It's not the anxiety, intolerable as it is. It's not the depression, debilitating as it is. It's not the guilt, painful as it is. It's not the repetition, exhausting as it is.
It's the constant distraction from the business of life. It's the knowledge that, while others are connecting and loving and grieving and hoping and striving, you have lost yourself to matters insubstantial and illusory.
It's not the bare fact that you're suffering. Suffering can be meaningful; suffering can be appropriate. It's the fact that your suffering is weightless, meritless. Worse: You know this to be true, and yet you cannot bring yourself to rejoin the substantial world.
Suffering can unify, but OCD alienates. How can you properly connect and love and grieve and hope and strive when your mind is on another planet? How can you be in a community when you're disconnected from those you love most? How can you be anywhere when your mind is never here?
To have OCD is to mourn lost time, not simply because it was lost, but because it was lost for no reason.
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