by Maria Tumnus

I was working in an office for three years and I couldn’t hide anymore. They left me alone for a while, as I came from a different culture (Romania), my English wasn’t that good at the beginning and I didn’t want to speak with grammatical mistakes. I thought they appreciated my discreet personality and respected my non-interference in other people’s businesses. But as my English improved, I started to understand more and more, and one of their favourite topics was… me.

“She sits at her desk all day; she’s so desperate to impress”, “She’s so rude!”, “She should show more respect”, “She is clever but she thinks she’s superior to everybody” were just a sample of the characterizations I got on a daily basis. Why do they think all those things? What am I doing wrong? I wondered.  I told them from the very beginning that I was shy, introverted and un-sociable. So why after three years were they still surprised?

When I had a conversation with my boss, I explained that this was the way I was, I didn’t have anything with anyone.  I apologized for my “odd” behaviour, explaining that it wasn’t intentional and I wasn’t even aware of it. Because I wasn’t confident with my English, I was still struggling to have a spontaneous conversation. Also, I didn’t watch TV and as I was only interested in arts, literature and anthropology, I didn’t know what to talk about.  Half of their subjects didn’t make any sense to me. I didn’t think I was superior.  On the contrary, I knew  my conversation topics were so limited that I preferred to be at my desk working than  in an awaked social situation where I would stay quiet while thinking of something else.

Also,with as I was so preoccupied with trying to speak correctly, I imagined my sentences in my head and revised them to make sure they would come out perfectly, which was why my answers were delayed. As the communication process involved some steps – translating in my head what people were telling me, coming up with an answer, translating it back into English, proof-reading it – it was simply too much for me to process ,so I preferred to avoid interactions altogether. While people were waiting for a reply or a reaction from me, I was failing to deliver it in time. They labelled me as awkward and unapproachable. My mind was set up in work mode and there wasn’t any room for small talk. I also wanted to enjoy the seven-and-a-half hours and a half I spent there, because to me, enjoying work meant understanding what I was doing and improving my performance every day. I didn’t want to impress anyone but myself that I could do it.

As I described myself to my boss, thinking this was only a cultural difference, I didn’t realize I was describing a possible Autistic trait. People’s judgemental attitudes didn’t stop until I resigned and my zero confidence brought me to a chair in front of a counsellor. When she asked me to think about my childhood, I was a bit angry. Why do psychologists think  all your problems start in the childhood? Is she going to apply the Freudian theory on me now? I thought sceptically. I only wanted her to tell me how to behave because obviously something was wrong and I didn’t know what. Why  were people so offended that I didn’t talk about non-work-related topics, I didn’t socialize and I didn’t respond to their humour? Why  did they pity me for being alone when my oneliness was a matter of personal preference? Why did they feel the need to judge me all the time and make fun of me behind my back? And ultimately, why didn’t I have those needs that people called “normal”?

As I was thinking about my childhood, I realized that I have always been a loner. Being clumsy and physically slow as a child, I always struggled to fit in and therefore started to do things I really enjoyed, like painting and reading. I was fine with my own company. Other children used to tease and make fun of me and I never knew how to respond or why they felt the need to do that. Some teachers used to say I was lazy and I didn’t meet my full potential. I used to get punished for my short-term memory problem, as I used to forget simple things that my peers didn’t. Half the time I thought I was sent from another planet and I had no idea what to do to assimilate people’s costumes which didn’t have any logic to me. I was struggling to keep up.

Paradoxically, except for PE classes, I did quite well in school. I was the best in my class at grammar, at 17 I was awarded my first international poetry prize and I always had strong arguments in philosophical debates. After a while I managed to surpass all those difficulties and I metamorphosised in a confident young woman, able to do everything I put my mind to: complete a degree and a Masters, publish books and enjoy life with its unexpected events.

When the psychologist said of I had Dyspraxia and explained briefly what it was, everything made sense to me. The counsellor was right: people’s problems DO start in childhood. I went home and I looked it up on the Internet and finally understood why I couldn’t learn to swim, to ride a bike and to catch a ball, why I have this right and left confusion, why my reactions are delayed regardless the language I speak, and the list could continue with other difficulties I had and still have. I wish I knew before, as my life would have been much easier.

Yet I managed for 33 years, and I think I can manage from now on too.

I just want to tell people that I am completely harmless and I genuinely believe that if we all love ourselves as we are, there would be no envy or negative feelings regarding other people’s differences and lives. If Dyspraxia made me creative and good with words, or it gave me the capacity to see behind appearances without judging and the foolishness to give up everything to follow my dreams, then I am happy I have it. They call it the hidden handicap, but I call it an extraordinary gift.

