The Weight of the World

     I've always wanted to help people, to put good out into the world and maybe make the world a little bit better for at least one other person. I didn't always know how I wanted to put good out into the world and help people, but I was always sure that was something I wanted. I mostly definitely never wanted to cause anyone harm. I was the kind of person that was full of guilt and remorse if I even snapped at somebody, and I'd beat myself up over it for a long time afterward, even after all had been forgiven.
     Then my intrusive thoughts started happening, and they were the worst possible thoughts I could have, at least to me. They were blasphemous in nature. I just knew God was going to be so angry. I just knew I was going to be divinely punished, and that the punishment that I deserved was the worst punishment possible. This idea also lead to the thought that everything bad that happened in the world, (natural disasters, health crises, large-scale traumatic events...literally everything on a grand scale that hurt other people) had to be my fault because of the intrusive thoughts.
     I know that sounds weird, right? Here's how I got there: I wanted to help people so much and to put good out into the world so much that, of course, the best way to punish me for my intrusive thoughts was to do something to hurt other people because that would hurt me the most. So, of course my divine punishment would have to be to cause bad things to happen to people and to cause suffering because that was the exact opposite of what I wanted. (I know that makes no sense, but mental illness never makes sense, does it?) Every time my therapist and I would take about this, she would point out how irrational it was, how impossible it was. She would also remark that I didn't need to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.
     Then the current health crisis struck, and it quickly turned into a global event. I'm worried about it, of course. I'm worried about the blatant disregard I see from some people for the health and safety of others. I'm worried about becoming ill. I'm worried about my mom becoming ill. It's been the topic of my phone therapy sessions for weeks.
     I was actually in a phone session with my therapist when I realized something unexpected. I didn't think this global health crisis was my fault. The idea that it could be my fault hadn't even occurred to me. Yes, I'm anxious, but I'm anxious in much the same way other people are anxious during this time. For the first time in my adult life since I've had OCD, I hadn't just assumed this terrible thing was my fault. And then to realize that the idea that had lived in my mind for so long was so far gone that it hadn't even occurred to me? I could have cried happy tears.
     At some point over the last three years or so, I had finally stopped carrying the weight of the world, so to speak, and I didn't even realize it. It's the progress that I'm most grateful for right now. I'm also grateful that I was able to take a moment to recognize how far I've come since I started therapy almost five years ago.
     I'll end with this: Our mental health conditions can make us think some cruel and irrational things. I know it's hard, but don't believe everything you think. Also, progress might not come in quickly recognizable moments, but it's still progress. It's okay to take a moment when you do realize you've made progress just to sit with it and feel grateful for it.