An Angry Letter to My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

Honestly, I don’t usually feel a lot of anger. I spend a lot of time feeling anxious, euphoric, depressed and content, but don’t often find myself angry. But as life goes on, I’m finding I’m pretty unhappy with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). While I’ve previously written about embracing my mental disabilities (and these writings still hold true), right now I just need to vent to my disorder about what a pain it can be. So, here it goes…

Dear OCD,

Seriously, stop being so mean. I’m tired of you being a [insert not-so-nice expletive here]. I wish you’d just cooperate with me and get out of my life for a little while. You do disappear sometimes, but just not enough. You’re always lurking behind every corner.

And I hate you for that.

You’ve tried to ruin relationships I’ve had with both others and myself. You’ve made me question my sanity, my intentions, my sense of being and the world around me, many, many times. It’s the nature of what you do – “the doubting disease” being your other name.

You used to make me engage in more obvious compulsions. These days, most of them are silent and internal — covert. In some ways this is more torturous. Now, others don’t see the repetitive pain inside my head.

I used to think the worst part about you was the anxiety, but lately I’ve decided it’s the guilt. The guilt and the doubt. The constant state of confusion you leave me in. It’s torturous and I’ve described it countless times as thorns scratching and poking through my brain.

While you change your shape and form, I’m often able to recognize you and your irrationality. However, just because I know you’re full of lies doesn’t mean I can always escape your grasp. Medicine helps alleviate you, but only a little. My therapist and I are going to work harder to stomp out the fires you’ve been creating inside my head.

You make me feel uncertain and fearful, and oftentimes, it leads to self-loathing. But I’m going to keep fighting you. I’m tired of your games, and it’s my right to tell you I’m pissed.


Someone who’s exhausted

P.S. I believe I’ll be OK…it’s you who should be worried.

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