Demons of the Mind: A Memoir of an Obsessive-Compulsive

I cry for the wasted years, lost years when I should have fulfilled some purpose, nothing grand or extraordinary, in fact nothing other than living a simple quiet life. All I ever wanted was marriage, a home and family, a life occupied with baking cakes, sewing, and all the other mundane tasks of a homemaker; an idyllic life pottering about, perhaps a hobby such as painting, drawing or needlework in between caring for and taking my child or children to school. And sitting of a quiet summer’s afternoon in the garden reading or going for walks in the forest near to which I lived; sitting under a tree listening to the birds singing, the gurgling of the gentle stream as it curls its way through the forest, hearing the wind in the trees or in winter walking amongst the trees, snow gently falling, arriving home to hot tea and baking something special for my family when they came home; perhaps have coffee with a friend, chatting, laughing, and sharing pleasures and difficulties or watching the TV or going shopping perhaps on the occasional afternoon when the weather is less pleasant. All I wanted was a mundane peaceful life involved in such pastimes as enrolling for art lessons, joining women's groups, making friends, socialising and enjoying the company of others and perhaps to engage myself in some charity work; befriend a lonely elderly person, helping at the hospital or a local charity shop. Would such a life have brought the tranquillity, contentment and fulfilment that I imagine that it would?

I will never know because my life became far from idyllic. Instead it became a life plagued with anxiety, a life pervaded by frightening obsessions and exhausting compulsions driven by unwanted thoughts of death and disaster. It became a life spent preoccupied with rumination about its purpose and endless philosophical and religions contemplation. It became an existence filled with hopelessness as I succumbed to the destruction of my mind as I was besieged by all manner of unwanted thoughts of a terrifying and abhorrent nature Fear filled thoughts that compelled me to spend endless hours washing my hands over and over in case someone should die as a result of my having become contaminated. Exhausted and distraught I would be compelled to repeatedly wash clothing, worktops, bathroom surfaces, crockery, the entire house even garden furniture and indeed anything and everything perceived as a dangerous threat to others and myself. Washing, cleaning, sterilising, decontaminating again and again never satisfied that my environment was safe for my self, but more importantly safe for others. Time that should have been filled with the pleasures of home and family was utterly consumed by the unremitting compulsions to carrying out these frustrating rituals often accompanied by hysterical crying and depression. The fear so overwhelming that often it rendered me unable to move or function. A terror of mind so powerful that it would induce me to spend hours clinging desperately to my husband distraught by anxiety, consumed by an appalling dread, seeking comfort and reassurance but finding no peace from the turmoil within; thoughts coming crowding my mind vying with one another for a chance to destroy my peace, my sanity, and the whole structure of my personality.

Me the person I would have been slowly died absorbed by this unstoppable onslaught, as my mind was besieged by more and more thoughts of a horrifying nature. Thoughts compelling me to take actions I did not wish. Foolish actions, actions borne of fear and torment to ward of death, protect a loved one, even strangers and other creatures. Hours spent in hysterical praying to mitigate the onslaught of horrendous blasphemous thoughts rendering me exhausted and drained. My life has been spoilt spent denying myself all manner of small pleasures in order to placate, fearing divine retribution it I did not, pleasure taken so for granted by others sacrificed, afraid a loved one should die if I did not practice the bizarre self styled asceticism decreed by my irrational and beleaguered mind. Thoughts of death filled my mind day in and day out, thoughts so real and so terrifying causing me to collapse on the floor in hysteria anticipating the immanent arrival of death, my mind assailed with thoughts of my impending doom. Despair, loneliness and hopeless became a part of my life as I failed to prevent the incursion of the intrusive thoughts that beset my mind. The misery of thinking, had I harmed some one or some creature became so painfully disturbing; fearing that even an unwanted thought would harm another became utterly demoralising. Strange Involuntary compulsions to swear oaths on the lives of those I loved tormented my mind, I became overwhelmed by guilt, yet unable to thwart these dreadfully bizarre and unwanted compulsions; the invasion of my mind and my intellect by these unwanted impulses felt so wrong, so wicked, yet I could do nothing. Nothing! .

Untold other hours were spent checking, doors, gas appliances, electrical appliances, should someone accidentally be harmed it would be my responsibility; the thought of the guilt was overpowering, I dare not ignore these compulsions. I would get no peace until they were carried out. Exhausted or not I had no choice but to check windows for fear of harm coming to wood lice trapped upside down between the double glazing, my mind crowded with images of them dying, struggling for life, my heart heavy with sadness, guilt, and loss should any living thing die as a result of my neglect. I had to submit to this unremitting compulsion in order to calm my mind of this torment. Every time I went into the kitchen or bathroom I had to check no matter how late at night or how often.

