WWIII on OCD: The Scariest Thing I’ve Ever Done

by Kelly Kristine Blaser

I love my family. I love my life. I see beauty in things others don’t notice. I look “normal,”…but I have OCD and it affects my life in ways 98 percent of humanity can’t imagine. Obsessive-compulsive disorder is highly misunderstood and often portrayed inaccurately. It can profoundly affect the lives of sufferers and their families.

Right now, I have two bajillion pregnant elephants on my chest because sharing this is likely the scariest thing I’ve attempted, and I’ve given birth (to two adorable children). So this article and consequent writings are my endeavor to attack the very thing keeping me from accomplishing anything of any significance (always worrying that I might die tomorrow doesn’t help, either). 

His name is Darrell (I’m testing out naming my OCD, as is sometimes suggested by psychological professionals). Plus, it’s fun to be like, “Shut up, Darrell!… Quit being such a meanie, Darrell!… Knock it off, Darrell!… Go to your room, Darrell!… Oh, Darrell, you’re so silly… I’m warning you, Darrell….”

Anyway, I’m hoping WWIII on OCD will be like the time I casually flung our dumb computer out the door and down the concrete steps. Of course, I instantly regretted doing this, so I brought it back inside, plugged it in, thinking, this is so stupid. But it actually worked better than it had pre-flinging! I’d add computer technician to my resume, but that feels a little “look-at-me.”

How will I ever publish anything? A newspaper article, book, or this actual blog post?! Something I let people read?! I scurry out of the house like I just found a snake on the kitchen floor (that happened—in the middle of winter) when I give my husband something to read. And I can’t stop nervous–giggling when trying to read a story to my sister over the phone. 

And what about my needing every word, punctuation mark, image, and such to be perfect? I can’t quit changing and obsessing over everything (fix, change, rearrange, repeat), even though I’m well aware none of it can even come close to perfect. Ever. 

I’m not a writer (duh). And it doesn’t help that I can’t sit still. At all. I do lots of my writing while showering or driving, by hollering to Siri to put something in my notes. A fruit fly has a longer attention span. And my memory probably coincides with that of a goldfish. It’s taken me three years—to finish six articles (And no, I’m not kidding.). Stephen King writes ten pages per day (and maybe he’s in a different category than me, but it still gives you a bit of perspective). 

What if something I write offends someone? What if I hurt someone’s feelings? What if my writing is horrendous? What if I forget essential details? What if I have too many obnoxious apologies? What if I have too many “actuallys”, “justs”, “sures”, “evens”, “ha-has”, “pretty muches“….and “what ifs”? Because I’m pretty sure I actually will, ha-ha.

All of these things could happen. And if they do, I’ll be so upset and furious with myself because I did this to myself. I wrote these things and may have given myself even more to worry about.

I reluctantly told someone I’ve been writing to hopefully help others with similar struggles (super cliché, I know). I mentioned how I could never publish anything for fear of it not being perfect and the concern of unintentionally hurting someone. This super intelligent guy responded, “What if you don’t publish anything, and something you’ve written could’ve helped someone?” Well, I guess he got me there.

I’ve had OCD since I was eleven, and likely much earlier, but to a lesser degree. So these “concerns” aren’t just concerns. They’re a minuscule representation of the obsessions and compulsions I’ve struggled with since elementary school. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to “fix myself.” And I’m pretty sick of it, so put up your dukes, Darrell.

Also, what if a publisher loves my articles and I end up writing a book and I become famous (a legitimate concern, obviously)? I wouldn’t want fame to change my life or who I am. And what if my book ends up on the New York Times Bestseller’s List? I’d have to go to New York! And I couldn’t handle New York any better than I could survive the slammer. Because naturally, one of my fears is going to prison for something I didn’t do—I guess it’d be worse to be there for something I did do. Plus, I still get severely and ridiculously homesick.

Some of these writings began years ago, so not all these things happened “just the other day.” Also, some of my thoughts may have changed a little, so please forgive any inconsistencies. Changing my mind is one of my superpowers, ha-ha.

And there will be times you may read an article and be like, “What in the h-e-double-hockey sticks is she talking about?! And I’ll try to keep the content about mental health, mental illness, and OCD. But because I change my mind every two seconds, there will be some random silliness. I might also write about my family, God, Jesus, farm life, animals, art, lawn mowing, books, yoga, minimalism, rocks, pebbles, swimming, sunscreen…I don’t want to limit myself to just OCD. 

My only intention is to hopefully help other OCD sufferers and their families by sharing my experiences and stories. So if you berate me for something I write or make me feel bad, please know I will obsess about it. 

And I guess I have another intention: I’ve wanted to be an artist or writer since I was little but have hardly practiced, ha-ha. So how bad could I want this? I don’t know.

Well, I guess I’m risking it all. Here goes something! (I’m just gonna hit the “publish” button or I’ll never get anywhere, so I’m expecting a lot of negative comments/helpful tips. Go nuts, people, I hope I can handle it:)

And thank you so much for taking your time to read my story. It means more than you could imagine.

©KellyKBlaser