Yesterday I was at home for a little while, when Howard called me and said there was another incident with PMF at the store.
Howard didn’t engage him and basically ignored his rude comments and even managed to smile and say “you have a good day, now”.
I, on the other hand, have been obsessing about this since he told me about it.
And I’m pissed off that I can’t think of anything else.
Unless you yourself are mentally ill, you don’t know what it’s like to have something stuck in your head that you can’t work out. OCD is a bitch, let me tell you.
As you may remember, last year, I went back on Prozac and began therapy sessions. After a few months, I went off the Prozac, and stopped therapy. It was fine with the doctor because my head didn’t feel like oatmeal anymore. I often do this. Take the medication to “get me over the moutain”. The Prozac was just what I needed to “reset” my brain and get me back to feeling “normal”. (It’s all relative right?) I was able to talk out my feelings, and in fact, he taught me to “talk out my thoughts” whenever the OCD took hold of my brain and wouldn’t allow me to let something go. It seemed a good solution, and excellent alternative to medication. Because let’s face it: chemicals are chemicals, anything I can do to not have to take meds and still feel okay, is good.
I’ve been trying to do that for a day and half. It’s wearing poor Howard down and I’m sure by now, he wants to take razor blades to his ear drums. I went for a walk today, taking a friend’s advice, to try and get my Endorphines flowing thus helping the thoughts to dissipate.
And yet, here I sit: Obsessing to you poor readers.
It all comes down to this about the situation: I wish I weren’t just co-dependant enough to want everyone to like me. I wish my brain functioned normally. Sometimes (and oh God, here comes the hate mail), I wish my disease took on a more physical form. I wish hand-washing, counting, checking locks a hundred times before getting to sleep (which used to be a problem for me) were the only “symptom” I had. Instead, it mainly manifests in my brain. Especially if it’s a negative thought.
Tell me I’m beautiful, and five minutes later, I’ve forgotten you’ve said it. I mean I remember it, yes and it makes me feel great and I appreciate it. Tell me I’m ugly? I will think of little else for months.
I used to think it was a “quirk” of my personality. It was just how I was. “Unable to let things go”.
Then I saw a doctor about it and saw another doctor just in case. It was OCD.
Back to my point though: I hate that this person dislikes me so much. Even though, on the outside, I’m tough as nails. Don’t take shit off anyone. The kind of girl you never want to piss off.
On the inside, your utter hatred of me rips me apart. And I hate it.
I wish it were enough to know that try as I might, I’m never going to make everyone happy. That sometimes, it’s not always something I’ve done. Heck, it might not even be “personal”. Howard is lucky enough to be able to think like that. You don’t like him? He isn’t losing sleep over it. Me? Not so much. Oh, you’d never know it. I’m a southern girl with a lot of pride. You’ll never see me grovel. I’m definitely not a “boot-licker”.
But inside I’m all of those things. Add a little bit of “crazy” to the mix?
Well, hand me that bottle of Prozac brother, because it’s gonna be a long couple of months.