We like to put labels on people.
Heck. We even like to label ourselves.
That’s why do personality quizzes for fun. Go on spiritual journeys to find the inner selves. We put definitions as introvert or extrovert onto our behaviour.
Only to be prove that we are “being ourselves”.
One of the first major labels that was attached to me, was the doctor’s diagnosis that I had OCD.
The symptoms fitted.
The cleaning. The counting. The search for re-assurance.
At first I was happy.
This was the proof to my parents that I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t the only one who did certain things.
It was just an illness which could be cured.
And so I started therapy.
This was the moment that everything changed.
Often times I felt that my parents didn’t see me as the happy, creative girl I was.
I was their problematic daughter with OCD.
My parents also talked to the specialist.
Sometimes with my presence, sometimes privately.
That’s when I noticed differences.
EVERYTHING I did in a certain sequence was blamed on the OCD.
I didn’t seem to able to explain that some things were just personal preferences or more logic to do in certain steps.
The specialist tried to find out why I had this mental illness.
When she found out my dad had spent some time in a mental health institute, her conclusion was clear: Genetics.
WRONG! So wrong.
My dad dealt with an extreme case of traumatic life.
It would even make any question the purpose of life. Even your perfect ass, mrs. “Specialist”.
When I was bullied at school, teacher’s advised me to talk to a confidential adviser.
As soon as she found out I had a mental illness, I was the problem, not the actual bullies.
I was sent do another therapist, not the bullies.
I was too young to have an opinion on my own, so I believed everything everyone told me.
How incredibly stupid.
I can’t trust mental health specialists anymore.
I don’t trust anyone who just learn by books and have never experienced the real things.
Despite that, my parents will never stop telling me to do therapy again.
And whenever they visit, I see them observing me and thinking “does she do this in that particular order because it makes sense or because of her OCD?”
My OCD is still there, but I have learned how to cope with it.
I avoid certain situations which can give me anxiety.
I wake up earlier so I know simply won’t have the energy to do any routines in the evening.
I have my hobbies who distract me from feeling the need to do something.
I don’t feel at all like I am missing out on life. I am satisfied.
It’s just other’s that feel the need to give me their best advise because they think they know me better than I know myself.
And therefore I blame these “specialist”.
They put a label on me which I can’t seem to get rid of.
this and none of my post are meant to insult or scare anyone.
It is just an extract of my experiences.