#overcoming ocd

[mentalhealth-001serviceprovider]

Overcoming OCD: Effective Therapy Options in Newport News

"Discover effective therapy options for Overcoming OCD in Newport News. Our experienced therapists offer specialized treatment to help you regain control and find relief from obsessive-compulsive disorder. With evidence-based therapies and compassionate support, you can embark on a journey towards improved mental health and a brighter future."

[golden-snackoos]

I think we as a society need to watch more Monk in 2024.

[constantvariations]

As stupid as the "Kyrie would kill me right now" line is, I can't help but run with the idea that maybe Kyrie is a secretly jealous person

She lost her parents to demons and her brother to Sanctus. She runs an orphanage. In Before the Nightmare, we're told that she often feeds other people's kids and refuses to accept donations that could help other people instead.

She gives and gives and gives. So, it's only fair for her to be a little possessive of the only thing she allows herself to keep: her relationship with Nero

Obviously she trusts him to be faithful and good, yet she can't help but cling a little bit tighter to his arm when he's around others, especially women she thinks are far more beautiful than her. Can't help but double check that his eye is on her and nobody else. Can't help but try to prove she's worthier than them by continually doing good deeds and making him happy however she can

She hates this part of herself and knows it's irrational, knows it's sinful, so she hides it. And she does it so well that people would laugh at the idea of Kyrie being jealous

Nero knows, though. It may have taken him a while to figure it out, but he notices her increased touches when they're in public, her subtle emphasis on "we" and "us" and "my boyfriend", her chores being done with a certain agitation or his favorite things popping up after these outings

Even if it can be irritating at times, he accepts all of her, just like she accepted all of him

[whole-wide-oddity]

It’s already been a few months since I had hallucinations; I don’t even remember the last thing I saw or heard or felt. I wish I remember and knew at that moment that it was the last and tell goodbye for good. I don’t even know if it was the last one and won’t happen again.

But whatever comes I hope I don’t wish to not exist anymore, won’t try to lock in the bathroom and end myself, won’t become depressed and miserable. And I’m writing this post because I want to remind myself in the future that, despite constant anxiety which I don’t give a second thought anymore for the things I went through, I will remember that there was a single moment in my life, when I felt content with myself.

Whatever comes next, I’m ready.

[wyvernne]

giving pre-FRWAD vampluc OCD tendencies bc i can

[rulesforthedance]

Only problem with SSRIs is I’m noticeably less motivated to run. But I’m also not in a constant state of meltdown, so it seems like a fair trade. If being a slightly worse runner is the price of feeling ok about my life, I’ll take it

[nepenthean-sleep]

me: queer religious trauma is just a freaking circle. you feel bad about being queer after religion is brought up and then that feeling makes you think "what if this is the TRUTH and me being queer is bad" but it's not because that's what two decades of direct (evangelical school) and indirect (living in the us south) indoctrination have mindpoisoned you into thinking so you think that automatically every time the subject (religion) is brought up. You Are Not Special, God Does Not Have It Out For You Directly. you fantasizing about sex or writing smutty fanfic or looking at images or masturbating has literally no influence on whether or not you get an injury or get sick or any other miscellaneous bad thing happens to you/your loved ones. the two are completely fucking unrelated.

me, 20 minutes later: oh my god what if god is punishing me for being a lesbian by giving me costochondritis [2 hour panic attack]

[cosmojjong]

i know i should be driving but why does it scare the hell out of me

[pleaseshootthejester]

Writing a resume when I have to will to live is such a bad idea lmao

[anxietyfoundation]

OCD - Everything You Need To Know

Introduction Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) is a mental health condition characterized by persistent, unwanted thoughts (obsessions) and repetitive behaviors (compulsions) that an individual feels driven to perform. The disorder can significantly impact various aspects of a person’s life, including their relationships, work, and overall well-being. With millions affected worldwide, OCD is a…

[pickledmickles]

Thinking abt the psychiatrist that told me I def wasn't autistic bc I was "very pleasant, polite, and had a good sense of humor"

And while I'm not one to push for a dx, that has sat w me for so long bc,,,, wh,, what????????????? Have u interacted w any autistic ppl ever holy shit lmao tell me how you really feel

[copingmecha]

It's feels like every time I try one thing, another hurdle gets put in my way.

