Let me tell you about my serious love hate relationship with my bed. We are talking about the best bed ever here. Honestly, Best. Bed. Ever. It is huge and soft and fluffy and something I look forward to from the moment I get out of bed in the morning. Sad life, I know. Now let me explain why I hate the bed. The bed gives me time to think. Trust me on this one, you do not want an obsessed brain to think too much. No need to explain why I love Netflix, keeps me from thinking, you know, Netflix and chill…
The moment the room goes dark and my head hits the very comfortable pillow the thoughts enter. Mostly, these thoughts try to convince me of something and let me tell you, they never lean towards something fun. My main obsession is that I will get a serious illness that will kill me and that my girl will have to grow up without a mom. Even writing this here is hard for me because if I write it, it will automatically happen. Because you know, that’s how powerful an ocd mind is, it makes you think you are some kind of God. Once the thought enters my mind I have no choice but to prevent it from happening, hence touching doors/my earring/my fingers or saying a sentence. Five times to be exact, but if I really want to be sure it needs to be done 25 times. You can guess why right, since 5 times 5 is 25 which is like, the ultimate number. Right.
I once sat across from my GP and asked her point blanc for a preventative mastectomy. You should have seen her face. Did I ask her that out of the blue? Of course not. After months of falling asleep crying convinced of the fact that I would die of breast cancer I finally made an appointment with my doctor. What may have accelerated this particular obsession is the fact that both my mom and my aunt have been diagnosed with breast cancer. Surprisingly I was suffering from a stingy type pain on the sides of both my breasts that kept getting worse during the weeks, months this obsession took place. So, the above fact, combined with my medical record stating severe cases of ocd and anxiety, made my GP refer me for a mammography.
I did the mammography, seriously what is up with that, it was 2016, not the middle ages! Anyway, turned out my boobs were fine, which led to one very peaceful night. The next day I looked at the birthmark on my shoulder, which had been there for 20 years, and it took me a split second to realize I was going to die of skin cancer.