Around age 5 my mom started noticing some differences in my behaviors. Right around the time I learned what illness were and about hand washing is when the obsessions started. It began with washing my hands frequently, worrying if others were sick that I was going to get it and if so, it would be the end of the world. While my mother dealt with my otherwise obnoxious obsessions and worry brain, doctors diagnosed me with psychosis and obsessive compulsive disorder. They recommended therapy around age 6 and I visited quite a few in the years to follow.
My mother, being the computer whiz/frugal person she is, researched into my newly found diagnosis. While this was already a difficult time as my little brother was being diagnosed with Autism. She found a program that would essentially send my family to a conference that was supposed to really help with coping and getting through my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
As the time passed approaching said conference, my obsessions grew much worse. Growing up in a conservative, Christian household, every bad thought felt as though God was never going to accept me into heaven (even though I obviously was told otherwise), my “worry brain” continued to feed me bad and sometimes hurtful thoughts. These thoughts, at which I would openly tell my mother. Oh my poor sweet mom put up with so much over those years. Some of my bad worries would stem around things happening in my families lives. It was honestly one of the hardest times of my life that I can still physically feel if I think hard about it.
Coping with anxiety, OCD, and growing up. 