Superstitious fears presented as embarrassing illogical rituals compelling me to walk the same path round the village, visit the same place, sit on the same seat; in spite of bitter cold, snow, frost, rain, the task had to be done. Fearful scenarios of dire consequence should I not submit would crowded my mind such as the death of loved ones, rational judgment notwithstanding I had to comply. Superstitious fears of a certain number made it difficult to read, my mind exhausted by the strain of trying to avoid this unlucky number marred my pleasure in this regard. Reading had provided some small respite from the misery now it was utterly obliterated as obsessive thinking swallowed it up.

I could not sew or paint for fears of contamination, would the lead from my pencil cause someone to die? I could not touch anything without washing; it became so exhausting to do anything, as it simply was not worth all the effort, all the fear, and the frustration. I became tied to the house unable to go for a walk crippled by fear of becoming contaminated by dogs, even plants. No more walks in the forest unless accompanied by a beating heart, jumping at the least sound, watching wondering. Would a dog appear, jump all over me, licking me, contaminating me, and infecting me with rabies. No I could not hear the birds sing for the pounding of my heart or see the snow fall or the sun shine though the trees, the focus of my vision compelling me to watch the ground should I step into something unthinkable, the ultimate contamination fear. It would mostly be mud of course but no my mind said it was dog mess. I had not stepped on any, I had been vigilant, nonetheless, fear would be prevailing, doubt descending compelling me to run home frantically to disinfect my shoes. However unsatisfied with disinfecting only to throw them away. Than showering, water cascading down my shivering body like tears of frustration and agony, skin dry, crinkled and cold, shivering in the unheated bathroom. Followed by the frantic washing of my cloths, driven by insatiable fear, unstoppable thoughts, and than more cleaning and decontaminating of every thing that I had touched whilst all the time hysterically crying.

Many hours of my life were thus spent alone in a cold dark house, my husband and son at work and school respectively, no friends to share the burden, nothing but the unrelenting disaster scenarios that fuelled the obsessions and compulsive behaviours that destroyed my life. What was happening to me why why why! All I wanted was a quiet life but my life was filled with depression and hopelessness, there was no time for anything, no thought other than an obsessive one; no company save the tormenting “voice” of OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder) the name recently given to the illness from which I suffer.

In the seventies during the time in which I sought treatment for my OCD, there was very little available and the term OCD was not in use. I was in fact told that my problem was the cause of anxiety, not even the than current term obsessional neurosis was used to describe the strange and disturbing thoughts and consequent strange compulsions that had taken over my life. Anxiety! Surely not, the problem seemed too bizarre, the thoughts too aberrant and certainly too complex to be caused merely by anxiety. It felt to me more like a symptom of outright insanity. I was given group therapy, an embarrassing and lonely experience; none of the other group members suffered from anything remotely similar, there was no one with whom I felt any affinity. I made progress but continued to feel a freak, my bizarre symptom of religious OCD had no resemblance whatsoever to agoraphobia and general anxiety disorder, conditions suffered by the majority of the group.

I vaguely recall the idea to write a book concerning my experiences came as a result of writing a short autobiographical account that I wrote for a phobic group that now sadly no longer exists. It was intended to be part of a compilation of the experiences of people suffering from OCD, unfortunately it along with the accounts of other sufferers was never published. Nonetheless, or maybe because of this failure, I decided to write my memoirs concerning my life-long experiences with OCD. I felt it might be a useful way to disseminate to the public by means of my personal experiences, rather than abstract and meaningless explanation of symptoms, the suffering that occurs as a consequence of OCD. I did not undertake this enormous task for any self-gratification but simply to share with both sufferers and non-sufferers alike the torment that has destroyed my life as it does the lives of countless others so oppressed, lonely, frightened and isolated by this often-misunderstood malady. And when a close friend suggested that my account could easily be extended into to a book I felt even more certain that this was a task that I needed to embark on in order to make known to sufferers and non suffers alike, by sharing my experiences, the life consuming misery that is the result of suffering from this obscure and incapacitating illness. I hoped that by sharing my experiences in their entirety, however bizarre or unusual, that I may somehow help to mitigate the loneliness felt by suffers as they battle with an array of strange and terrifying manifestations of the mind which they feel unable to share because of the lack of understanding or empathy on the part of non-suffers, despite how concerned they may be. Moreover I hoped that this account of my personal experiences would contribute to a better understanding of the nature of OCD for both non-sufferers and professionals.

