A Little Bit of Fight

Dear God,

            I just want to say thank you for being with me in the wee hours of the morning. In the hours when Dane was asleep, and I was the only one up roaming the rooms of the condo. Honestly, if not for you I probably would have given into the panic attack that was trying to slither and snake around my heart and mind. In those quiet hours is when my OCD locked onto the fact that the box that held all those lotions, meds, and dental products—the one Dane put back into the bathroom and onto the new washer—was turned around the way I did not want it. My OCD has eyes like a hawk and zeroed in on all the tubes and cases of liquid, or gel-like, meds that were normally towards the backside of the washer but were now towards the front of the washer. My OCD expertly began its plan of trying to convince me that I messed with the different meds and got them into the animals’ foods and waters. (Oh, Lord, why does my brain even listen to this nonsense??)

            I think it was the last straw really, Lord. I had worked so hard all yesterday (remember it is technically the next morning already) to constantly work through these types of thoughts. Over and over again, I had told myself what I did and did not do. Dane helped carry some of my load and helped me decipher truth from fiction. But the problem was that Dane had gone to bed, and I was forced to figure it all out on my own this time. Oh, Lord, my brain was at its last wits. I know you already know but, I will say it out loud, I tried to wake Dane up to help me. I’m sorry, Lord. That was selfish, and I knew it, but I guess it wasn’t so bad since the poor man was too tired to even keep his eyes open, and he just kept sleeping away. That is when I went into the living room and sat on the couch. My hands instantly gravitated to my eyelashes, and they did the pulling motion, but my fingers could not grasp any of the hairs because my eyelashes have not grown enough and are still too short.

            So, I stuck my head into the hole of my pajama shirt and started sobbing. I pressed the fabric against my eyes and soaked up the tears. Honestly, I was so torn because I did want Dane to hear me crying, so he would know to come and help me, but, at the same time, I didn’t because I would have felt horrible for keeping him up on a work night. In the end, he was fast asleep (rightfully so) and did not hear me crying. (It was on me to help myself, and I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to fight my intrusive thoughts.) Everything in me told me to give into the labored breathing. (My OCD was doing a fine job of making me feel like everything was too much and that I did not have the strength to find the truth in the situation.) I knew it would be easy to slip down into the panicky spiral where everything felt falsely safe and numb. But that is when I started talking to you. I wasn’t saying much, but I know I said your name, and that is when I felt the first bits of fight return.

                Instead of giving into the spiral, I began to work through all the details of what I had done in the bathroom. In my head I pictured the bathroom: First, the washing machine with the box—full of lotions, meds, and dental products—on top; secondly, the sink, to the right of the washer, with only some soap and toothbrushes sitting on it; thirdly, the tub, at the back, with the fabric softener and air freshener bottle sitting on the right side edge; and, finally, the towel rack, to the right of the tub, that was conveniently placed next to the door. After picturing the space, I then recalled my actions: I remembered washing my hands first, and then turning around to dry them off on my shower towel. After that, I looked at the spray air freshener and made sure I had not touched it. Once I was satisfied I had not, I grabbed the bathroom door handle with my right hand, opened the door, and turned the bathroom light off with my left hand. As I exited the bathroom, my left hand stayed near my chest, and my right hand pulled the door with me. Lastly, I grabbed the bathroom door handle, on the hallway side, and closed the door securely.

            Though I ended up having to go over my actions repeatedly—and even though it was mentally exhausting to think of every little thing I had done in the bathroom—that type of methodical recounting helped immensely. Each distinctly remembered action acted as evidence that eventually proved my OCD thoughts to be complete and utter lies. Lord, I proved to myself that I never messed with the items in the box—or the air freshener on the tub—and therefore could not have gotten any of those solutions or products into the animals’ foods and waters. Breaking the spiral was so hard, but I know you heard me speak your name, Lord. Though my words were few, thank you for listening to my inner voice and sparking that bit of fight I needed to clear some head space, break that spiral, and work through my intrusive thoughts. It meant everything to me that you would be there for me and help my mind grasp onto the truth of the situation. I love you so much my Mighty Helper. You are so good to me.

Always,

Your Daughter Kaitlan

P.S. Lord, please let others know that you are listening to them. Give their hearts a little tug so they feel your presence. And when they have reached that moment—you know, the moment in which they have to decide either to give into the spiral or fight back—provide them the bit of fight they need to resist the spiral and work out their intrusive thoughts. Help them find the truth in their situations too! Thank you, Lord!

Thank you for reading! If you are new, this is a chronological blog series. It is best read in order. CLICK HERE for the intro.