The Girl With OCD

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

     I brush my fingers against the warm, soft, white linen. My right hand has a bandage around it. I close my eyes. No, "close" is too mild of a word. I fiercely shut them, like the thin eyelids can block out sterile lights, the awful sights imprinted on my brain, and the waves of words and thoughts that drown out my rationality. I just had an OCD attack. The worst one I've ever had.

     I breifly consider ripping out the tubes running through my arms, to try and just end whatever is left of my life. I could OD on pain medication, I could stab myself with a scalpel...

     I just so want to be done with this. Enough medication, enough everything. A nurse comes in, takes my blood pressure and other normal things. It is then, as I glance around the white-walled, white-floored room that I see my mother is sitting in a blue chair. She's fast asleep, a Bible half-open and almost falling off her lap. So calm, so quiet, so serene. SHe's always been like that. When I was freaking out or yelling, my mom was always gentle. She's always been there for me. She may never understood, but she's been there. Always.

     The next month and a half was a blur. Jesse was sent to a rehab center. I had started to hang out with Bonnie more. I had finally let her in on the secret, and she cried when I told her my story. I felt so relieved after telling her. I liked giving my story to someone who hasn't known in all along. We've become best friends in the past few weeks. She has also helped my mom and I prepare for today. Today is important. Today is special. Today is scary.

     "Rose Larsen," I say, holding my head high and trying to look strong. We've traveled for five hours, Bonnie, Mom, and I. We're tired. but we can't rest. I will rest soon enough.

     The nurse nods and leads me down a freakishly white hallway. I go through a door, get changed, and then she helps me onto a gurney. I try to relax as we all say a prayer, and start down the hallway. I look above me to see "Operating Room" scripted on a metal card above the double-doors. I pray. I pray harder than I ever have in my entire life. I pray for health, healing, and safety. What I'm doing is dangerous. But not doing it is even more so.

     "Count back from 100," a surgeon in light teal scrubs says.

     100, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92...

          I'm not sure if having dreams while under anesthetic is normal, but I have one.

     I rush though a field. I see a stack of books, my favorites, and notice that I can read without the  fear of killing someone or getting sick. I can run without needing to backtrack. Put on flowy dresses without have to zip them up a perfect number of times. I feel assured about something that has  been haunting me for a long time.

     I did not kill Cody... I did not-

     The realization came. I cry in this dream, reveling in relief, peace, and grief.

     Finally.

     It came.

     It is not my fault.

     I'm... free.

     I open my eyes, startled. I'm still in dreamland. But I'm free. No OCD is torturing my dreams. I can do things... I can do things never possible before. I wake to another hospital room, and I feel different.

     Time flies by again, taking with it three more months. Life has changed. A lot.

     I'm now starting grade 12. Jesse had come back from rehab an entirely new person. Not in a bad way, of course. He has become  Christian, and he and I regularly attend youth group.

     Bonnie and I have become even better friends, and she bakes with me quite frequently. She laughs when I revel in the fact that I can turn a spoon any which way I want to.

     My mom and I have started a small group for families with children with mental disorders. We meet every Wednesday.

     Every day, on a very special day, I visit two graves. The first is of my father. The second is of Cody.

     And every morning, I wake up smiling. People wonder why I am so happy all of the time. I almost consistently respond with, "Simple pleasures... and God."

    I have been blessed with a quick recovery, and no further problems. Lots of people have side effects, really, really bad ones, but I didn't. I thank the Lord every day for that.

    I am growing each and every day in God. If had not been for Him... I probably would be dead. Truely. He has helped me each and every step of the way. You should let Him do the same.