To say I was anxious about writing this post is an understatement. After much deliberating and may scribbles and drafts, I procrastinated all through Mental Health week and missed it - alas, I think it's something that should be talked about. Since opening up to friends about things I've gone through we've strengthened our bond through mutual understanding and ferocious support for one another. The first time I remember feeling anxious was at nine years old - albeit I didn't put a label on that feeling until much later. At age 24 I was given a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder, I was relieved to have some sense of reason for the chaos I seemed to constantly invite into my life, but I wasn't prepared for what this meant. My reality and family dynamics weren't normal, or functional - therefore my own perceptions of adult life weren't functional. There was and still is a lot to unpack, and my reality is something I often question.
I grew up with a house proud Mother and Grandmother, they both kept everything immaculate, completely pristine, it wasn't until I had my own place to keep tidy I realised the energy and time they really must have put into keeping their space perfect. - Both of whom I'm sure had OCD. It was something as a child that was normal to me, I was unaware of messiness, disorder and clutter - perhaps this is why I adopted a minimalist attitude towards things, I enjoy cleaning, not just for the act itself, but the payoff in the end. Despite being a neat freak this isn't the only place my OCD has manifested. It's found its way into various corners of my life including, calorie counting, compulsive organizing and a low tolerance for dirtiness.
I pick at my skin, on my face, on my fingers, and not just a slight nervous pick every now and then - my hands are by far the worst, it's a form of OCD and my embarrassing hands are a physical display of the nervous wreck that I can be. I used to bite my nails, it's something I learnt was normal from a young age as my Mum also struggled with biting her nails. I've managed to stop that as an adult, but the urge to pick the skin around my cuticles is overwhelming and constant. Every time my fingers hurt from picking at them too much I vow that I can't live like this and need to stop, only to repeat the cycle over again. This is part of OCD mentality and something that holds me back in many areas of my life. My heart goes out to anyone suffering from any of these disorders or their own mental health. It's something that I've never really spoken about publicly, it's something I will admit I am ashamed of, I feel that my mental health has seriously held me back in so many areas of my life and only now am I starting to piece everything back together - but it's still like a house of cards.