[ramblesofawannabecoolkid]

finally after a break from years of schooling, i have cracked the code for getting over my frustration with notetaking, mostly coming from not being able to make interpretations of content when reading something for the first time and the desire for perfectionism when writing

i make very sloppy notes in the spare pages of a random notebook, with shorthand, spelling mistakes etc, then i go back through and rewrite them in my proper class notebook giving me the piece of mind to think about the content and look extra info up

[wriothesleybear]

A True Angel Amongst Us

~warnings: Some angst but ends with fluff, insecure Sunday, slight story spoilers, fem!reader, 1.9k words.

~a/n: I've been wanting to write for Sunday for a while now and the first thing I write has angst ;-; I've been having trouble coming up with ideas for him, but after the 2.1 patch, I've wanted to write fluff for him and about his insecure side because I feel like he sort of has one deep down. Angel just needs some love.

Sunday has been tenser than usual lately. The stress from the loss of his dear sister, the struggle of finding her murderer, and the stress from the possibility of a traitor being amongst The Family and the pressure from his master being the main cause of his tension. He puts on a mask and pretends that everything is fine to ensure that The Family's image isn't tarnished, but behind closed doors is different. When he's alone, he just stares off into space, lost deep in the sea of his endless thoughts. Even with you, his dear wife, he puts on a mask sometimes. He doesn't want to worry you and show you the strong leader that he is, who is capable of overcoming any obstacles and who will deliver righteousness when the day comes.

But no matter how much he tries to hide his weaknesses, you can see beyond his mask. You notice in the way his shoulders are always tense, his hands in fists, the frown that lingers on his face when he thinks you aren't looking, and the way he's less talkative during your limited time together. You hate seeing your husband this way, knowing he's bottling everything up inside. It's only a matter of time until it all bubbles up and he eventually snaps.

You decide to visit him in his dreamscape mansion office. You hadn't seen him all day due to him being busy with work. You weren't even able to see him off this morning as his side of the bed was already empty and made up. Knocking on his door, he tells you to come in. "What brings you here my dear?" He says with his masked emotions. Your eyes survey his office, noticing how it's a bit messier than usual even for Sunday's standards. He usually has everything in perfect shape given his ocd. Nothing was ever out of place for him unless something was wrong, further proving your suspicions. He notices how your eyes survey his office, the look of concern on your face is apparent. "I wanted to check in on you, my love. I wanted to make sure you were doing okay." You offer him a gentle, kind smile. "Of course I'm doing well. Why wouldn't I be? As head of The Family, it is my duty to be competent to fulfill my role." He gives you a smile, but it's not a real one. It's one of those fake smiles he puts on for show when out in the public eye.

"Sunday. I know something's bothering you. Please, just talk to me." His smile falters, his fake smile fading as he contemplates your words. You had been worried about him ever since the death of his sister. As the caring wife you are, you've been by his side, making sure that he was doing alright. Bless your soul, but with all the questions and pity stares, he couldn't help but get disgruntled. He knows you meant well, but his insecurity couldn't help but get the better of him. He thought you saw him as weak. I mean, he couldn't protect his dear sister for god's sake. It's his duty to protect those he cares about and he failed. He surveys your face while lost in his thoughts. His train of thought is broken by your calls of his name. He plasters on his fake smile.

"Dear, there's no need to worry about me. Or do you truly believe I'm just that weak?" You're taken aback from his accusation. You gather your courage and try to shut down his allegation. "Of course I don't. You're the strongest person I know, Sunday. It's just.. I can tell you're undergoing a lot of stress lately given the loss of your sister and work. I want to help you." By now his fake smile has fallen completely, replaced with a emotionless look. Turning away from you, his back faces you, making you unable to see the pain on his facial features. "I'm fine. You should leave, dear.." You could hear the coldness in his tone. The emptiness in his words sending slight shivers down your spine. You try to protest and get him to open up to you, but he cuts you off. "Don't let me tell you twice." He says in a strict voice, void of emotion. You hesitate but respect his wishes. You turn to leave without another word said. He doesn't even notice the breath he was holding until the door shut behind you.

