I think that control tends to be one of the most elusive concepts ever known to mankind. I mean, wars have been fought over it - rulers declared war over other countries because they wanted control. Citizens declared war because they had a lack of control. I declare war against my OCD because what was once considered control is now turning out to be chains.
Isn't that how it tends to be? We turn to things like OCD and eating disorders and heart-hiding, in part, because of control. Don't you think that's accurate? I find myself chasing after control when in truth, if I'm totally honest with myself, I admit that I'm only further delving into what'll hurt me.
For example, a few days, I was placed in a situation where I felt anxious and totally helpless. I found myself drumming my fingers against my legs in a methodical manner...one, two, three...one, two, three...one, two, three...because as stupid as it sounds, it provided an albeit insignificant thing that I could control.
I feel silly writing that. It's embarrassing, honestly, but let's be honest here. It's rarely not embarrassing when you reveal a part of your heart that you've never told anyone about before.
But when my psychological stuff starts interfering with three things I adore - writing, reading, and music - I realize how pointless this all is. How out of control I really am.
And so, I'm declaring war. I'm not going to live like this any longer. It's not worth it. I refuse to sit around and watch OCD take the joy out of the things I love.
(You'll be pleased to know that the structure of this chapter is one that breaks my obsessive compulsive numbering.)