Pure – O

When I ran across the term pure O or purely obsessive compulsive disorder, it felt the same way as learning about PMDD for the first time. It struck to my core. There have been many things I’ve looked at and thought oh that does fit me, or maybe this is what I’m struggling with but few have resonated the way that PMDD did and now pure O.

As I’m writing this I have just a basic understanding of pure O but within me, with every part of me, it is my truth. For a time after my surgery for PMDD I was well. I was very well. I was succeeding at everything I tried. In fact just months after having surgery I successfully moved myself and my kids up to Washington, where my husband had been for the past year but I couldn’t join him due to being too sick every cycle. I was homeschooling and doing it well for once. I was able to organize our home better than I had in years. I was always cooking and planning our meals. Those first months we didn’t ever eat out. I was succeeding at taking my life back and achieving my dreams.

But something happened and it seemed to trigger a whole new bout of what I now know is pure ocd. I felt like everything I had been doing was a lie. That it couldn’t be true. That the monster still lurked inside me and this was all just a lie. I’m not well. I can’t be well. Why can’t everyone see that I’m not me, that I’m not what they think, that I’m still that monster. Then the thoughts that I might hurt someone, the constant fear of something bad happening, and me being the cause. The fear for my children and their lives. The fear that nothing is real. When you combine pure o fears with dissociations due to PTSD and you are already doubting reality, well it takes on a whole new theme.

Since I was young I have been very anxious. Neurotic. I’ve lived in constant fear it seems for nearly my whole life. Sometimes it swallows my existence, sometimes I can see through it for a bit. But I’ve never been able to explain why I’m so anxious, so fearful. I couldn’t put into words just how all consuming these thoughts have been and knowing that they aren’t rational hasn’t helped me as I keep dismissing everything but its still swallowing me whole.

I just spoke, in fact this morning, to my husband about how I felt that I was self sabotaging myself as a form of self punishment. For not being better. For not living up to the person that I know I could be. I wish I could put into words just what it feels like in my head. Thinking that I should suffer. Thinking that I’m this horrible thing, inhuman, that I deserve every horrible thing that has happened, because obviously these thoughts prove that I am disgustingly monstrous.

A near constant theme with my therapists has been me saying how worried I am that I’m a narcissist or a sociopath. I’ve even told them that I fear I’m a psychopath, I’m no longer in touch with my consciousness like I should be. And I get the same response each time, its impossible for a person who obviously cares so much about others, worries so much about others and how they feel, and making sure I don’t hurt anyone, that it just is not possible. I don’t believe them. No, my thoughts whisper to me that they are lying, just refusing to see what is truly there.

I read one blog post (My room is a mess but I still have OCD) in particular about pure O that cut me so sharply, that their words mirrored exactly my own being and my own thought patterns and I have to say I cried, in a primal way, as in the loss of your being. I felt my true self laid bare for all to see. I can’t prove that I’m a monster because I’m not a monster.

And in one particular poignant video from The School of Life (see here) was the description of  a sufferer of pure O as someone “who has derived the impression that they did not deserve to exist… (and their thoughts) an attempt match their basic sense of self and what would be needed by their society to concur with it.”

I don’t think I’m far off the self sabotage as self punishment when I spoke to my husband. My sense of self is, honestly, that I shouldn’t exist, I don’t deserve to exist much less be happy or successful.

So what will I do with this knowledge? I’m going to go seek treatment. Apparently, there is a form, ERP, that may be beneficial. I don’t like living like this. I don’t like living in constant fear of myself and the world around me. Feeling like a monster, an alien, that I have no right to be here and or that all I’m ever going to do is cause pain for others. I’m sad. I’m sad that again I’ve spent years struggling with something that has a name but is so unknown to so many. I’m sad because with out a doubt the phrase “obsessive anxiety” written on my daughters diagnostic report in some form or fashion is exactly my struggle, which I too had a that young age, and that I have not searched out for the proper therapy for her yet. I’m sad that I know moving forward that it will hurt to try to heal this part of me. Because it is my core. It is me. I am, truly, the monster inside me and my own worst enemy, just not in the way I believed before.