Today Jia of Color Me Untypical shares with us a post she had written previously on her blog. Rather than put her reasons why she is exceptionally proud of her post and what it represents in my words, I am going to show you exactly what she said to me about what she had written. Jia wrote:

“I’m proud of this post for a very strange reason.

About a week previous to this one, I had a very big accomplishment in dealing with agoraphobia and OCD, but this one, this one shows a break. And the breaks are real. They can’t and shouldn’t be ignored. This break shows me that I survived a very dark day.

The good days are easy to write about. They make us feel normal. It’s the bad days where we have to dig deep to find the courage, the healing, and the motivation to keep going.”

Keeping Me Down

Babysteps.

One out the front door.
One down the street.
One step to overcome fear.
One step to fight anxiety.
One step to say no to depression.
One step, straight into a wall built by OCD . . .
Depression returns, anxiety controls and fear swallows me whole.

I try to be lighthearted. I try to find the silver lining.
I try to let humor, and not anger, control my thoughts.

But when it comes down to it, I hate OCD.
It lies to me. But it’s so convincing.

OCD tells me that there is a great big red wall that I cannot climb.
There is no wall there.
But OCD lies so well that I can actually see it. Touch it. Feel it.

Other people walk into a garden and they see a poisonous snake.
They feel fear. They feel anger. They want to attack.
They want to run away.

OCD tells me that walking into a disorganized situation is poisonous.
It makes me fear. It makes me angry. It makes me want to attack.
It makes me want to run away.

It’s as real to me as any physical predator

Last week I learned to crawl.

This week I tried to run.

Skipped a very important step along the way.

I fell.

I fell hard.

Bruised and broken, but not dead.

The last time I fell, I was sure I was gone forever.
There was no coming back.
But now I know the signs.
I ran away from the fire of a bad situation fast.
Not fast enough to escape without burns and scars.
But fast enough to live.

Sometimes I wish these mental handicaps were physical.
Then people might see me, and understand.

Understand that when you fall, your brain tells you that you’re in pain.
Mine tells me that I am worthless, useless, broken …
And it hurts.
Even if most of the time I don’t agree.
It still hurts.

Yesterday, my body started failing me. Legs giving out. Knees buckling. Feet . . . . felt broken.
My body gave out hours after the rest of me did.
The physical pain came much later than the mental pain. The emotional pain. The fear. The anger. The confusion.

Someone kindly said, “I hope you’re knee heals soon.”
Assuming that I was injured.
I smiled. Kind words from a stranger.
A stranger who had no idea the severity of my wounds.
That I had stopped feeling the pain in my knee long ago.

“Get over it.”
“Count your blessings.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

These are just words.
You don’t understand.

And because you don’t understand, it’s so hard to explain.
I wish it was as easy as having the willpower.
I wish I was normal.

I wish I wasn’t broken.

I wish I could be like everyone else.
But with red hair.

Thank God for a husband who may not understand, but tries.
A man who loves me despite my battle scars.
Who sticks by me through this constant war.
A man who painfully, regretfully, suffers with me.

Thank God for friends who know.
Friends who live it with me.
Friends who have crumbled, shattered and survived.

Who know that symptoms can come and go.
Friends who speak OCD.
Who speak depression.
Who understand mental metaphors.
Who understand my language.

I am NOT alone.

I will heal again.
I will.

You can find Jia’s original post at Color Me UnTypical – Keeping Me Down