Do you have a story to share?  Please click the ‘Contact’ tab to get in touch – if you would like to remain anonymous, please type ‘anon@anonymous.com’ as your email address and ‘anonymous’ as your name.

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I am a 41-year-old woman who was always very quiet in school – so much so that no one would think I had ADD like my brother.

My life was one of being bullied and having emotionally challenged parents.  I was not cuddled much and we never talked about emotions, to the point that, after a 9-month waiting list, a psychologist ended up saying I was emotionally neglected.  Yeah, like I didnt know that myself.

But as I grew older, I slowly gained in confidence and started talking more.  And now the trouble was I talked too much, with associations, metaphors and leaps people sometimes could not follow.   And I found out each of the few people I did call ‘friends’ were either borderline ADD, full ADD/ADHD or bipolar.

I do not get along with ‘normal’ people: I tell them something five times, and still they do not understand what I am saying – including psychiatrist.  I tell my story over and over as well as I can, translating my thoughts to a boxed-in mind.  So much effort and so little result.  In the meantime, I work and listen all day to other people and I understand them so perfectly, including what they are saying in-between the lines.

My first job was at a university as an interviewer.  Then I worked as a journalist, then as a legal assistant, then as a bartender, etc.  Always listening to people.  And they say I am such a good listener.  But they can hardly remember my name.  I dated a guy and found out after one year of dating that he did not know my last name correctly.  If I attend a meeting, the following day people start to explain to me what was said during that meeting.  I say, ‘I was there!  Don’t you remember me?’  They say, ‘No.  Sorry.’

I have ADD, am very HSP, and maybe a bit dyslexic (but only when I speak; not when I write).  Am I highly gifted like someone suggested?  No.  My IQ is only 123 ( I never did homework, due to lack of concentration, though I still managed a Bachelor’s Degree).  I took a course in Photoshop but, after some lessons, could not even find the switch to turn on the computer.  After many instances of hyperventilating  from crying on the toilet, I would start over and over and over again – without help from the teacher because she gave up on me.  Yet who had the exposition at the end of the term?  Me.  So the teacher said, ‘You walk before you crawl.  You’re always either running or standing still.  There is nothing in between.’

But wathever.  I wish I could talk to other people and have them listen to me for a change.  The only people who listen have ADHD.   They give me a headache, are blabbermouths.v I hate it. vBut it is me.

ADD is: many months of burnout, and then all of a sudden I’m writing some cover article.  Everything or nothing.  I am sometimes blocked for months, no movement, I cannot do anything.  Then all of a sudden I am in free flow, typing nonstop.  My thoughts finally find an outlet.  No one I know reads it; it’s online and anonymous people around the world are listening.

And I am a peoples person, yet I cannot get a paid job because they don’t prolong my contract.  ‘You do not fit in the team,” they say.  I don’t know why.  I only know they don’t understand me when I talk, like I speak another language.

Last week I interviewed a dyslectic person for my site.  We talked for an hour on the telephone.  He talked like me: leaps, metaphors, jumping thoughts, playful, looking at things from different angles.  If I speak with non-dyslexics and non-ADHD people, I feel like I need to speak babytalk, go very slowly and not use any metaphors.  I don’t understand why they can hold onto such well paid jobs, because to me, I’m sorry, they are the slow ones, the ‘inside the box’ thinkers.

Do you have a story to share?  Please click the ‘Contact’ tab to get in touch -if you would like to remain anonymous, please type ‘anon@anonymous.com’ as your email address and ‘anonymous’ as your name.

Don’t forget to get your copy of Check Mates, the first ever collection of fiction, poetry and artwork about OCD written entirely by people with OCD.

by

Robaire Beckwith

Knowing what growing up with Tourette Syndrome was like, and remembering the difficulties with understanding the problems experienced as a child and what caused them, led me to finding ways I could help children with TS and other ‘special’ needs caused by neuro-developmental disorders. There was almost no useful advice or support available and I don’t believe things have moved on much now that I am an adult.

I wanted to find a way I could make a difference and be able to improve awareness, influence professional attitudes, improve diagnosis and subsequent provision and treatment. I determined that the best way to do this was to become a doctor myself and specialise in developmental paediatrics or neurology. I could not only become directly involved in the diagnosis and treatment of TS but also become involved in clinical research. Having TS myself would, I hoped, give me a unique insight and ensure I had some idea of the issues that children with TS and their parents face. I hoped my own ‘disability’ would allow me to connect better with and relate to others who are similarly affected.

