But I was not getting better.
I decided to try out cognitive-behavioral therapy instead.
For those of you who don’t know, this was like stepping from a sweet-smelling meadow into a desolate hell.
My cognitive-behavioral therapist Chris was tough, straightforward, insistent, and unmoved. And he asked me to do what I thought was essentially impossible. Idetestedhim.
But this time, I got better.
A year and a half later, I would finally send a thank-you email to Chris Donahue, who had made my life miserable for twelve weeks but to whom I am eternally grateful. God used him and his no-nonsense ways to unlock my prison.
Now, I am not anti-talk therapy, but I am very pro-CBT. My feelings in this matter can be summed up best by the title of an Elvis song: “A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action Please.”
If you suffer from OCD, listen to me: get yourself to a cognitive-behavioral therapist. Aside from the mighty hand of God, CBT is your quickest ticket to freedom.