Today, I am blogging over at The Redeeming Things, the blog of Trinity City Church, where I am blessed to worship and fellowship here in the Twin Cities. I’m blogging about the intersection of my faith and my mental illness.
Here’s the beginning:
I had to rewind a few seconds and listen to it over again. And again, amazed at the stark and beautiful way these few words summarize the last four years of my life.
I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, an anxiety disorder that preyed on all I most value: faith, friendships, vocation. Forget all media has ever taught you about OCD—it is not a funny, quirky, bothersome nuisance. Instead, it is a hellish, tormenting thief and tyrant. It caused me to question whether God was real, if he loved me, if I loved him, if I was going to hell, if writing fiction was sinful, if people were demons, if real life was real life– but not in the normal way that all or most people question such things. With “normal” minds, thoughts come and go freely, but with OCD, the gate is broken, and the thoughts get trapped inside the head, never making progress or finding resolution. Without the resolution, an obsessive-compulsive becomes lodged in a perpetual state of panic and terror. OCD is slavery, and I was in bondage to it for over twenty years. I was a tormented pot that complained to the Potter, “Why-why-why did you make me this way?”