So... if you've read this blog for any length of time, you'll probably have surmised that I'm crazy. I suffer from clinical depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder. There are days when I feel great and days when I don't really want to get out of bed. Sometimes, stressful situations bring out the best in me. Sometimes, even the smallest mistake can send me into a frenzy.
I spend most days feeling perfectly normal, as though I've conquered the illness. I start thinking maybe the sadness and anxiety are behind me. After all, I'm not checking the local news stations to see if I've hit anyone while driving without realizing it and driving away. I'm not constantly looking up heart attack symptoms on the internet to see whether or not my chest pains are going to kill me. I trust the memory I have of closing the garage door and I don't worry about whether or not I'm going to come home and find my house vandalized.
So, the crazy must be behind me, right?
I've found in recent months that I still obsess about something pretty much all the time. Sometimes the obsessions can be positive. For example, I recently started reading a series of books that are incredibly awesome and for a while, that was all I could think about. For a few weeks, I read any spare moment I could to the neglect of housework and the abandonment of children to the cartoon. I visited an art museum, saw 18th century art and thought about the clothes my characters were wearing. I talked to friends. I posted about it on Facebook.
And THAT, is a manifestation of obsessive-compulsive disorder.
I have my other worries- the ones that constantly plague me. They never go away. They are always with me- the thoughts sound out over and over and over again. I want to lay them aside. I want to pray them away. I know its possible.
But to tell you the truth, I am weary of myself. I'm tired of being crazy.