I suffer from OCD (OCD) and General #Anxiety Disorder. This means that, in general, my “fight of flight” is always on and I feel like all of my actions are scrutinized all the time by everybody. You see, my Obsessions and Compulsions don’t have a physical component. I don’t count tiles, touch fence posts or anything like that. I worry….a lot. I always feel guilty about something (like boring you with this story). But there are plenty of stories about OCD and Anxiety on the Mighty so I, won’t add another. This story is about a component that is often misunderstood or overlooked, Hyper Responsibility, or what I like to call Superman Syndrome.
I’ve always had this feeling of responsibility for things I can’t control. I avoid news and politics for that reason. But it got worse real fast 6 years ago. My best friend, who lived with my wife and I for 20 years, was diagnosed with Anaplastic #Astrocytoma. He’d been having headaches and nerve issues that was attributed to a back injury he got while serving in the Army.
After he called to tell us his diagnosis from hospital that memorable morning of November 24, 2012, I dropped my phone, burst into tears seeking the comfort of my wife. “I killed my best friend”. I sobbed into my wife’s awaiting shoulder. The reason I gave, was that I didn’t force him to go to the doctor sooner. Logically I knew I couldn’t force anyone to do anything nor can I cure #Cancer. But emotions don’t care about that.
He wanted to continue living with us. And after 20 years of living together, our place was more home to him than anyplace. For a little over a year he underwent radiation and chemotherapy. After that it was basically caring for his needs. For 2 years we cared for him. Everything from organizing his pills to helping him bathe. I never told him how I felt. Nor did I mention it to my wife again. His death was my burden to bear and I didn’t want anyone else being hurt by my lack of action.
In November of 2014, we had to move him to a better care facility. He had gotten to the point where we couldn’t care for him. On Christmas Eve of 2014, he passed away at the ripe old age of 44. At that point, i was ready to confess my sins to everybody. I even tried to turn myself in to the police. I apologized to his parents, my wife, all of his friends and employers. Except for his folks, my wife and a few friends (who knew about my condition) I got a lot of weird looks. To this day, I feel guilty for his passing.
I have healed a bit and moved on for the most part, but that’s not what this is about. This story is to bring awareness to people that feeling responsible for things you can’t control is a part of OCD. And logically, we know we don’t have super strength or super speed. We aren’t perfect. Instead of “Men of Steel” we are, in fact, Men of Rust. Not perfect. Just human.