Olive, The Person in My Head

Olive

Dear, World
I have this "friend," let's call them Olive for now. I've only told my my mom and a few, select friends about her. I met her when I was six. I listened to her because I didn't think anything bad could happen from it. She was shy, but had some odd requests. One of them was to make sure to always fold my underwear like my grandmother once showed me to. This seemed reasonable, so I continue to listen to her. When I was eight she started to come out of her shell. She had more requests, even odder than before. I must use eighteen pumps of soap when I was my hands. It seemed extreme, but she lied, saying if I didn't someone I love might die. I knew this wasn't true, but I've always been one to do what I was told, just incase. She had more requests, turning into demands. At ten the long list of seemingly infinite requests was well memorized. I still knew she was lying every time she said if I didn't listen something bad might happen. This didn't stop her from controlling me. She continued adding more demands to the list. She became such a close friend. Now she's always there, when I'm writing, reading, drawing, singing, always telling exactly what to do. Sometimes she gives a reason, other times "I just have to." She did what she promised. She kept me safe. But in exchange for safety, I gave up my freedom. I am controlled by her day and night. She never sleeps, so I never sleep.
     By now you probably know who Olive is, but for those who don't know, Olive is my OCD. I've named her because all I know is it's not me. I see a therapist to try to weaken her control, but it hasn't worked, not one bit. My therapist always tells me that it's almost impossible to treat me. She says that I'm smart and rational, that I know that it's not true, what Olive says, but for some reason I listen. She's the fifth person I've seen in the past six months. All the ones prior have said they can't help me, that they aren't sure how to help me. I'm going to have to end up getting a prescription of medication for my OCD. The one issue is that the only person in my area that can prescribe this medication is so filled up it's going to be till April before I'm able to see him. My therapist isn't even sure if the medication will be able to help me properly. It's an everyday battle. It's nothing what you may think. So, please, remember that mental illnesses are so hard, and nothing to romanticize or glorify. Even so, I'm just like all of you. I write, I read, I draw, I sing, and I live, just like anyone else. So, just like anyone else, I deserve be loved.
Love, @thelinethewiretakeme