Love and OCD

Just remembered I’m supposed to write about madness for Psychology II. Well, new blog post!
I’m going to attempt to relate a documentary film I saw in fourth period Psychology about schizophrenia, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and alchoolism to the things I learned this weekend. Will it work? Probably not. 
This past weekend was a great weekend where I learned a lot about myself, mostly through a little girl trouble that’s developed over the past two weeks and very, very fortunately and thankfully reached a mutually enjoyable resolution. In essence, it’s all blown over now and our relationship feels like one that didn’t see the frustration and awkwardness of these days past. With help from my friends – which I asked an unrealistic number of for help on this situation – I not only reached a good ending to the situation but I also learned a little about myself in terms of me with girls. I learned that I need to 1. develop better conversational skills and not make stupid jokes and talk about stupid crap as often (unless it’s with my good friends, whom would be more likely to see this “development of better conversational skills” as “what’s wrong with Tom?”). And 2, be a little less respectful in a sense. Now now, don’t get me wrong – I’m not one to cheat on a girl or lie or anything like that. But I am disrespectful and utterly lame in other ways – such as the fact that I asked so many of my friends for help on a situation that at one point felt like the talk of the town when it shouldn’t have been. (What was the situation? Deciding whether to ask the girl in question whether she liked me or not. “Just do it!” is what all my friends kept telling me). Also the fact that I really should stop actively looking for a relationship if I “know” that the best ones come to you without looking for them. Lastly, how sweet it is when your boyfriend calls you nightly to say “sweet dreams” – just like my best friend did with his girl last night when we were hanging out together, and just like I never damn did with my girlfriend when I was with her.
Essentially, I had a pubescent weekend in the world of a teenager. It was a pensive weekend, but one with an ultimately rewarding outcome. Now why the hell am I telling you all this? 
Because the past two weeks fretting over whether I was doing the right set of things to get this girl’s romantic attention, the past tow weeks fretting over what her answer would be; they brought ephemeral but nonetheless serious, heavy, anxious exercise to my thoughts. I was nervous and anxious and on constant thought the whole time. I was anxious; just anxious, yeah, that’s what I was. Now, of course, teenage thoughts have a habit of being violent and difficult to deal with, but then gone the next day – this means that there’s a higher, more permanent degree of damage that the frail (it seems this way at times) human mind can do. The man in the Psychology documentary that exhibits OCD and feels the need to constantly wash his hands, not being able to touch something as mundane as a dog’s fur; his mind is even more troubled than mine was these past two weeks! How terrible the idea that the mind can make man attack himself; irrationally, even. This OCD man in the film washed his hands so much that his fingerprints were washed off! What slip of the mind produces an inner phobia, an irrational fear keeping a normal human being from partaking
That’s why I wrote about my relatively unimportant, hopefully innocent, though undeniably indecisive thoughts about a girl, the context of a free write about a man with OCD. To compare the severity of thoughts that the same human mind can produce. 
Amazing, ain’t it?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s