But when you have different types of OCD, it's harder to explain. So I thought I would try to explain by way of a conversation.
A conversation with OCD.
Me: *yawn* Good morning world.
OCD: What's so good about it? You're tired, didn't get any sleep, your feet are cold and sore and that dream you just had about drowning? It's going to come true.
Me: *sigh* Already forgetting the dream. And my feet hurt because I have fibromyalgia that hurts more in the mornings and when it's cold.
OCD: No it's not. You probably have another disease that's rotting inside your joints. Soon your body will begin to deform. No one will love you then. You'll be fat AND ugly.
Me: I'm not fat. I just stepped on the scale and it said I lost two pounds.
OCD: It's because you're sick. You're dying. Better go take your vitamins. Oh, it's too late. Now you energy vitamins will keep you up all day long. What if they're poisoned? What if the FDA is a bunch of lies and secretly this is why you're sick. They aren't making you better.
Me: No, my vitamins make me feel better. Although . . .
OCD: Yep. You're remembering the one you dropped on the floor and took it anyways. What if there was something on the floor that got on the vitamin? It's poison. Speaking of poison, do you smell gas?
Me: That's not gas. But . . .
OCD: Maybe there's a gas leak and that's why you got that headache yesterday. Better check the stove.
Me: We have an electric stove.
OCD: And it's dirty. You didn't clean it. I wonder what's growing on there. Remember that time you cleaned the whole kitchen and someone asked why you didn't clean the stove. You should have stabbed them.
Me: What?! No!
OCD: Ever wonder what it would look like if you stabbed someone? Here's an image I'm going to just put in your head.
Me: Get that out!
OCD: Nope. I like it here. Hey, here's a few more pictures about what it would be like to stab people . . .
OCD: Or burn them . . .
OCD: Here's a picture of what it would look like if you stabbed yourself.
OCD: Oh come on, you know that doesn't work. You have an ugly voice. You should kill yourself.
Me: *keeps singing*
OCD: In fact, here's an imagine of what it would look like if you killed yourself. No one would miss you. I bet your husband would be married within six months. He deserves someone better anyways. You're probably just going to kill him.
Me: I would never hurt my husband.
OCD: Really? Here's what it would look like if you did.
Me: *begins praying*
OCD: Doesn't help. Didn't you know? There isn't a God. When you die, you're just dead. So is your mother and your Grandmother and your aunt and all the people you've ever loved. They aren't in heaven, they just rot in the ground. Wonder what that looks like?
Me: I'm ignoring you. I'm going to eat breakfast and forget you're even there.
OCD: Fine. Whatever you eat will just make you fatter. And then you'll die of a heart attack. Hey that apple tasted funny yesterday. Did you remember to wash it? Of course not, you never remember to do anything. It's why everyone hates you.
Me: Shut up! I'm going to wash the apple I eat today!
OCD: That's not how the word "going" is pronounced. Try it again.
OCD: Doesn't feel right does it? Nope. Say it 35 more times until it feels right. It took 35 times saying it right once, so 35 is the right number. If you say it any less than 35 times I'm just going to remind you about it all day.
Me: I need to make Matt's lunch now.
OCD: Better remember to remind him to take his phone to work. What if he forgets it and gets in a car wreck. He'll die and you'll never know. And you'll be a terrible wife who never got to tell her husband that you loved him. In fact, he probably thinks you're a terrible wife anyways. If he dies, those will be his last thoughts.
Me: I need to text my sister and ask if she wants to go to lunch.
OCD: She won't reply back. Her house was broken into last night and someone killed her. Probably because you wouldn't go shopping with her last night. If you'd gone shopping with her last night, she wouldn't have left her house at 9pm, she'd have left the house at 8:45 to come pick you up and that stalker down the street would have completely missed her.
Me: She's not dead.
OCD: What if she was. Remember when you were eleven and you pushed her out a window.
Me: That was an accident.
OCD: I bet there's glass still there. I bet the new family that moved in had kids, and one of them stepped on that broken glass and got an infection and died. All because you hate your sister.
Me: I don't hate my sister.
OCD: She hates you. Everyone hates you. You don't belong anywhere. Because you couldn't keep your room clean as a child.
Me: I tried.
OCD: There was too much to do though. And they would have just cleaned it up right after you. Because you did it wrong. In fact, I wouldn't even bother cleaning today. Not like you'll make much of a difference. And no one will appreciate it.
Me: You know what?! Fine!
OCD: Then again if you don't clean today, your husband will leave you. Or your in-laws will hate you. Or you'll all get sick and die. Here's a picture of what it would look like if you all got sick and died.
OCD: Did you hear that? There's a robber outside.
Me: No there's not.
OCD: Okay but if there was - which there might be - this is the route you need to take to get out of the house. You'll have to leave everyone else behind or you'll die. But then you'll be a coward. What if they have a gun? Here's what it would look like if you got shot and died. Doesn't matter though, because there is no God.
Me: There is a God.
OCD: Is there? If there is a God, he hates you. You're clearly going to hell.
Me: I can't deal with this. I'm tired and going to bed.
OCD: It's dark in here. Remember when we saw Paranormal Activity?
Me: Oh jeez . . .
OCD: Yup. Demons! Better jump into bed as fast as you can.
Me: I can't do that. The last time I did that I broke my ribs.
OCD: Oh yeah. You know what? I bet that's what that pain was this morning. You have a piece of broken rib floating around in your body. Soon it'll get stuck in your lung and you'll suffocate on your own blood.
Me: Oh for the love of . . .
OCD: Fine, fine, you go to sleep. Or try to. I mean, you locked the door right?
OCD: What if sleeping in this position causes you to suffocate to death?
Me: Shut up please . . .
OCD: What if your husband suffocates to death in his sleep. Better stay up! Oh and while you're still awake, remember that dream where you drowned? Yeah, that's still going to happen, and it's all because you forgot to take the wet clothes out of the washing machine tonight.
Me: What does that have anything to do with . . .
OCD: Oh, you don't see the pattern? Well, here, let me use the next forty-five minutes to lay it all out for you.
PS: This isn't an actual conversation I had with my OCD. Just an example of how OCD takes simple things and pushes them to the extreme and forces thoughts and images into your head.
PPS: There aren't actual voices in my head.
PPPS: Except for that Carly Rae Jepson song. That's in there for good whether I want it there or not.
PPPPS: " . . . my number . . . so call me maybe . . ."