After gaining my first degree in biological sciences, I taught for several years in a ‘special school’ as a teaching assistant but eventually found this frustrating, as, although I was helping with educational aspects, I became very aware of the profound lack of understanding about Tourette Syndrome among both health and educational professionals. The misconceptions of the medical profession and very poor advice given to parents and their children was something I found truly astounding and worrying.

I was also aware that I had little opportunity to progress and qualify as a teacher. I had applied for post-graduate teacher training during my time as a special-needs teaching assistant but, as I expected, I was not even given an interview.

I did eventually get a place at medical school, but encountered much unexpected discrimination, most of which took place at the very end of four years of extremely hard work, including facing the challenges that studying medicine with a disorder like Tourette Syndrome presented. The manner in which I was treated by staff of the medical school came as a big shock and I was ill-equipped to deal with it. I was subjected to what seemed like a concerted effort by my medical school to deter me from completing my training, using every means possible to question my abilities, undermine my self-belief and even suggest I would pose a risk to my patients should I practice.

My experiences with medical training and the prejudice I encountered make up a complex story that I hope to tell fully one day, and it will help explain how, despite all signs being to the contrary throughout my training, I ultimately had to resign myself to hanging up my stethoscope for the last time and abandon a large collection of costly medical textbooks over which I had pored for unimaginable hours, along with the hopes that had driven me forward. I at least have the satisfaction that I was able complete all my clinical training rotations successfully and received good commendations, assessments and much encouragement from the consultants under whom I trained in several hospitals. I had put in long hours on the wards, in theatre and clinics. I found clinical practice immensely rewarding, and I was actually good at it. I knew I had to work a lot harder than most students to get through all the reading and written assessments. Giving presentations was my biggest fear, as I would have to be the focus of attention in a room full of smart and critical students and doctors, but I managed to overcome this and achieved a passable performance, although the stress was often overwhelming. For a while I really thought I would achieve my goal and be able to transcend the difficulties of my condition.

I often feel very disappointed and immeasurably sad that I could not graduate alongside my other classmates and share in the mutual sense of achievement. This is often the true reality of Tourette Syndrome: you know you can do something, but always have to struggle with others not taking you seriously. Sometimes you just resign yourself to believing that however hard you try to prove yourself, it will never be enough. You get used to seeing your friends and classmates progressing through life and effortlessly overcoming obstacles that may stop you in your tracks. However, despite this, I still try to keep some belief in myself and never feel willing to give up. A problem with this disorder is that individuals are often painfully aware of how others see them, but feel they can do little to change those perceptions.

I had spent four years with my fellow medical students going from our first clinical experiences to greater challenges, with excitement and hope for the future. We went through incredible experiences together and gradually developed confidence in ourselves, our clinical abilities and the potential value of our skills to others. I do, however, feel a great sense of satisfaction in that my clinical partner, throughout my years of hospital training, managed to graduate successfully despite having many setbacks and struggling on many occasions. In the end, she finally made it and I’m sure she will be a competent and dedicated doctor.

Don’t forget to get your copy of Check Mates: A Collection of Fiction, Poetry & Artwork about Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, by People with OCD, on Amazon and Amazon Kindle NOW

I just want people to know that even though it has an awful name, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder is actually a devastating neurological illness. It’s deeper than it seems.

Sometimes it gets so bad I can’t even think straight or get anything finished. Being restless as an adult in public is not only tiresome, it’s embarrassing -  acting on impulse, saying things and wishing you could take them back. All of these things are tough to live with, not to mention having constant sleeping difficulty.

How about emotional instability, at times saying ‘I love you’ to friends and family like a billion times and other times wanting to punch someone out – being so distracted that you can’t drive a car, finish a Movie, read a long novel or even say a prayer in your head without getting your attention pulled elsewhere.

It’s tough and I just wanted to let people know it’s not the joke everyone thinks it is.

Don’t forget to get your copy of Check Mates: A Collection of Fiction, Poetry and Artwork about Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, by People with OCD – on Amazon and Amazon Kindle

Acting and theatre specifically have meaning for me. Initially, theatre for me was an escape from TS that held me captive. When I act it leaves me inexplicably, it just goes away, and yet I can use the knowledge and experience of it to convey meaning and that allows acting complete freedom to take off inside me. The disorder switches off when I act or even when I visit a theatre! My ‘disorder’ is defied and replaced by theatre and acting.

