This week has been hell inside my own head.
I missed two days of my meds at the weekend, and it’s like the floodgates opened. The outward checks are quieter — the pills blunt those edges — but inside? The rumination has been feral. Thoughts looping, gnawing, circling, refusing to stop.
A bed delivery turned into a catastrophe long before the van even left the depot. I chose wisely — a divan in two halves, a rolled mattress — but at 3am I was already seeing it jam on the stairs, already watching it fail, already living the disaster before it had even begun.
One coffee at lunch, the wrong milk, and my chest burned all afternoon. Anyone else would call it heartburn and get on with their day. I called it cancer. I called it my dad. I sat at my desk pretending everything was fine while inside I was planning my own funeral.
And then her. Joel’s ex. At Lucas’s party she was sugar-sweet, fake smiles, polite conversation. I let myself believe her. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, because that’s who I am — I want peace, I want to believe people are better than their reputation. But a few days later I saw the truth. Away from the crowd it was glares, whispered giggles, her and her daughter staring me down like I was the punchline. And it cut, because it landed exactly where my brain already tortures me — the belief that I’m not enough, that I’m being measured, that I’m failing the test.
This is OCD. It isn’t neatness or handwashing. It’s not “liking things just so.” It’s a war with your own fucking brain. It’s thoughts that claw and repeat until you’re raw. It’s health panic that turns coffee into cancer. It’s ghosts that walk into the room even when they’re not invited. It’s the feeling of being tested when no test exists.
And I am tired. Tired of pretending it’s manageable. Tired of smiling at work while I’m falling apart inside. Tired of soft coping mechanisms that sometimes work and sometimes don’t. This week they haven’t. This week has just been ugly and relentless and loud.
So no tidy ending. No “ten ways to cope.” Just this: OCD isn’t a quirk. It’s a fucking war. And some weeks, survival is the only win.