I recognise that many sufferers are reluctant to share details of this bizarre illness even with fellow sufferers and sadly because of this reluctance many feel so alone unable to find anyone with whom they feel a certain empathy or affinity and be able to say yes! This is exactly how I feel. This hesitancy is particularly apparent concerning the more unusual obsessive-compulsive behaviours that most certainly co-exist at some point in the duration of the illness with the more common and more socially acceptable contamination and checking manifestations. Many sufferers would be hesitant perhaps to talk about religious or superstitious obsessions and to admit that they had the most appalling intrusive blasphemous thoughts or that they spent many hours in hysterical praying and contemplation upon whether or not they had committed the unforgivable sin. Many would certainly feel very reluctant to disclose to others that they were tormented with intrusive thoughts, which they feared would harm another. Or had to contend with unwanted thoughts that compelled them to swear oaths on the lives of others, or make bargains with God leading to an almost ascetic life style in order to attempt to placate and mitigate the results of some imagined divine retribution.

Many others would also find it difficult to acknowledge to even close friends or family that they were compelled to carry out strange and unwanted superstitious rituals, the nature of which to most would appear absurd or even primitive, in order to protect the life of a loved one, For indeed for many years such reluctance was certainly a characteristic reaction on my part and still is to some degree. The amount of anxiety involved in bearing my soul, my neurotic mind for anyone and everyone to read is indeed extremely daunting. I only do so now hoping to alleviate the utter loneliness of those who feel that such behaviours are unique to them and live a life of inner isolation and lonely torment not realising that they share this strange malady with countless others, albeit it in perhaps a slightly different way as no two people are tormented with the exact same thoughts or compulsions. OCD has a myriad of manifestations. John Bunyon, who is believed to have suffered with religious OCD and scrupulosity, made this very accurate statement regarding the feeling that one is utterly alone with these bizarre manifestations of the mind when he said Oh! None knows the terrors of those days but myself. I know the terror of those days and so do countless others who suffer in silence afraid to share with anyone the awful trauma of the mind as it is assailed with such relentless and abhorrent thoughts.

During this time when this particular manifestation of OCD (religious/ scrupulosity) held sway my mind was torn asunder with a dread unlike any I had hitherto experienced. Thinking back to those times now I feel the apprehension, the despair and the loneliness that prevailed when I had no idea what was happening to me. Moreover I neither questioned why it was happening or indeed if there was anything abnormal occurring. For months I did not question either my sanity or the inappropriateness of my behaviour and there was certainly no one with whom to compare my experiences. I was utterly alone in a nightmare world of hellish proportion. I have included several quotes from John Bunyon whose descriptions in his autobiography, Grace abounding to the Chief of Sinners, of the type of mental torment that results from this manifestation of OCD leave no one in any doubt concerning the devastating effect the intrusion of unwanted thoughts of this nature has upon the minds of those so affected.

This type of religious obsession is of course no respecter of any particular faith as it manifests in a similar form regardless of the religious belief of the sufferer. It will mutate and change should the sufferer change his or her religious or philosophical ideas, as I have found from my own experiences after becoming more interested in eastern religions and philosophy. Notwithstanding this mutation to destroy ones newfound beliefs, in my experience the original obsessions remain and retain a firm grip of fear concerning religions or beliefs no longer practiced. Still I find entering a Christian church to be difficult, and during a service I would no doubt continue to be assailed with the same blasphemous thoughts that still have the power to traumatise me notwithstanding the fact that my beliefs have changed.

My desire to mitigate, by writing my memoirs, the loneliness and isolation which sufferers experience when in the throes of this particular obsession became even more urgent when several years ago I received a request from a university asking for volunteers to participate in an investigation into OCD. The information enclosed with this request included an explanation of the nature of OCD as it manifests itself in the modern world, the information claimed that the type of religious obsessions and compulsions described by John Bunyon no longer occurred as people’s world view had changed and in modern times the more common symptoms of OCD where contamination and checking obsessions and compulsions. I was shocked at this utterly uninformed statement that may have the affect of isolating sufferers of this type of obsessive-compulsive behaviour still further.

