#ROCD

[neurantics-theythem]

Turns out, I had no idea how much I fear love until someone presented me with the real thing

[asaltysquid]

Just musings on my OCD and the idea of being ripped away from yourself by your brain.

All people with ocd have my love but a special shout out to my fellow queer ocd havers whose brain decided to be an obsessive fundamentalist Christian about it.

[saturnismyhomie]

learnt this the hard way: people with a) moon in 6h b) moon as the lord of 6h - are more prone to overthinking and ocd. this mainly stems from their perfectionist tendencies.

also this is a personal observation (guys its extremely painful), may not resonate with everyone.

have a great day ahead!

[sadieshavingsex]

I’m tired of healing I’m tired of waiting to heal I’m tired of researching what’s wrong with me I’m tired of feeling pathologized im tired of pathologizing myself im tired of not feeling safe im tired of overanalyzing everything im tired of not being able to make a decision im

[jellygirlw]

retroactive jealousy is comparing yourself to their ex. nitpicking all the details on why they are so much more attractive, and why he probably found her so hot. it’s imagining disgusting scenarios of them in your head and wanting to throw up. it’s your kind being taken up by their exs. it’s their ex being the only thing you think about. it’s wanting to ask questions and questions you don’t want to know the answer to

[valenciamidknight]

“Limerence”, Jan. 2025.

Collage by me, inspired by experiences of limerence and a hyperfixation on romance.

[neuvetoile]

Do You Think Something Would Really Happen?: OCD and Shame.

I remember sitting at the dinner table with my parents after coming home from school, pushing my food around with my fork. Steak, potatoes, and corn. It was late at night, my parents having picked me up from daycare after their 9-to-5s, and we sat in a collectively exhausted silence. Half of the table was taken up by mail, flyers, and my old homework sheets.

I analyzed my plate. My corn touched my steak, my steak touched my potatoes, and my potatoes touched my corn. As I’d start with the corn, I’d have to grimace as I came to the conclusion that whatever touched the steak and potatoes would need to be left on my plate. It was contaminated. I’d cut around the edge of the steak that touched my potatoes and corn, and ate around the mashed potatoes that also touched the steak and corn. 

My parents would raise their brows and dismiss the quirk until it became a constant habit of mine. Any food on my plate that touched was suddenly contaminated and therefore, inedible. They’d occasionally scold me for leaving so much food on my plate, not because I was full, but ‘because my food touched’. 

They would eventually learn that it was easier to divide the food so it didn’t touch in the first place, in which case I’d be able to clean my plate.

It eventually became a joke at the table.

“You know, it all touches in your stomach.” I’d nod, “It’s different on my plate.”

And, they’d laugh. My face would flush, and I’d very quickly learn to be ashamed of my little rules, despite the accommodations both me and my parents made to enforce them.

Underwear, and then socks. It was always the right sock. Then I could put my pants on, and then my shirt. Any other way was incorrect. I’d restart if I did it wrong, and everything had to feel right. I can’t wear those jeans because they don’t feel right. Not today, maybe tomorrow. I’d become ashamed of how long it would take me to get ready. When I went to a uniform school, it became much easier.

Forks all go in the dishwasher, facing the same direction. They can only take up two rows. All big spoons go together, and all little spoons go together, only taking up a row each. All of the bowls faced inward on the top rack … I think you get the idea.

My parents would tease me by putting a dish in the dishwasher improperly. I would feel violently ill as I was forced to fix it before turning the dishwasher on. I would get caught doing this, and my parents would let out a little laugh.

Someone at daycare named the dog on their DS game after a phallic body part. I felt like I was going to be ill. I had to tell the caregiver. I tattled. I felt even worse when she was punished for it. It was my fault. 

I had to punish myself too.

I never realized that all of these little events were textbook symptoms of OCD. Nobody in my life did. A lot of my compulsions were mental, and because of it, I thought everyone did them. I thought everyone felt a duty to report when someone broke the rules, because if they didn’t, something bad would happen to them. I thought everyone avoided the cracks in the sidewalk, just to make sure nothing bad would happen. I thought everyone put the knife in their hand back down until everyone left the kitchen to be sure they wouldn’t stab someone. 