Similarly, I believe our modern society is in disorder and everyone seeks meaning and to be set free in some way. We tend to ‘see’ our modern world through and because of television. That so-called real-world is a world that left me behind, or possibly I just attempted to ignore it because of my TS. A greater thing was brought home to bear on my life and this thing ‘theatre’ has been my greatest release.

Theatre also provides me with a real kinship with those involved, including audiences, which is made more real the more ‘modern life’ imposes itself on us all and breaks us apart from one another. For me, giving something back might sound trite, but it is imperative because theatre released me and cures me and I feel the need to convey this healing to stimulate the ‘cures’ in others. Through theatre we can replace what is missing in our modern world. Through theatre we can find our ‘self’ and ‘selves’ together.

Don’t forget to get your copy of Check Mates: A Collection of Fiction, Poetry and Artwork about Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, by People with OCD – on Amazon and Amazon Kindle

These stories can be completely anonymous, if you wish, or you can provide your real name or even a made-up pen name.

You don’t have to be a ‘writer’ as such – we don’t mind if you don’t have perfect English; we just want what you have to say.

We do not believe in judging others, and everyone involved in the website has been diagnosed with multiple related neurological conditions themselves.

All we want is your personal testimonials to be listed in the ‘Your Stories’ section of our website.  We’ve already had so much positive feedback from the stories posted so far – they have helped others feel less alone with their symptoms, inspired people to think of themselves and their diagnoses a bit differently, and taught us all about the truth behind such conditions.

No story will be censored – these conditions often come with dark and disturbing elements, so if you feel you can’t tell your story without these, they will definitely be included on our website.

We believe the world needs to be made aware of the seriousness of such diagnoses – we want to remove the stigma in speaking out about them, but also help stop people making jokes about them.

Please do click the ‘Your Stories’ tab at the top of this page to look at what others have written.

To share your testimonial, just click the ‘Contact’ tab and write your story in the body of the message.  If you’d like to remain anonymous, please list your email address as ‘anonymous@anon.com’ and give your name as ‘Anonymous’.

We hope to hear from you soon!

Vrinda, Sharon, Jennifer and Lynn

Conditional Publications

Don’t forget to get your copy of Check Mates: A Collection of Fiction, Poetry and Artwork about Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, by People with OCD – on Amazon and Amazon Kindle

What’s more is that the books on the subject would have you believe Autism is something that only affects children – but what happens to these children when they grow up?  Do they somehow grow out of it?  Or do they just get forgotten?

As a child, I was very socially ‘difficult’.  In fact, the word ‘difficult’ was attached to me so many times that I grew to resent it.  It implied I was being stubborn and willful, when in fact I just could not help the way I was at the time – indeed, I couldn’t understand why what I was doing was so wrong.  As far as I was concerned, all I was doing was being myself.

I felt uncomfortable with friends, and yet I hated the loneliness this brought.  The truth is I am an intensely social creature, but as a child, the social expectations were lost on me, I never seemed to do the ‘right’ thing and people were frighteningly unpredictable.  I preferred to imagine they were with me, in my own private time, where I could control what they said, like a script with actors.  That way, no one could shock or hurt me.

I also developed a great passion for reading, where I would sink into the stories, fall in love with the characters, or even become the characters and erase myself from existence.  I often found it confusing being in real life social situations because it felt like the people around me had no idea what a remarkable adventurous little girl I really was…inside, in my head.

I loved routine.   If things went contrary to the plans I had mentally and emotionally prepped myself for, I felt so anxious I was prone to fits.  I would grow desperately unhappy, cry, scream, all because my parents had decided we needed to wait until the following day to go do something I was expecting to do now.  And I couldn’t explain to anyone why it left me in such a state of panic, which only served to panic me more.

In school, I could not stop talking, could not ‘behave’, could not focus on anything that didn’t particularly interest me, could not, could not, could not….

What could I do?

I was passionate about the things that excited me.  Sure, they were often strange things, like my obsession with sharks, or black holes (at the age of 6), or the etymology of the English language (or any language, for that matter).  I felt great pleasure in working out the Quadratic Equation in Algebra class.  I loved working out detective stories.  I practised singing along with my favourite songs constantly until I could perfectly mimic all intonation and improvisation.  I never ran out of things to say, even if it was about strange esoteric subjects.  I knew everything there was to know about the Pet Shop Boys.  I could recite the entirety of Disney’s Aladdin and Hocus Pocus for you without the films playing.  I could speed-read, getting through a book or two a day, all year long.  I could always entertain myself, without the need for outside stimulus or company.  I had high ethical standards, which led to a great sense of loyalty toward those I loved.

