Monday, October 6, 2008

Obsessive Compulsions My Only Friends

I was a loner. I don't believe that I was born to be a loner. I adore others today. I thrive through connections. I don't even know you, but I am so happy and literally covered in thrill bumps anticipating my words floating through your creative mind.

I know now I was created, or at least the behaviors I manifested were created by those who cared for me. My caretakers molded my ideas of the world and sadly my ideas of my own Self.

My parents were not very faithful people. They were strongly bound to ideas like small rocks are caught up in large clumps of concrete. If my father couldn't see it, it wasn't real.

My mother spoke of God often, but I wondered if her beliefs stemmed from faith or the absoluteness of the words she found in ink on the pages of the bible. In my opinion, believing only in what is written in ink, and lacking the ability to have faith in ideas alone, has nothing to do with faith at all.

I believe I was cheated as a little girl. I believe that I was supposed to be held, nurtured, babied, cooed at, kissed, and looked at fondly. I believe my eyes were supposed to meet the eyes of validation, and connectedness. I believe I was supposed to be encouraged to play, and to get dirty, and to laugh until my belly hurt, unconcerned with how others would judge me for my free spirit. I believe that my natural curiosity was supposed to be encouraged, and that when I made a mistake, I was supposed to be gently motivated to be better.

But in my world, instead I was taught to be small, to be invisible and to go away.

Human connection was as prickly as sleeping in a bed of bees.

The only aspect of my existence that felt remotely comfortable was making myself small, feeling invisible, and getting out of the way.

In those moments, when life become too painful to tolerate, I would count numbers in my mind, pull hairs from my head, and fantasize about being loved.

I shutter to think what might have happened to me, if I had not found the rocking arms of OCD.