PART I: ON CHILDHOOD
I’m reading a memoir about an Englishwoman detailing her life with obsessive-compulsive disorder. As I nibbled the first pages which gave a deplorable account of her childhood (including public shaming and bullying), a note I’ve written some time ago came to mind. It was about a tiny schoolgirl’s warfare, battle fatigue, and post-war trauma; yet in the end, she emerged underdog victorious. *\o/*
That note, along with the other written soliloquies, was done for its therapeutic value. Journaling has always been therapeutic. But just to say, no, I am not suffering from OCD (though obsessive-compulsive can be used as an adjective), nor my childhood was deplorable to that extent. It did have its own taste of shame and taunting, but not as worse. I was normally shy and reserved around people, but fearless at some point in time.
I actually consider myself a daredevil as…
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