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Old January 16th, 2008, 04:28 PM   #1
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Join Date: January 15, 2008
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Unhappy Something I wrote about OCD...

I wrote my story on OCD. This is my living nightmare:


Every day, Rose Marie Bennett walks through the halls of her school. She attends classes like everyone else. She eats lunch just like everyone else. She is a straight-A student, and loves to read. She rides the bus, just like everyone else, and does her homework, just like every else.

But she knows, as they do, she is not like everyone else.

Everyday at school is a nightmare. She walks the halls like a ghost child, barely even containing the mental strength to continue and not simply collapse on the spot. She sees many of the people she considers friends, but she passes them. She knows that unless she greets them first, she'll just go unnoticed.

Rose walks to her locker slowly, her mind dulling the loud sounds of chatter--Friends' chatter. Things that she didn't have. Her combination was spun out, locker opening with a clang. Blank eyes stared into the space, and methodically she gathered her supplies for her next period and slammed the locker shut.

She knew many people around her. There was Brianna and her normal posse--Extremely popular, but horrible for keeping a secret. Rose passed in silence, her head bowed, pleading. 'Please don't let her mention me. Please, Lord, don't let them whisper again.' They noticed her, and stared after her, sudenly falling silent.

Damn. They were going to talk about her.

Students always went quiet when she passed.

She shuffled to her class, taking a seat at her desk and taking out a book. It was a suspense novel, extremely interesting. Rose had had to stop at the climax, but now, she could read attentively and be relieved. Her nose dug in the book, she did not hear the bell ringing and the class beginning.

Suddenly, many voices rang in her ears. "Rose. Rose. ROSE."

Her head shot up, and reddening she put her book away, silently fuming at the many quiet jeers of her classmates. Her teacher sends no sympathetic or apologetic glance for the round of whispers to her, but only continues with his class.

She knew she couldn't speak out again the jeers and insults. Rose had tried many, many times before. There were too many. They would gang up on her like last time, and she didn't possess the strength.

Not anymore.

The class was passing slowly, each beat of the clock resounding in unison with the pounding of her heart. 56. 57. 58. 59.


The forty-minute period was over.

Rose collected her books. She was notoriously slow, barely making it out before the next class began filing in. She didn't bother to look up to see if her old 'best' friend Elle had stayed to wait for her like she had reluctantly use to. Elle didn't spare that small mercy anymore. No one did.

Not for Rose.

She bit her lip, walking to her next class. Math. Most people were already there, and as she walked in, the teacher shot her a derogotary glance. In shame, Rose hurried to her seat and prayed she wouldn't be talked about.

Pity. She use to love being the center of attention. She knew now, attention was only the bad sort for her.

With a pang of her heart, she saw many students whispering and passing notes back and forth during class. The teacher didn't notice--She never did. This was a normal practice for every student, of course.

Except Rose.

She never received any notes that she hadn't sent herself. She found she had no reason to, after a while (she had tried). No one told her anything, not even gossip. No one whispered to her, except to ask her what the page number was or make a snide comment.

She liked the snide comments--Better than the whispers. At least she knew what they were saying, then.

Rose wanted to take notes, but she just doodled a little on the side of her paper. She knew, if she wanted to make the Honor Roll this semester, she would need these notes that the teacher was scribbling on the board. But if she took notes, her classmates would think of her as a geek even more.

Her pencil lied motionless on her desk all class.

What did she think it would help? It was no use, it never was. She had bought the latest fashions, learned the latest trends. Though she didn't like the latest rap fad, she had grudgingly learned all the words and all the latest celebrities. She tried to keep up with the gossip--It was hard, considering that many people didn't tell her the gossip. She usually found out about relationships--After they broke up, and they made a scene in the hallway.

It was lunch the next period. Rose gripped her bag, dreading the lunch period every moment of the walk to the lunchroom. She always, unlike other classes, got to the lunchroom first--Her classroom was close, and she didn't bother stopping at her locker.

Rose circulated through the lunchline, smiling halfheartedly at someone who she had once considered her friend. They smiled at her, but made no attempt to talk to her, and instead turned and talked to a nearby boy.

Rose paused at her lunchtable, wavering by Diana, who was looking at her uneasily. Diana had use to be her best friend--They had been inseperable. Now, she didn't want to be seen around her.

"Er...I guess you can sit there," Diana muttered, although Rose knew they didn't want her there. Who was she kidding? She was at the popular table. No one wanted her there, any more then they wanted to go to school to learn.

She sat at the table, and ate her lunch. She enjoyed the cafeteria food--She always had, unlike her classmates. She chose not to talk--No one bothered to include her in the conversation, anyway. She didn't talk much, anymore. When she did, she always asked questions, but they were considered 'stupid' by her classmates, and she was always ridiculed. The teacher never defended her.

Elle tried, sometimes. Never in front of her friends, though. Thankfully, most of their classes were not with Elle's friends.

Rose was grateful for Elle. Even though Rose considered Elle her best friend, Elle didn't at all. Elle thought of her as a throw-away friend, someone she'd defend dutifully because she was use to it, but in front of her friends, she had nothing to do with Rose. Rose was still grateful. Elle defended her sometimes, and she partnered with her when she wasn't in classes with her friends. When she was, Rose was left working alone.

Rose spent the last few minutes arranging her leftover trash on her lunchtray into a perfect postion: Plate to the left, her milk carton exactly next to it in the top right corner, perhaps a inch and a half from the edge, and her side dish below that an inch. No one at her table cared anymore...They had already gossiped about that this week.

She frowned at the trash, and halfheartedly attempted to mess up her work. She stared, and when her head began searing and her heart pounding, with a sigh she rearranged it back into the orderly state.

Her obsessive compulsive disorder had haunted her for a good many years now, always reminded to her when students whispered about her in the halls or jeered at her to her face. She knew her disorder was causing the awkwardness she seemed to have radiate from her, and that was why students disliked her.

She couldn't help it, though. She knew she couldn't help it. The students had no idea she had a disorder. She was afraid that if they did, it would be yet another way for them to laugh at her. She shuddered at the thought. Her pride would not let her chase professional help, either. She would rather endure her depression than go to a shrink.

Her parents were oblivious, of course. Why would she tell them, when they already thought she was worthless?

She sighed, dumping her tray with everyone else and leaving for art class. Another day. In art, she would sit next to someone who would talk to her, but it was only for art class. Then computer class, where no one would talk to her. The buses would be dismissed when they collected their things, and she would sit alone on the bus.

Except today was worse.

"Oh, no one likes her," A boy said loudly from next to Rose. "We all think she's loopy. Just ignore her."

She didn't turn her head. Ignore her.

She was starting to learn how to ignore herself.


That was written, by me, in third person, with FAKE NAMES to protect people. My name isn't close to Rose.

The point?

Don't let it get to where it is for me. I've had this for four years, and it DESTROYED my life. I pray to God everyday I'm not going to get suicidal. I don't WANT to be suicidal.

The worst part?

I like school. More than being home.

Why, if everyone always makes fun of me, and I'm hated?

...Because at least people are noticing me. I don't have friends...But people my age are talking to me.

So, again, don't let it get to this point. Get help ASAP. Because this is more of a living hell than you could ever imagine.
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Old January 16th, 2008, 05:55 PM   #2
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Default Re: Something I wrote about OCD...

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) --> Creative Writing

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