Personal Narrative: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

Childhood is made of building blocks—small little numbers that add up, up, up into something greater. Letters become words, words become sentences, sentences: thoughts and dreams. My little life was dictated by letters and numbers.
My name: L-U-C-Y. Age: 10. Year: 2007. All it took was three little letters: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Those three little letters became my adversary, my saboteur. Those three callous words: my cancer. It was hard at such a young age to combat an enemy that was not tangible. It gaslighted me, assaulted me from all sides—but I could not hiss its name in contempt, or look upon it with scornful, tear-filled eyes. Adults called it a disease but it didn’t make me physically ill; it was all in my head. And so it was all pretend, this psychological warfare, I felt that that I should be …show more content…
The process of correcting my disorder was agonizing. Staring down the barrel of a gun, and being told to stand still, is a ludicrous thing to ask of a child. But that’s exactly what I did. I learned that to beat my opponent I had to embrace fear: let it soak into my bones, fill my airways and say “No.” My freedom was more important than my fear—more necessary, more essential. During that time I was not a child, but a soldier—stepping into green fatigues, smearing war paint across the apples of cheeks—all to fight something in my head. I was not successful most of the time. My enemy had superior knowledge of the terrain, advanced stealth tactics, a strong artillery. In the end, I did not win with a more sophisticated strategy, or better weaponry. I won because I endured. I let my enemy attack me until it did not hurt. Until their blitzkrieg was no longer effective. Until I became smarter, stronger, greater than them. My victory was not an overwhelming defeat, but it liberated me. I am no longer oppressed by my own