Oh, quite a while. 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 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 your face until you fix it. Then you go to class, except there are so many people around. I don't like them near you, making noises and saying things and judging. You have to wear dark colors so they won't look at you, and sometimes, they still do, and I hate them.
Your first class is just one example of that. The teacher is a stupid sexist judgmental idiot, and the seats are way too close together, and I don't like the Asian guy next to you because he sits too close, and he gets up too fast, and he looks at you sometimes, and he doesn't speak English well, so how are you supposed to talk to him? Not that I want you to talk to him, but what if we have to tell him not to sit so close? But you're an a**hole for thinking these things, and you really need to be better than that.
Dealing with lunch is ridiculous because there are people there too. I don't like their eating noises and their faces and their existence. That's why you sit alone and play games on your Kindle so that they won't look at you or bother you. 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, you might mess up.
It's a relief to go back to your apartment, where you can sit down and get all our homework done, because having a to-do list is annoying. You have to do all those things now because unfinished work is bad work.
Sometimes, you have to leave again for orchestra, which I really don't want to do because we're nice and safe in your apartment, but if you don't go you fail, so you have to go. You go, and you sit by your 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 clicking noise. But you're hardly one to judge because you're not good enough. They know that. They're all thinking it. Look at the way they look at you. I hate them.
Before you 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 often involves making you bleed, which isn't so nice, but nobody likes ugly people. And at least we made it go away. But 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?
I'm making you perfect. This body? Ewch. Not so great. Your 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 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
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.
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