Saying it out loud makes a lot of sense. However, the inherent shame that would follow my sudden realization that I had OCD was never something I expected. I had gotten through C-PTSD treatment easily, but the grip of embarrassment that coiled around my stomach, up my spine and around my mind would be unbearable from these new symptoms. The shame has done nothing but make my symptoms spike. As someone who has been mentally ill their whole life, I have never felt worse.

OCD is a disorder often attributed with two symptoms: obsessive thoughts, and compulsive behaviours. However, OCD is such a broad disorder that it’s impossible to truly understand its breadth through this two-symptom definition. Obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviours can take on dozens, if not hundreds of different themes, and can be difficult to pinpoint without the appropriate knowledge and understanding.

And, there’s an inherent shame that comes associated with these obsessions and compulsions. An inherent knowledge that they’re foolish, unreasonable, and illogical. And yet, I lock the door anyway. I put the knife down anyway. I isolate myself anyway.

Nobody talks about the shame associated with OCD. There’s such a medicalized view of OCD, focused on treatment and eradication, that I find early on a distinct lack of care from medical professionals on the symptoms I experience. So easily do people brush off my distressing thoughts, ones that leave me isolated to my bed, ruminating about what I could have done better. And yet, reassurance is bad for OCD.

I was scared when I had to tell my doctor about my symptoms. I was more petrified to even tell my therapist who I had grown to. I remember trembling as I typed out the obsessions and compulsions I engaged in, once on notepad and again on my phone. I remember feeling violently ill as I convinced myself I was insane, that I was going to engage in these horrible acts. That I was a monster pretending to be a good person. They would lock me up when they heard all of the horrible things I had done in my head. I could never be the ‘good’ person I needed to be. That this wasn’t OCD; this was just me.

I remember getting a psychiatric appointment set up with my doctor as she seemed relatively unphased by my symptoms. The reassurance I so desperately craved, some sort of absurd reaction that embodied the illness and distress I felt, was nowhere to be found. I’m so desperate for the claws of adoration to tear deep into my skin, so deep that I bleed before I realize how much this love hurts. I needed her to cry for me. I needed more.

I needed more validation. I needed more love. Love so much it stings.

I remember having to find a new therapist, because I needed someone who knew about OCD. I remember thinking I found a good one, and I disclosed some of my more taboo symptoms. I was, instead, dismissed outright. I was told that I could be schizotypal. That I could have commanding hallucinations.

“You should tell the psychiatrist about your commanding hallucinations,” she said,

“they could get dangerous if you act on them.”

She spent so much time trying to understand and dissect these ‘commanding hallucinations’, trying to understand the ‘source’ of my intrusive thoughts, that she forgot I was a person. Maybe it was tied to my cat dying in grade 7, or the way I was raised as a kid. How did my dad treat me? When did I learn to speak? How was my birth? When did I learn to read? Did I grow up with friends?

She dug her claws of ‘care’ so deep into my body that I became nothing more than a cadaver in her eyes. I was in so much pain that I can’t remember the rest of that therapy session. I fauned. And yet, I still tried to convince myself that she was just caring for me. That, this was the affection I hungered, right?

Still, I know that everything is fine. That I am personally loved by so many people around me. I have a supportive partner who would do anything to make sure I’m okay. I have amazing friends by my side. I’m successful and beautiful and wonderful and optimistic.

Yet I still crave that violent, awful reassurance and care. There’s a shred of doubt that I could secretly be a murderer, a rapist, a liar. I have to make sure I’m not. I have to.

As I filled out the YBOCS with my new therapist, I made it to the last question. A question where the score didn’t matter. It wouldn’t impact what the clinical severity of my OCD was. I don’t really even know why it was there. It read: “Do you think something would really happen?”

