I started cycling through the memories again. I couldn’t stop. That’s the thing about OCD. You examine yourself from every possible angle—how do I look as a lesbian? A cheater? A heartless bitch? You never thought that you were a lesbian before, but now that the possibility has arrived in your mind, you must examine it from every angle possible. Where logic talks, OCD screams. And by then, you’ve bought so fully into its hollering that you can’t tell which one was the truth and which one was the worry. And you think in circles, and the circles are endless, and they consume you, and you forget
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