~

Later that night, you lay wide awake in bed. Thoughts of your earlier event with Sunday replay in your head. After you left Sunday's office, you thought everything would be okay by dinnertime, but he never showed. You tried not to take it to heart too much, taking in consideration what he's going through right now, but when it got to midnight and he still hadn't arrived home, you began to feel worse. You've known Sunday for years. You knew how he was raised to become the perfect leader to represent The Family. He was a strong leader who believed in righteousness, in helping those in need, and caring for the people of Penacony. You know he's the kindest and most compassionate person with many strengths, but you also knew that he had many insecurities. He was scared that others would see him as weak and he was worried that everything he worked so hard for would be taken from him. Getting tired of wallowing in your thoughts, you finally decide to find him and try to get him to talk to you one way or another.

Arriving to his office once again, you knock on the door and patiently wait for an answer. "Sunday? It's me. Can I come in?" No answer. Maybe he was shunning you, but you weren't one to back down and walk away. You weren't going to give up on your husband. "Sunday. I'm coming in." Grabbing the door knob, you push the door open and are welcomed to a dark office. The only faint light coming from the windows in his office. Even with the limited lighting, you were able to see that Sunday's office was a bigger mess than earlier. Papers and books were thrown about the floor, the miniature display of Penacony in ruins. Worried, you continue to scan the room until your eyes land on the man slumped over his desk. Walking over to him, you observe his appearance. His clothes are in disarray, coat thrown recklessly on the chair, his wings and hair disheveled. "Sunday.." You hesitate for a second before resting a hand on his head. He tenses from your touch, causing you to withdrawal your hand. "Darling? What happened?" You ask in the most gentlest voice you could muster while trying not to push him too hard to talk. He doesn't reply to you. He keeps his head down on his desk, not willing to move an inch.

You quietly sigh. "Sunday. I understand if you don't like me pestering you with worries and questions. I'm your wife and I care about you. I'm only trying to be there to support you. I am here to support you. For anything. I'm here." Silence. You didn't expect him to reply but you wanted him to hear you out. "I'll give you your space, but just know, I'm here for you with open arms when and if you need to talk." You turn to walk away but suddenly, you're stopped in your tracks by a hand grabbing your wrist. Turning your head back, you see that Sunday is finally looking at you. You can see the pain in his eyes and by how his hand slightly shakes. Without saying anything, you turn your body to fully face him and open your arms wide, silently welcoming him into your arms.

He doesn't waste another second and wraps his arms around your waist, burying his head into your chest. Wrapping your arms around him, you feel his body slightly shaking as you hold him close. "It's okay Sunday. You don't need to hide from me. I won't judge you. Please, don't push me away. I'm here for you." You gently whisper as you stroke his hair. He doesn't speak, all that's heard is his deep, shaky breaths as he tries to control his emotions. It's taking all his willpower to not breakdown crying right there.

"Can you look at me darling?" He's hesitant, but eventually pulls his head away from your body without releasing his hold around your waist. He looks up at you. You notice the painful expression that graces his beautiful features. His golden eyes water as he tries to prevent the tears from falling. He hates showing weakness let alone looking weak in front of you. You cup his cheeks as you search his eyes, giving him a gentle smile. "It's okay to show weakness sometimes, my love. You're the strongest person I know and nothing will change the way I feel about you. I will always see you as the strongest, most caring leader and husband."

Without realizing, tears have begun to fall from Sunday's eyes as he listens to your reassuring words. Your thumbs move to wipe his tears. "I'm...I'm sorry...for pushing you away." He quietly says, his voice slightly cracking. "There's no reason to apologize, Sunday. I know you didn't mean to. I don't blame you." He feels guilty and embarrassed as he tries to move away so you don't see him cry, but you stop him. "It's okay to cry my love. Let it out if it'll help you feel better." He can feel the love through your words and the look you give him, causing more tears to fall. All you do is give him a comforting smile and continue to rub his wet cheeks as he lets his emotions out. You lean down and press a kiss to his left cheek. He gasps, surprised by your sudden action. You switch to his other cheek and continue to kiss his tears away. You leave one final kiss on his forehead and pull his face into your chest. "We can stay like this for as long as you want my angel." He buries his head further into you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you comfort him.

