Читать книгу Leaving the OCD Circus - Kirsten Pagacz - Страница 35

Artist: Doug Pagacz

Despite my unbridled anxieties, fears, and rituals, I used to seek out thrill rides. They reminded me that I was still alive and made me feel something past my layers of addictions and desperation.

My ride requirements: First, it needed to tap terror directly into my spinal column, to wow me out of my depression and soul numbness. Second, it had to be super high, at least a few stories up; and third, it had to be superfast, meaning all I would see was a blur of color as I whipped around violently, flipping and spinning. When I'd open my eyes for just a second, I might see only one thing in focus, like a car parked far away in the lot and everything else was a blur. Success! I loved the g-force pushing across my face hard, pressing into my cheeks and making them feel like they were wrapping around my ears. The more people screaming for their lives, the better. Let the adrenaline surge. (I had no idea that with OCD I had a monumental chemical imbalance, that my natural serotonin levels were off. It was like I was trying to turn myself on. Serotonin is the natural stuff that can help us feel good—mine wasn't working, clearly! Who knew?!)