Underneath the Surface
the mess you don’t see…
Selina: Hello David, could you tell me how you feel today?
Me: I don’t know honestly. I’m fine, I guess, but I can’t help these intrusive thoughts.
Selina: Can you tell me more?
Me: I never talk about this, but I obsess about a lot of things every waking moment. I get stuck on an intrusive thought and spend significant parts of my day trying to find a logical explanation for that thought. The more I try to find an explanation for the thought it seems, the deeper in the thought I go.
I have always been like this, but perhaps I have been in denial for quite some time. Most times I think it's normal, but when the irrational fears come in, I realise it’s not.
It was just last night that I felt hopeless and overwhelmed, then I spent most of my time obsessing about the things I planned to achieve during the day, whilst battling other intrusive thoughts.
I thought about what time I would get home and how long it would take me to sit and pull off my clothes. I thought, how long would I sleep for? When would I get up? How would the position of my chair be? How would I turn on my laptop? How long would it take my laptop to boot? What if I get hungry in between? What would I cook? How long would it take me to cook? What if I need to get something? What exactly do I want to do on my laptop? What if I don’t understand what I am supposed to do? Would I be able to finish it this night? What if I don’t?
I’m sure you get the picture by now. Most times I know it’s crazy, but I can’t help it. In the end, I do none of the things I initially planned, because I am mentally tired from obsessing, and I binge a series throughout the night to suppress the thoughts of inadequacy, or the bully shouting in my head telling me I’m weak.
Am I crazy? I really don’t know. Am I mentally ill? Maybe. This goes on underneath the surface of my seemingly perfect life.
My parents think I’m fine. They quickly brushed aside any notions of a mental illness when I raised it. Well, trust typical African parents.
I have always thought of seeing a therapist though, but I could never bring myself to do it. Maybe I fear being diagnosed. I don’t want to hear that I’m sick, but I cannot deny that this is mentally and physically draining — these obsessive and intrusive thoughts.
I cannot remember a day where I was thought-free. A day where I didn’t have to pause a movie I was watching just to obsess for 5-minute intervals, or when I didn’t have to try my hardest to force my mind to quiet down.
These are the things that I find hard to talk about, it’s a miracle I got this far today.
I haven’t even talked about the graphic sexual images. Those come often too, along with the thoughts of violence, and thoughts of a terrible thing suddenly happening.
Selina: Do you feel comfortable talking about them today?
Me: Not really, but I can try to get something out.
Selina: Please go-ahead.
Me: Well, there was this one time when I was little, I had a PlayStation and I was playing a wrestling game. All of a sudden, I pictured my dad in the ring being the one battered and beaten to a pulp. It was just a game, but at that point, I stopped playing, because horrific images kept on flashing through my mind.
There are other times when thoughts of sexual violence pop into my head. I know I can never do such a thing, so it hurts the more when these thoughts come in abruptly.
The surface looks pretty good, but what goes on beneath is quite messy.
This is the messy part that I rarely talk about, it's so hard to put it into words sometimes. I think I’ll see a therapist soon, maybe. But for now, I guess I’ll settle for you, Selina. You understand me, and you get how I feel. Of course, you do, because like I do all the time, I’m here again having conversations with myself.
