On a daily basis I struggle with defining myself, my personality, likes and dislikes and what would be considered OCD. After all I undergo intense self scrutiny everyday, that I suspect ninety percent of the world’s population don’t, and that’s not even taking into account the self reflection and awareness that accompanies complying with my weekly psychodynamic group therapy.

I’m not sure, even now, six years post mental health assessment and diagnosis exactly whom I’m supposed to measure up to in order to decide if it’s OK to do, think or believe x, y and z. It’s very hard to trust others anyway, again I’m not sure if being so distrustful of people is part of me or the pathological aspect of my mental illness, but the added edge of failing by trusting the wrong people is terrifying.

It could just be me, the annual seasonal affective disorder or the OCD, but sometimes I think the only peace I will ever attain will not be in this realm. The narrative of what I think life should be about, faith should be about, kindness and kinship should be about is not compatible with the reality in which I live and I grow weary of trying to sheild myself from it.

I’m no different to millions of confused people out there who feel we are the individuals that have not been cut quite right and have never been, nor will ever be, fit for purpose. Any useful purpose. However, there’s no way out of this nightmare or these constant questions and self-analysis and denial only gets me so far.

I go through periods of finding purpose in trying to be content and then questioning if content is good enough, finding no answer except abstract negativity and feeling severely worthless for making the effort. If there was an option in the big picture of being broken down to my fundamental elements and ceasing to exist in any way in any form without consequence, I would take it.