I’m a tough cookie. I can take a punch and/or kick when we engage in contact sparring and I can give as much as I can receive. I’ve bounced back from rape, loss of a parent, depression, divorce, numerous injuries from martial arts and a car crash. Each time, I’ve returned to the world stronger, tougher, and better.  At least I thought I had.

I have an invisible disability. I am 1 of 100 adults with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. My OCD consists of concerns about evenness/exactness, concerns with a “need to know” or remember, fear of losing or forgetting information, fear of losing things, fear of mistakes (especially when writing or completing a project), repeating activities or routines (I call it looping), and sometimes repeating activities to end on an even number, although when it comes to grinding coffee, I have to tap the grinder 7 times before putting the coffee grounds into the filter then tap again 5 times to make sure I get the “loose” grounds….this is the only time odd numbers are “allowed”.  I also have compulsions to put things in order because it just feels good. Wouldn’t you want your beer bottles to be lined up evenly on the right side of the refrigerator with the labels facing a 45 degree angle to the left?

My OCD didn’t always interfere with my daily living.  I just thought I had “quirks”.  One day the stress of my job in the medical field triggered something and I suddenly found myself unable to complete notes and other important paperwork. Medication and Cognitive Behavior Therapy helped. I thought I was cured.  That was 2002-2007.  In 2013, the nightmare started all over. This time, I am employed in a public school district. The last two school years have been filled with attorneys, insane teachers, back stabbers, higher demands to work faster and see more kids, completing reports at home until the wee hours of the morning, billing Medicaid for therapy services, meeting with psychologists, administrators, and parents, attending staffings, and providing training to teachers and paraprofessionals. This is in addition to providing therapy to a caseload of 65 kids on three campuses who have multiple disabilities. I am a good clinician. The stress keeps me from doing the rest of my responsibilities effectively. When that happens the “loops” begin, reports aren’t finished, and the paralysis sets in.  I hate it. I’ve let it affect my self-esteem.

So now we have a middle-aged woman with a black belt who feels ignored and unloved by the man she married owned by another (BDSM lifestyle term) who has “gone off her rocker.” Yes, it sounds negative. It isn’t meant to be. It is how I deal with my OCD and maybe a poor attempt at humor.

Since returning to the BDSM world and serving a wonderful Master, I was beginning to see myself differently. I felt alive, attractive, and confident. Men and women suddenly noticed, flirted, and desired me. Wow. Some people even told me I was beautiful. I cringe at the word but am learning to accept it. I’ve always been told I was cute. Piglets, puppies, kittens, etc.. are cute. I am not a baby animal. Cute makes me cringe too. You can wear a cute outfit, say something cute, etc… but describing someone as cute doesn’t cut the mustard in my book. There are numerous adjectives to use besides cute. Use a thesaurus and look them up yourselves. Increase your vocabulary and stop calling people cute.

Let’s return to the topic.

My OCD is interfering with my ability to do my job. I am on medical leave until I can learn to manage stress through group therapy, individual therapy, and complete a neuropsychological evaluation. I’ve restarted CBT and Cymbalta has become the greatest drug ever. I’m beginning to feel better. (You know there is a catch coming.)

I’ve been interviewing with a company that will benefit from my background in speech-language pathology. It may be the perfect job for me. I’ve interviewed with three different people from the same company in three days. Looks promising. As I got ready for my Skype interview with one of the vice presidents of the company, I started to see myself as beautiful. I was happy.  My wavy dark black/brown hair was working for me and my make up was “just right”. I was rocking it.  If I hadn’t chosen a conservative color to wear and worn a complementary eye-popping color, I could have been close to a “knock out.”

Bottom line: I felt awesome, almost sexy, more than cute, and close to beautiful.

Why is it that 1 negative experience can erase at least 5 positive experiences?

Tonight I put on a brand new nightgown that really accentuates my breasts and curves. I felt great. I even hoped that my husband just might realize that I existed.  He fucking laughed. He asked me what was I wearing. I told him it was a nightgown (and in my favorite color).  He laughed again and said it looked like a dress.

BOOM!

I turned around and walked back to the bedroom. What an idiot.

Guess who is obsessing over looks and really trying hard not to pull hair?

This “knock out” has been knocked down.

~A. Mac