I have blogged before about talking to people when they’re in the midst of an obsession. Other people. In their obsessions.
Tonight, that’s me.
It feels surreal, friends. I am reading over my own words of hope and trying to take comfort in the fact that I have tasted freedom and that, while it has slipped from my hands tonight, it has not left the room. I feel (mostly) confident that I’ll corner it soon and snatch it back.
My OCD has been so well-controlled for the past four years that I’ve almost forgotten what these moments feel like. It is different to remember the trench from the ledge above. It is strange and sad and scary to remember the trench from inside it.
I hate it.
I had some intrusive thoughts tonight– blasphemous thoughts. They don’t come very often anymore, and when they do, I am usually able to use the tools I’ve learned in ERP to walk myself calmly back out of the storm. But tonight, there was a hitch, a pause, this tiny moment that started to grow. I wonder if I’m going to hell.
Stop, I tell myself. You can’t know. You might go to hell, but it’s not likely. Not when you love Christ the way that you do, not when you’ve devoted your entire life to him.
But maybe, I think.
I also think, No way. Can. Not. Go. Back. I won’t. I can’t live that way anymore.
Talked to Mom on the phone. She said, “You sound like you’re somewhere else. Your mind is occupied.” It is.
I feel this weird disconnect from reality. I haven’t let myself slip into hysteria or full-on terror yet. Just trying to tiptoe past it.
If I was smart, I’d put in a load of laundry and go listen to my ugly old ERP recording.
I think I will. Wish me luck.
P.S. I’m glad I can be honest on this blog. And with four years of freedom under my belt, I have such high hopes that it will be back in the morning. I’m sorry for those of you who can hardly imagine such an easy out.