I have been encompassed by a feeling of icy cold darkness for a very long time. It has been ever present, dictating my actions and infiltrating my dreams, whispering of disasters and dissolving my hope of recovery. It is called OCD. But no more. That’s not to say that I did not feel fear, because I did, but it was not my master. It did not make me cry.
Instead when the plane took off:
- I did not begin to check the news for images of air disasters.
- I was not haunted by hundreds of terrifying images of burning bodies.
- I did not see myself battling through debris in search of a familiar face.
- Nor did I see myself, in my waking dreams, at their funeral.
- I refused to complete any research at all so that I could not look for evidence of violent attacks and hospitalisations.
- I dwelled instead on thoughts of super sized doughnuts, Starbucks and snow.
- I sat with fear all week and survived.