You can feel his body relaxing as he continues to bask in your comforting hold. "Thank you, my love. You are the true angel amongst us." You giggle and continue to hold him close for as long as he needs, occasionally giving him words of comfort and gently stroking his hair and back. You'll wait as long as it takes until he's ready to talk to you, but he understands now that he has you to catch him when he falls and he'll never push you away again.

[helpforintrusivethoughts]

I’m having a particularly bad episode of OCD today and wanted to remind everyone as well as myself.

Your intrusive thoughts and urges do not reflect who you are as a person.

Your intrusive thoughts and urges do not make you sick or evil.

Your intrusive thoughts and urges do not mean you are a despicable human being.

They do not mean any of the above, or any of the other lies your brain might conjure. (You’re twisted. You’re perverted. You deserve death. You deserve to never be happy. To always be alone. To always feel guilty. And the list goes on).

What your intrusive thoughts and urges do mean is that you’re struggling, and it’s hard, and sometimes you want to give up and disappear forever.

But your intrusive thoughts and urges do not define you. They do not have control over you, they do not have charge of your brain. They are not going to drag you under for the rest of your life, even if it feels like that right now. You will overcome this, and you will pound those stupid thoughts into the earth, no matter how long it takes.

You are not your intrusive thoughts.

Your intrusive thoughts are not you.

[inkskinned]

something that stuck with me once, way back in middle school when i was still learning how to write - my teacher said "writing shock and tragedy is easy, it's humor that's the hardest."

i have been up and down the halls of academia. i have the fancy degree and the experience in publishing. i think i paved most of my own road with the little bricks of sorrow i had stored inside of me. i know i did it mostly with works that are blisteringly lonely. i know why we write like that. it's lifesaving.

but yeah, i mean. i also know how much people think that "sad" media is the same thing as "good" media. our human desire to connect is so hard-pressed that we immediately latch onto any broken themes. the bullied kids and the tales of inspiration. people keep saying things like "glass onion" and "everything everywhere" weren't actually good. because, you know, they're. happy. or happy-ish. happy enough. and we only value art if it's grimdark-adjacent.

do you know - people still consistently whine at me that my writing would be so good if i just capitalized things. i used to flinch. i get kind of a weird, vindictive little rush these days - i get to say thank you for the comment! i have chronic pain and this is how i conserve my hands so i can write more during the day :) grammar isn't real anyway! and now they're trapped in the room with me, you know? i get to pull out my map and show them how grammar is not the same thing as good writing.

writers have this thing. we scratch at our insides, constantly, prying our lives apart into splinters. prying the splinters apart into atoms. when we combust something into poetry, we control it. it cannot hurt us if it exists outside of us rather than burning a hole through the bottom of our lungs. it's not a wonder to me that so much of what i make comes out like a death gasp. i spent a long time at the bottom. i keep going back, too. when you're down there for so long, the only thing you can exhale is fumes.

but humor is hard. humor needs timing; which i can't promise in a paragraph. i can kind-of force it through careful spacing, but i have no idea how fast you're reading these things. humor needs a somewhat awareness of your audience, when really - anybody could be looking. humor needs us to understand what the joke is, why it's a joke, and to think - ha! that is funny. in tragedy, everyone understands the metaphor of a kicked puppy. in humor, you need to introduce them to the concept of a dog.

and forget about positivity. forget about anything not made for adults explicitly. every time i see a well-made children's media piece, i feel fucking horrible for the creators. most of the time, people see children's media as being sort of "not worth" applause, even though i'm pretty sure they have to work twice as hard. i have no idea how hard it must be to not be able to have your character just say. "well, fuck." something about a message of peace or friendship or caring - for some reason, that makes the media not for adults. like, okay. i'm pretty sure my father actually, out of all of us, could use a good book on how to control his temper and talk about his feelings.

but whatever. i write a short story about my ocd, and how it's fucking killing me. it gets an award. it gets published. i write a short story about my ocd, and how i'm overcoming it, and how my days are getting lighter and starting to flourish. i keep getting ghosted. no response. it just is lacking... something.

is this it, forever? you can be an artist, okay. but the trade off is that the things you make - if they're happy? if they're joyful? people will say it's stupid and pandering. you bite your nails off. you file your teeth. you hear something inside of you breaking.

the other day in a writing group, someone i'd thought of as a friend said: "you write so much better these days! i love what you make when you'd rather be dead."