My earliest memory is being around 2 or 3. I was sitting in my parents room with my music box. I would constantly open and close it trying to figure out how it just knew how to play the music. Then it hit me.

What if angels would ask you a question and you didnt know it? What if you said yes on accident when you really meant no? What if one of  the angels asked you if you’d rather go to hell than heaven and you accidentally said yes instead of no?

That started it.

From that day on (even now, 22 years later) I cant shut a door, turn off a light, turn on a light, turn the faucet on or off, put something down or pick something up, unless I say no in my head. If  say hell, I have to redo it. If you ever notice me do something double, there’s why.

In 2004, something happened. Something overwhelming and bad. Something I thought I was strong enough to handle and I wasnt. And I didnt realize I wasnt until one day…

One day after taking a nap at my boyfriend’s house. I went to sit with him on the floor and watch him play video games, I saw his older brother step on a pillow I was just sleeping on with this shoes on. And I freaked the hell out. From then on, I started taking showers at night. Even now, five years later.

From there it just got worse and worse. It gradually got worse, it didnt just hit me all at once, in one day. As days went on, I notice more and more things until it came to the point where I couldnt even function on certain days. Where if something slightly went wrong, something I couldnt figure out why it made me feel this way… I would break down. An intense, angry and hot break down. And it hurt, it was literally painful. Its always painful…

And it’s all in my fuckin head.

In 2006 I couldnt take it anymore. I COULD NOT TAKE IT ANYMORE. It was insane. It was tiring. IT DIDNT MAKE SENSE. Who are you and why are you making me feel this way? WHO ARE YOU TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO AND FEEL. My boyfriend tried to help me, we bought a self help book that someone mentioned to me at work but it didnt help. I didnt know what I was doing. So I gave in, I went to the hospital and I told someone I didnt know what was happening. And it was scary. My mom use to tell me that someday people will take me to a hospital and lock me up when I was younger, this is what made me hesitant to ever seek help (would it help to mention that I struggled with depression at 13?). But I just couldnt do it anymore. I wasnt strong enough. I needed help.

And I got it. I was diagnosed, I found a wonderful therapist who was extremely patient and helpful. I attended group therapy every week and I had private therapy every few weeks. It helped a lot. Shortly after starting therapy, I figured it out! My OCD was triggered by stress and the days when my depression got really bad, so would my OCD. I remember doing laundry one day and something went wrong. Something brushed up against the outside of the washer and I was about to freak out. I tried to clam myself down and I said outloud “shut the fuck up”. And from then on, I dropped my depression. I’m not going to say it was easy, cause it wasnt. It was hard and again, painful. But I could not keep feeding my OCD, it literally felt like it was feeding. That the more and more it got, the stronger and stronger it got. The louder and louder it got. I convinced myself to let things go, to brush things off and to forget things. And it has helped.

Late 2007 was the last time I went, my health insurance ran out. And since getting new health insurance, I didnt have time to go back due to work.

November 2008, I had enough. I was tired. I was too lazy to keep this up. So I tested myself. Usually when my boyfriend comes over, he’s required to change his clothes before he can come in my room. Completely change his clothes. I wash my comforter for that one day and when he leaves, I take the comforter off and I vacuum my floor. Then I wash my pajamas and they wash and dry while I shower. But that day I didnt feel like it. So I said I wasnt going to do it. I wasnt going to shower. I wasnt going to do laundry and I wasnt going to take off my comforter, but I did vacuum.

And I lived.

This went on for a few months and it was amazing. Not having to shower every night before bed. Not having to worry. I pushed myself farther. I stopped wearing slippers in the house, instead I wore just socks. I’d freely walk around the house in my pj’s and sleep in them under my bed covers. I was able to touch anything I wanted in my room any time I wanted. I could watch DVD’s before bed! I had books on my bed. I could touch anything at all and not have to wash my hands. I COULD TAKE NAPS.

It was wonderful. I felt so alive. I felt so free.

In February 09′ the stress of paying bills hit me hard that month and slowly, I was losing it. I was relapsing. Slowly things started to change back. Not only were they changing back, but they were getting worse.

And it’s where I am now.

I was strong enough to fight it to the point where I felt free once. I can do it again right? Right?! Instead of knowing I was able to do it before and that I’ve been there… I’m more afraid than ever to even attempt.

I’ll figure this out one day. I’ll beat it again, someday. And it wont come back.

… someday