The point is: some of it was a little crazy (and in fact still is).  But some of it has been – dare I say it? – useful.

If not for my stubborn perserverence, I wouldn’t be here starting this website or this company.  Check Mates would not exist.  If not for my loyalty and constant chatter, I wouldn’t have managed to make all these remarkable friends I’ve accumulated over the years, without whom the book could not have been made.  Without my love for reading, again, the book would not be published.  Without my tendancy to sink inside myself, I would never have become a writer.

And that’s just me.  I have since learned to integrate myself into the world – learned to ‘fake it until I made it’, studying and imitating those I meet until I blend in more.  I have reached a point in life where I am happily married, a mother, working a stable job that I enjoy and I have many great friends.  I believe my stubbornness is exactly what brought me to this place – because there are all too many people out there who came from the same position I did and have not been so lucky.

They have been too singled out in school, assimilated the abuse and the negative labels and accepted that they are outsiders.  They have struggled in school systems built for people who just don’t think like them.

Because that’s all Autism really is, in its so-called ‘higher-functioning’ form.  It’s a different brain type, a different way of thinking.  We learn differently, we require more routine and preparation, we need information to be delivered to us with some relevance to our natural passions in life, we need more focus  and patience – but then, aren’t there plenty of people out there without Autism who are the same way?

Over the years I have heard people claim that Autism is ‘brain damage’, perhaps caused by some problem in childbirth, or the result of an abusive or neglectful childhood upbringing – that it is a disability.  Yes, sometimes it is.  But for the rest of us, I strongly believe that all we need is the encouragement to unlock our natural potential.  We are brilliant creatures with talent and imagination and intelligence, just like anyone else in the world.  When we’re given half a chance, just watch how far we fly.

To put things into perspective, I always believed others were just like me, until I read Temple Grandin’s Thinking in Pictures, where she detailed what it was like to be Autistic, stating repeatedly that ‘the general public do not think this way’.  I found myself relating to everything she said and asking myself in shock, ‘That’s not how the rest of the world are??’

Perhaps the real key to dealing with the more maleable forms of Autism is to stop trying to force us into typical social conventions and instead try thinking the way we do.  I’ve always found it impossible to imagine what it must be like to think any other way, so I can understand why it would be so hard to understand my way of being.  But it really isn’t so strange if you’re living it.

Those of us who can find ways to function in the world do not have ‘disorders’ that need to be cured with medications.  In such cases, it’s not a ‘mental illness’ or a ‘syndrome’.  It’s an entire personality type.  It’s who I am.  To ask me to take drugs to change it would be like asking me to stop being me.  And frankly, I can think of a long list of people who like me being me – myself at the top of that list!  Why should I have to go against my nature just to fit in?  Why do we find difference so thereatening that we demand conformity, despite the fact that all our great leaders, thinkers and artists have been great because they were so ‘outside’?

To me, this is normal.  So where’s the pill that makes you think like me?

Just something to consider….

Vrinda Pendred

Editor & Founder of Conditional Publications

Don’t forget to get your copy of Check Mates: A Collection of Fiction, Poetry and Artwork about Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, by People with OCD – on Amazon and Amazon Kindle

If you’re in the UK, you can buy it here, or in the US just click here.

It’s now also available in a handy Kindle edition!  And be sure to visit our main page where you can read extracts from the book before you buy.

Look around and you’ll find that usually such books are either medical or autobiographical accounts of the subject – which makes ‘Check Mates’ truly unique.

It has been kindly endorsed by OCD author Jeff Bell and OCDTribe.com – the only dedicated social network for OCD.

OCD-UK also published an extract from a short story from the collection (‘The Royal Bank of Scotland’) in their members magazine back in October 2008.  A portion of all profits from the sale of the book will be going to this and other OCD charities.

CLICK HERE TO WATCH A PERSONAL INTERVIEW WITH THE FOUNDER AND EDITOR OF CONDITIONAL PUBLICATIONS

The aim of the project is to help others struggling with the condition realise they’re not alone and they’re not strange for it – they don’t need to feel ashamed or suffer in silence.

We also want to make people aware of the truth behind the stereotypes of this often disabling condition.  OCD seems to have taken on a ‘trendy’ persona these days, due to celebrities coming out with their condition.  While we love that more people are recognising this condition and becoming aware of it, there still seems to be a definite lack of understanding of how deep it goes.  It’s not just about counting and handwashing – there are dark, intrusive thoughts that go with it, thoughts that permeate every aspect of existence and can often be severely disabling – and yet, there is still always hope.

