I first noticed her when I was twelve years old. She appeared without warning. I wasn’t really sure where she came from, but she quickly became the most sensible girl I knew. It was as if she possessed some uncanny gift — well, I suppose she did. She could tell me the future, and if something bad was about to happen, all I had to do was tap an object three times and she’d intervene to stop it. She was the person I trusted most. Every time I obeyed her, I would be safe. It felt like she knew everything. She was extraordinary, really. Whenever I slipped up and didn’t listen, she would rescue me while warning me that terrible things would almost certainly happen if I disobeyed her again. She was subtle at first, but before long she began weaving herself deeper into my life. She didn’t just warn me about bad futures now — she told me when food was contaminated so I could stay safe. She told me exactly how long to wash my hands and exactly how to do it so I could get rid of dangerous germs. She could even shield me from those germs, as long as I did exactly what she said. As she grew less subtle, the people around me started to notice how much space she was taking up in my life. She became impossible to ignore. People didn’t seem too thrilled about it and, honestly, I wasn’t surprised. I knew it wasn’t normal to have someone so uncanny protecting you. Other people didn’t have a guardian watching over them like she watched over me — they lived their lives far too recklessly. It was remarkable they were still alive and well. They must have been jealous. I tried to warn them about what the girl told me. She said they had to do certain things to stay safe too, so I constantly tried to tell them what to do. To protect them. But they called it nonsense. They said it wasn’t true. It infuriated me. They didn’t understand that it wasn’t just their safety on the line — it was mine too. They had to do these things for my safety. Eventually, my parents became concerned. It made me laugh. Concerned that I was one of the lucky people chosen to have a protector? How ridiculous. I called it jealousy. When I was thirteen, they took me to a psychologist, and I was diagnosed with OCD — obsessive-compulsive disorder. They told me she was the enemy. That she lied to me. That she was taking over my life. That she was stealing my freedom. She told me something different. She said they were the ones trying to put me in danger. That they were lying. That I had to listen to her if I wanted to stay safe. That she was the only reason I had survived this long. And... the worst part? The worst part, the absolute worst part, was that- Of course I knew it was fake. Of course I knew it was irrational. I’m not a fool. I knew I was a puppet and she was pulling the strings. But it felt so real. It felt unbearably, undeniably real. People kept telling me it was stupid. Telling me to stop listening to her. I wanted to scream every time they said that. It’s not that simple. You don’t get it. I know it’s irrational, but... I’ve been safe all this time, haven’t I? What if it’s because of her? Isn’t it better to be safe than sorry? Sure, I had to avoid certain things, but it wasn’t that bad. No big deal. I cried from frustration more times than I can count because I knew how absurd it was. I desperately wanted to do things, but she forbade them. I would spend hours trying to make a decision when there was an obvious, seemingly safe way forward, but she would insist it was a trap. Every time I defied her, anxiety clawed its way through me. I hated admitting it, but she had me wrapped around her little finger. Again, no big deal. She was controlling me. I used to see her as a companion. A friend. Someone who wanted to help. But it was all a trap. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The less subtle she became, the more control she took, disguising it all as protection. Even now, she lingers. She tells me to avoid eating something, or to wash my hands more, or to obey whatever new rule she decides is necessary. The difference is that I don’t call her my protector anymore. I know what she is now. ──────────────────────── AUTHOR’S NOTE, FEEL FREE TO IGNORE ☆ This is a short story about my personal experience living with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). It’s important to note that OCD looks different for everyone, and this is just my experience with it. I chose to represent OCD as a girl because it felt like the most fitting way to express my experience, even though I don’t literally see my OCD in that way </3 I originally planned a happy ending where the narrator (representing me) overcomes OCD, but I stayed true to my reality, seeing as this is based on my experience — while I’ve made progress, I’m still working on gaining more freedom from it. This was written in about an hour, so it may feel a bit rough, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless :’]