No. But I ashamedly do the compulsions anyway. How am I supposed to feel loved without reassurance?

[demonized-ocd-culture-is]

Undiagnosed ocd culture is believing your faking because your looking for an excuse for the constant unwanted pedophilic thoughts (that have made want to kill myself for over 4 years). And that your just a creep.

I have no access to healthcare, and haven't for over a decade :)

you’re not faking for experiencing this anon ^^ i experience it too (if i’m understanding this correctly) ^^

[therapeutic007]

Reminder !

I don't know why you don't try the ICBT Workbook for OCD by Tom Jeyco. It's your chance to heal OCD and overcome intrusive thoughts in transformative way ! The Workbook Available on Amazon. _______ ❤️ ∞ 🌳 ⚓ �� 🌸⭕ △ 🔥 🌙 ☀️ ⚡ 🕉 ✨

[cronenbergenthusiast]

how am i supposed to pine and long in these conditions????? (relationship ocd)

[taysworldsss]

rocd - things i have learnt (doesnt apply to abusive or disrespectful relationships)

love is a choice. it is a decision you make everyday. some days will be easer than others. you think people who have been together for 50 years love their partner every god damn day? no. that is exhausting. sometimes tolerating them through the days they are frustrating the fuck out of you, is enough. you will feel that love again. you do not need to break up.

sometimes you wont feel the sparks on that first date, or the second, or the 5th. look at the things you want in a partner, look at who they are, not the spark disney movies have taught us to feel so soon. the spark will come and if it never does, then you wont be so worried about this relationship.

appreciate the little things. if you are anything like me, you will look at the bigger picture and judge the relationship on that. focus on the hugs they give you every morning, focus on the way they touch your thigh during parallel play. focus on the little things.

sometimes you hate them because you hate yourself. sometimes everything they do bothers you because something you are going through is bothering you. it really can just be you.

i have learnt so many more things than this but thought id start light. let me know if you want more.

[tired-cryptid-club]

What about aether with rocd

Aether who lays awake at night obsessing over how he feels about dew, about their conversations and how they’re not talking as much as they usually do, or how a certain text from earlier didn’t make his stomach flip like it usually would.

Aether who winds himself up obsessively replaying interactions and trying to measure his feelings against when he was sure he was in love, and finding they fall short over and over and doesn’t know what to do with this information but can’t stop replaying more and analysing them all.

Aether who tries to be okay, tries to bury it, tells himself he loves dew, that he’s being ridiculous. But he never fully convinces himself, and the pit in his stomach just gets worse until he wishes it would just swallow him whole.

Aether who just wants to love his partner, who just wants to be sure of how he feels, and instead is just left with a brain he can’t trust, a gut that is a giant black hole and a partner he knows he’ll hurt eventually.

[pigeon-on-a-wire]

Really wanted to draw these two

[asaltysquid]

I'm on Bumble for Exposure therapy with my ROCD but lately it has just been a fun way to meet some cool queer people! (I have a platonic bar date with a drag queen soon and I'm very excited)

That being said if I WAS looking seriously and let this be a PSA:

Girl/Boy I don't care how rocking your rack is and how well you can quote the office

If you golf that's an instant left swipe for me.

One of my top date ideas is in fact absolutely obliterating your local golf course.

[antleredventing]

fuck I was doing so well with so-ocd/rocd-- like, not perfect because I still struggle with some things but

I've just been falling back into compulsions lately and it's so bad it's like "haha what if you're wrong? what if this isn't ocd and you're in denial?? look at this evidence!"

[system-of-a-feather]

Its not easy to do but a really good way once you develop the skill with OCD is when you get a really uncomfortable gross intrusive thought or image that might result in a POCD, HOCD, or ROCD reaction, just do a double take at it, blink at tour brain and go "Aight thanks for the delightful and totally wanted, totally needed image ugh /s" andleave it at that. Give it little more creedance than a "ugh" like you saw a cursed post on tumblr and moooove on.

Its easier said than done but so helpful these days