And don’t forget – we have a social network, http://conditionalpublications.ning.com, we’re on Twitter as ‘NeuroBooks’ and be sure to join the Conditional Publications fan page on Facebook!

In time, we hope Check Mates will touch people’s lives and that this venture will build up into the important niche publishing house we believe it can become.

It was a family celebration, Christmas. The events were just starting to dwindle and friends/family were heading home. There was snow outside and it was very cold. I was sitting on the couch in my little festive dress, which my mother had purchased for me.

Someone had left the television on, and it caught my limited attention span. It was the story of a young (but older than me) girl and her favourite teenager babysitter. They were close friends and the girl adored her.

One day, the babysitter drives the girl and herself to her boyfriend’s house. While in the car, (alone) the girl (whom I assume now was experiencing a sort of jealousy) notices a knife her babysitter has sitting in a cup holder.  Her babysitter returns to the car, only to have the girl stab her in the heart.

I felt a pain of revulsion in my stomach , and at the moment, my heart leapt from my chest.  I swiftly got off the couch, a weird feeling in my stomach.

I knew of murder (The Lion King was still fairly new, but Scar was pure evil), but I hadn’t comprehended it.

I had plenty of babysitters, as my parents worked full time jobs. I loved my babysitters.

Instantly, questions swirled in my mind, questions  I had never pondered before. Questions like: “How could she have done that to another human being when she loved her?” “Doesn’t she miss her?” “Wouldn’t it have hurt her?” “She was young, like me!” “Everyone will hate her once they find out the truth!” “God will punish her.”

That’s where the fear was born and that’s when the thoughts would cling to me.  They would continue to haunt my childhood and eat me up even into my adult life.

I began obsessing over stabbing people. I thought, “What if I could do such a thing for such a silly reason? God would hate me, everyone would hate me! I would hate myself!”

I went to bed with uneasy thoughts that night and a weird pressure – what I presumed was me thinking I was just going to stab my babysitter. I went to sleep hoping the thought would be gone the next morning. I was wrong.

Not only was the thought there to stay, but it drastically distracted me from school. I would look around at my classmates and ponder, “Do they have the same fears as me? Am I abnormal and crazy? Am I bad because I’m having such bad thoughts? No one else seems to have these thoughts or seems upset.” My teachers took note of my behaviour and informed my parents.

My stomach hurt and the thoughts lasted for weeks. My babysitter would come over and I would wake up very early so I could play Super Mario Brothers and distract myself from the fear that I would stab her before school.

My babysitter was an elderly woman and, to me, much like a grandmother. She would make lunch every day and play with us (I have two other younger sisters).

Sudden flashes of me wielding a knife and my hand covered with the blood of my babysitter flashed in my head. I would close my eyes, but these thoughts and images were mental. Eventually, the stabbing thoughts not only surrounding stabbing my babysitter – but progressed to my younger sisters, parents, and friends, too.

After a few months, I could no longer take it. I thought for sure one day I would crack and grab a knife. I felt sickened and crazy and evil. I liked my life, but I thought myself to be undeserving. As a six-year-old, I was considering some pretty terrible truths. One day, late, around 12:00 AM, I received the courage to express myself to my parents. The nervousness I felt while explaining nearly made me faint.

“This is it,” I thought. “My life will be over soon. Mom and Dad will hate me for having such bad thoughts, and they’ll put me away. Everyone will hate me. But I don’t want to kill or hurt anyone, so this is the way it’ll have to be.”

“Mommy, I need to speak with you of something very important.”

My Mom sat up from her bed and looked at me curiously. My Daddy sat up, too. They both cast worried looks in my direction.

“Are you sick?” She said getting out of bed.

Dad got out of bed and picked me up. He placed me on the counter in the washroom. (The washroom was like their examining place for when we were sick.)

“Daddy…Mommy…I have to tell you something because I can’t take it anymore. I’m having very bad thoughts. I think I’m a bad person. I’m worried I’m going to hurt people with knives.”

My Dad gave me an odd look.  “Do you feel like you’re going to hurt people with knives?”

I nodded.

“God doesn’t like people who hurt others. It’s wrong. People who hurt others go to hell.”

My stomach fell.

“No. Ray. Is that all that’s wrong? They’re only thoughts. You wouldn’t really do anything. They’re just thoughts that are disturbing to you. I’m glad you told us. Don’t worry about them. We know you’d never do anything.”

