Monday 22 February 2021

Coming Home.

 I remember the goal.

The goal was to get well enough to be able to get a job. To push the OCD back and far away enough to be able to have a 'normal' life. Well, I achieved it. It took blood, sweat, guts and too many tears to count but my god did I do it. I looked OCD in the face and told it to fuck off. I mentally listed everything it had taken from me. The opportunities I had missed, the life I had been unable to live. I sat one day flooded in tears saying aloud “I hate you. I HATE YOU”. I had blocked the hoover with tissue that I was too afraid to pick up. I had to practically dismantle the thing to sort it out, which lead me to think that it would have been so much easier and less time consuming to have just picked the stupid tissue up in the first place. I was filled with rage. And for once it wasn't aimed at me, it was aimed directly to the correct culprit, the OCD. Having that thing to directly place the blame on became my bullseye. Something to aim towards – or in my case, head directly away from. The OCD became my enemy. It had deprived me of so much that how else could I have looked at it? That mentality worked in my favour. With consistent, hard work I was able to turn my life around. I actually began living again.

"My story is not a sad story; it's a real one.

It's a story about a girl who fought through a storm she thought would never end."

-hannah blum

Within the first three months of starting my job I was unhappy. I felt like I had no time for myself, no time to work on myself. I feel that a person needs to be constantly working on themselves. I believe that who I am is ever evolving and my education of myself will never be finished. Working ate into my 'me' time. I felt like I was growing further and further away from myself and as a result, my recovery. I never believed that getting the job would be the last piece of the puzzle but I never expected it to cost me anything. I never thought it would take pieces of the puzzle away from me. Over the last two or so years since I've been working, I have been in and left an abusive relationship, been diagnosed with symptoms of eupd and feel like I have grown further and further away from myself with each month that has passed. Even when I feel there is something to aim for I have looked the other way and in doing so have worsened my relationship with myself.

I haven't re-focused.

Even though I have three whole days off a week all to myself I still haven't made the time to get back to my recovery. Each day I push it to the back of my mind. I fill my free time with watching true crime videos on YouTube which, lets face it doesn't exactly bring a person joy. Or I listen to sad songs that remind me of bad times. Or I isolate myself and sit in my room ruminating my negative feelings rather than focus on the good in my life. I think when I had a clear enemy to focus on it made it (somewhat) easier to push forward. The OCD was a cut a clear opponent with whom I was eventually able to defeat. Now I feel aimless. I think about it all the time. I can't find the goal. It feels like there's a big bullseye looming over me but it's just out of reach.

I think I spent so much time worrying that I have no goal that it completely eluded me... Me. I'm the goal. Working on myself has never felt like work. It has filled me with pride, motivation and enthusiasm. The first day I walked out of my house when I was home alone gave me a feeling of complete euphoria. I was on top of the world. When I am working on myself I am driven. Coming home to myself is a direction that feels more than right. It feels familiar and exciting all at the same time. I am back on track to findingnoo. 

"I have traveled through madness to find me"

-danny alexander

Thank you for stopping by, I really appreciate it xoxo

As always, sending you love and kickassery 😏💪💋💖


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