Walking Through Fog.

I wrote today, not just edited, but wrote a little, it was for part of book three. I don’t know why, it felt good though, somewhere in my mind I have been hiding, but I hear the whispers inside. Maybe I am coming out of wherever I have been, I’m not really sure. It feels like my mind is bursting with a story to tell once again, but at the moment it just goes around in my mind.

I’m not sure if I’m getting better on this part, or I’m just transferring it to another condition. I know I am fighting at the moment with my OCD. I am sure people don’t believe me when I tell them I have it. I think there’s a stigma to it and people use it so often that it’s like a joke or a term for some to throw around, but I was officially diagnosed with it in 2006 when it was so bad, that I could not live.

I cope with it now, it flares up on occasion and I have to find out why, my mind shuts down and I can never just say, such and such is on my mind. I’m at that point at the moment. My hands are sore; I can’t get my skin clean. I’m fighting the need to make the words feel in my throat as I say them; I don’t want to sound like I have some odd tick, because I have to repeat a word just to feel it, so I fight it and try not to, but it’s there, like a lump in my throat I have to scratch. I make myself feel my breathing in my nose, all these things tell me I have something going on, but I don’t know what it is yet. I’ve detached still, I can feel it, or not as the case may be. I know I have easily lost myself in the world of fiction; it is a good escape of course.

Everything feels numb, like I’m not focused in the real world. I don’t feel like I am real. It’s very hard to explain, and I probably can’t do a good job of it. It feels like the world is moving and I am not. I can hear myself talking, but I stop because the words are not mine. I am not me.

It’s the self harm that does it, or contributes to it. I think I self harmed a couple of days ago, but I can’t remember. Even this morning seems like I was somewhere else. I feel like I’m walking through a fog and I can’t see.

The many sides of a mental person.

The many sides of a mental person.

I say that in jest really. Sometimes it’s the only way to deal with myself without self-diagnosing and committing myself to an asylum. But, this is what happens when you take a child and steal their innocence. The mind copes in the only way it can fathom because a child’s tools are limited.

Like a child playing an innocent game of hide and seek, they close their eyes and believe that the magic makes it so no one can see them. That is what the mind does when bad things happen. The mind closes its eyes and makes the child disappear to a better place. As time goes on, this develops into a dissociative disorder until parts of the child stays in hiding for many years.

I hurt someone close to me this week. It wasn’t on purpose, yet I know that is not a good excuse. My actions were mean and partly on purpose, not with the purpose to upset this person, but with the purpose to say, I’m hurt please try and break down this wall and help me. I was stomping my feet and hiding away like a child.

I get hurt, the wall goes up, and my weapons of choice are the cold shoulder, a pointing finger and a snapping tongue. They may not seem like anything so scary, but to the person on the other side of the wall, they better be wearing armour. My defence mechanism is well-trained, relentless and led by a nasty mouth. It has contingency plans for every possible fight. It has been training for years.

Calling the shots at the top of this is a hurt child. He is going to stand at the other side and use every piece of weaponry he has at his disposal. And he does.

Often.
I cannot help it when it happens. I am mostly unaware. It is only after when I, the adult, comes back to grab the reins once more that I realise what I did.

It feels like I daydreamed for an entire week.