I felt my stomach float. For a second, I felt bliss. Now they knew. I confessed and they weren’t going to send me away forever! My Mothers smile reassured me. My mother was a nurse, she’d know if I were crazy or not! Perhaps I was just over-reacting. Perhaps now that I confessed, it meant I was a good person! What killer would confess their dark secrets?

For a few days, I felt free of the thought. But it came back. I was wrong about the confessing to my mother. I decided that from here on out, I would fight the thought. I realized that when I was distracted (in school, ect), I felt normal.

Maybe I could fight off the dark thoughts when I was bored by myself. Perhaps if it was true that I wouldn’t act on them, I would just suffer silently. I deemed myself insane and abnormal, but I wanted a childhood and I didn’t want to ruin it because I was different.

“All I want is my childhood. That’s all. Then I will confess my dark obsessions to the authorities and they can put me away.”

And that’s how I grew up. Every day, flashes of images of me wielding a knife would pop into my head, sometimes when I was at my happiest.  I still to this day cannot watch any gory movie, I still suffer from intrusive, unwanted thoughts.

The thoughts have evolved, too. I have obsessed about shoving friends into incoming traffic for no good reason. I started not enjoying public swimming, as I feared I would hold people’s heads underwater and make them drown.

I have had thoughts surrounding sexually touching my younger sisters or other children, despite having positively no sexual interest in doing so. I’ve had thoughts surrounding if I said something horrible to a friend that would result in them committing suicide. I have had religious thoughts in defiance of God during Church.

I developed an obsession while learning to drive at 16 surrounding a fear that I would purposely drive pedestrians over. Because of this obsession, I refuse to drive, which makes life difficult.

I worry I’d choke or drown younger children or the elderly, so I refuse to babysit babies and I refuse to be around old people alone.

In an effort to fight these thoughts, I developed mental rituals (or sometimes physical), like saying, “No!” to myself out loud or in my mind, over and over again. I’ve tried to think of nice images (like a deer in a forest or my parents) to override the bad thoughts. I try to be extra nice and giving, thinking that perhaps this will make the guilt subside.

I’ve had physical compulsions, too. While younger, I developed a fear of germs and over-washed my hands until they bled. I pulled out my eyelashes and was forced to be monitored by a doctor because I could have eventually lost my eyelashes. I like to pull out strands of hair sometimes and I rub my nose. I scratch books because I like the feeling of scratching the pages – a habit which results in my family and boyfriend going insane (as it produces an screeching noise)!

I’ve never acted on any thoughts. I am now 21.

I’ve taken every sort of anti-depressant I can think of. While a few have worked and freed me from my thoughts, I did not enjoy their side-effects and am now in the process of dealing with the demons medicine-free. It’s not working too well.

No one who looks into my eyes would ever guess that at that one moment, in my head, I may be having an intrusive image of me stabbing them. I appear normal. I appear pretty friendly and down to Earth. I’ve confessed to a few close friends, but I keep the secrets of my dark gruesome thoughts to myself, mostly.

It’s a silent war waging in my head as I fight to relax myself, as I fight to free myself.

Balancing my life and these thoughts takes up a lot of energy. These thoughts distract me and cause me to distance myself from others. They distract me from school work. They keep me unorganized. But I still manage to maintain a seasonal job. I still have friendships. I still have family.

I’ve never known what I a normal life may feel like. I’ve battled these thoughts over and over to a point where this is simply my reality. I look enviously at most people – their heads clear, their perspectives and ambitions not over shadowed by intrusive images. And I realize how good of an actress I am. After all, it’s not easy multitasking these distracting thoughts and managing a social life.

Sometimes, I catch myself thinking; “Are they all acting too?”

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The article stated that there are many doctors up in arms over the UK’s decision, claiming this law basically says ‘quacks’ are okay.  A conflicting viewpoint was put across that really it ought to be the patient’s choice which sort of treatment they take, either herbal or pharmaceutical.  The article also noted that one such herbal remedy under contention is St John’s Wort, as used in the treatment of depression.

I think the key here is ‘choice’.  Last I checked, the US and UK supposedly invaded the Middle East under the pretense of bringing ‘democracy’, yes?  And I appreciate that a little government intervention is necessary from time to time, but when it comes to our health, shouldn’t it be up to us what we put in our bodies?

Example 1:

Many of my good friends have neurological conditions.  One such friend was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder a couple years ago.  He tried prescribed medications for a while, but they only seemed to make him worse, so he stopped, and started exploring his options.  He struck upon a vitamin regime that did not cure his symptoms, but it did improve things greatly for him.  Unfortunately, by that point so much damage had already been done at his job, due to his condition going undiagnosed for so long and due to his colleagues being small-minded and not accepting / understanding him once the diagnosis was made.  My friend has been severely bullied at work for a long time now, and the abuse built up to a point where he just couldn’t handle it anymore.  He felt so low, he went back to the doctor, and in his vulnerable state, he agreed to try a new prescription.

