Oh, boo hoo. poor me.

...I'm sitting on the couch at my parents' house.
They see me sitting quietly on my Kindle Fire, occasionally looking up at the television. So I appear to be social, spending family time.

What's actually going on is I'm not moving from this spot, not looking at my mother or father, have pretty basic communication failure with every one.

I'm twisted in on myself and can't stop feeling everything is wrong.
This can't keep going- I'm supposed to start working part time soon- I almost lost that job last time because of the ocd. My savings is pretty much gone and if I try to just get by on disability, I can't afford all the medical care I could really really use. Forget about getting certification for peer support when... if I can ever get back up again.

But I'm on disability for a reason. Working makes me worse.
Everything makes me worse. Existing makes me worse.

I think I'm just making me worse and I pretty much make zero contribution to the world at this point. I get scared of everything all the time and often can't explain it, therefore I come off as a really terrible person.

I keep getting woken up by the freaking Sun and everyday think maybe it should be my last sunrise. But it's not. I don't really know why, nothing is changing.
If anything it gets worse.

At some point, you keep getting up everyday and the well known learned helplessness experiment- with the rodents in a cage that had an electrified floor- enters your mind more and more often.

So. Awesome.

Why don't you speak up?

Because that's how this dysfunction works. It alienates and dehumanizes. A lot of the time when I am locked in some kind of... I don't even know what to call it... OCD-induced pseudo primal hysteria crap, part of it is that talking directly about it is a BAD THING.
For various reasons.

It's only just recently that I am able to talk about it like I have here. I push hard to do that, and not to be melodramatic though it sounds it, it's almost like if I don't talk about it at all, I feel it might be a risk to my survival.

I can write about it much easier to random people on the internet if I am less specific about the exceptionally gruesome details.

Talking to my parents is not an option.

I was with my last therapist for years before she heard about any of this, but it seems to be reaching epic proportions. It's almost like a kind of self preservation.

I know it all sounds so terribly, unnecessarily melodramatic.
Because... I mean, its "just" OCD?
Not a big deal?

I'm so sorry. **hugs**. I understand how you feel but if you need disability then you need it. Never say you've made zero contributation to the world. You deserve to be alive. Try to get over your fears but your a great person who should be here. Even if you can't whichnI think you can get over your fears know that disability is not a bad thing it only means your prevented from working because of a disability.