He went on a course of Sertroline (Zoloft in the States) – something I took myself, many years ago, and which had greatly detrimental affects on my mental health.  In my experience, I was a guinea pig for this ‘miracle drug’, and when things went wrong, the doctors were suddenly uncontactable.  In my friend’s case,  he sank lower and lower over a period of six weeks, until one morning his partner found him slicing open his own wrists.  Thank God my friend does not live alone, else he would have died.  Instead, though, he was rushed to hospital and saved.

One could argue he was depressed anyway, so how can you say this was caused by the drug?  Except my friend has never been suicidal before – and if you look around the internet, you will see there are several class action suits being filed in connection with this and other such drugs due to unprecedented violent acts on the part of patients taking these prescriptions – and when I was taking the drug myself, after sinking into a suicidal state unlike anything I’d ever experienced before (not to mention developing schizophrenic symptoms), I read in the list of side effects contained in the medication box that this ‘anti-depressant’ and ‘anti-anxiety’ tablet could, in fact, cause ‘anxiety’ and ‘suicidal ideation’.

The day before my friend started self-harming, he had gone to see his doctor again and told him how depressed he was feeling since taking the drug.  The doctor’s reply was to increase the dosage!  And might I add that never was there any suggestion to see a psychologist who could help him work through his pain, even alongside the medication.  This, too, has been my own experience: unless I begged for a psychologist and absolutely insisted upon it, it was not given to me.

I’m not saying the drugs don’t work for everyone.  But I have spoken to many fellow diagnosees (if there is such a word!), read many books on these subjects, and have tried a variety of medications myself.  The general consensus seems to be that for some people these medications work – for others, it is helpful to take the drugs on a short-term basis alongside some other form of psychological therapy, so that they feel a boost in spirits and clarity to enable them to focus on the therapy and learn the long-term techniques to help themselves.  For others still (myself included), the drugs do not have any affect on the actual condition, but they do induce a lot of nasty side effects.

Another point to mention is that I believe we focus so much on the diagnosis, we forget about the ‘little’ things, like sleep and diet.  For instance, I have started on a vitamin regime (similar to my friend’s) that has meant at long last, I sleep at night and I wake up refreshed.  This has in no way cured my symptoms – but just getting that sleep has de-stressed my body and mind so much, my symptoms have become much more bearable.  I also tried a year of talking therapy and discovered that much of the pain and volatility within me was due to experience, not the diagnosed conditions themselves.  Through this therapy, much of my frustration and unhappiness was healed.

The point is: it should be our choice.  I don’t know about you, but I do not want to live in a nation governed by people who decide what we’re allowed to put into our bodies in the name of health.  There is a reason these chemical compounds are called ‘drugs’ – they have the potential to be dangerous, depending on who takes them and for how long.

I think people often view doctors as all-knowing, but it’s so important that we step back and remember the human body is not a machine.  You can’t call up Tech Support when something goes wrong, have them run a few diagnostic checks and come out with a foolproof solution.

Example:

Just last year I developed some kind of infection that required antibiotics.  I was given a basic prescription, and within 15 minutes of taking the drug as prescribed, my temperature shot up to 105F, I lost feeling in the right side of my body and my chest started seizing up.  I was in absolute terror.  My husband threw warm wet flannels over me to bring down the temperature, and slowly I came back to health.  We spoke to a nurse who said it was a result of the drug, because apparently you shouldn’t take that particular pill if you have neurological conditions – which no one bothered to check when giving the prescription.  I spoke to a doctor who prescribed a new drug and his response was, ‘There’s nothing wrong with the antibiotic – that should not have happened to you.’  Yes, but it did happen.  But he just kept saying, ‘It shouldn’t have.’

Doctors do not have all the answers, despite how advanced they are.  They particularly do not have all the answers when it comes to the brain.  I would also argue there is a huge issue of spirit involved, when delving into matters of the psyche, i.e. some scientists believe everything is down to chemical reactions, and others believe there’s something more to it, something beyond the body.  There’s no way to prove it either way.

So do I think the UK government has just said it’s okay for ‘quacks’ to practise in our nation?  No.  I believe they just reaffirmed our right to choose – which is just how things should be in a so-called democracy.

I just pray we keep it that way.

Vrinda Pendred

Editor & Founder

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