Unlike the more obscure religious OCD, it may be easier to talk to others about the equally distressing aspects of contamination OCD. After all most people could relate to such fears albeit in a less pronounced way. However this does not necessarily alleviate the feelings of loneliness experienced when one feels that there is no one who really understands the compulsion to perform time consuming and incapacitating rituals of cleansing or avoidance in order not to feel contaminated. Or what it is really like to feel an overwhelming compulsion to wash ones hands repeatedly, sometimes till they are sore or even bleed, and to throw away cloths for fear that having become contaminated that one will in turn contaminate and harm another person. To not stroke a dog or a cat for fear of contracting a deadly disease such as rabies would seem excessive to most people. It would appear even more extreme to than avoided contact with the animal’s owner and anything with which it’s owner had come into contact. No one other than another sufferer can really understand the terror of contamination OCD or the suffering that it engenders. For as Samuel Johnson, a sufferer of OCD said: Those who do not feel pain seldom think that it is felt. This statement could so easily apply to OCD for anyone who has not experienced the agony of mind that that this illness causes will find it difficult to really have any empathy. Consequently one can only find true understanding from a fellow sufferer.

Equally few understand the motivation behind the infinite types of obsessive-compulsive behaviours that comprise OCD. Namely fear of harming others, although there may be other motivations or none at all, however fear of harming is perhaps the most common. This includes feelings of over responsibility to prevent harm befalling others and in my own personal experience this includes all creatures. For example this motivation drives the overpowering compulsion to walk out into a busy road to pick up glass while traffic roars by in case some one should be killed, compelled by concern that it would be my fault if a tire were torn causing an accident. Also the overwhelming urge to pick up discarded pill packets in case a child or an animal will eat any medication that remains may appear to many to be equally neurotic but again this compulsion is motivated by heightened feelings of responsibility. This appears even more foolish to others if it is obvious that no medication remains. Few would understand the thinking behind this compulsion concerned an intense anxiety that a minute particle unseen by the naked eye may nevertheless cause harm. The relentless compulsion to empty the dustbin on a bitterly cold day in winter searching for discarded medication that I may have thrown away by accident would appear to many to be equally bizarre, along with the reasoning behind this apparently neurotic behaviour: Namely the fear of being responsible for the death of another creature however lowly – yes even the diseased ridden rat! Again for the same reason the fear of throwing away empty medication containers, empty cleaning products or other chemical containers is motivated by fear that a minute particle may remain that may cause harm.

Still less would appreciate the trauma and conflict between one obsession and another when opposing obsessions and compulsions are at variance with each other. For example the conflict between the compulsions to rummage through the garbage is surely in conflict with contamination fears. Yet the opposing obsessions and compulsions sit side by side and the exhausted mind finds a devious compromise: In order to avoid too many showers frantic rummaging in the bin is undergone whilst still wearing my night cloths before the morning shower thus all cloths can be washed without further contamination taking place to clean clothing, thus limiting endless washing.

Moreover many would think the woman who picks up worms from the footpath to be a little excentric. Few however could imagine the fear and the conflict that rages within my mind, a maelstrom of doubt and indecision as obsessions vie one with another. The fear of causing harm by neglect along with the profound feelings of responsibly for even the lowliest of creatures torment my mind, pervading it with guilt along with the dread of terrible consequences if this task is not performed. Such feelings are even more distressful as they conflict with fears of becoming contaminated and the need to wash after rescuing the worm from certain death. Even more bizarre are the doubts that assail my mind when on occasion the worm is dead, it appears obvious to anyone else that it is dead but I doubt, what if, what if, I feel compelled to touch it, test it, fearing to make a mistake, still doubting it is dead I move it to a place of safety. (Later in retrospect I knew it was dead but my mind was filled with doubt, it would not accept this fact and to quiet its ‘screaming’ insistence I carry out the compulsion) Yet far from home it is impossible to wash. A maelstrom of doubts and indecision crowd my mind. My mind becomes exhausted. Whatever I do, I cannot win. I find no satisfaction, no peace.

Few understand the anxiety; the embarrassment and the frustration of carrying out endless tasks that the sufferer knows are foolish yet cannot resist. "Oh! None knows the terror of those days" and none no the frustration, the anxiety, the embarrassment, hopelessness, depression and utter despair: No one except the individual whose life has been marred by this incapacitating and soul-destroying illness. For indeed ones very being, that part that makes the person who he is utterly consumed by the dictates of this illness. Therefore to promote a better understanding of OCD I have written my experiences hoping that by so doing that some of the loneliness, misery, and agony of a mind besieged by this unremitting torment may be understood.

Introduction.

Obsessive-compulsive Disorder OCD is characterised by the presence of two main symptoms namely obsessions and compulsions. However these naturally lead to other symptoms such as depression and anxiety. The presence of both obsessions and compulsions are nonetheless the deciding factors when diagnosing OCD although in rare cases obsessions may present without compulsions and vice versa. The word obsession is derived from the Latin obsidere, its meaning in the 16^th century was to besiege which aptly describes the battle that takes place within the tormented mind of the OCD sufferer as an endless stream of unwanted and reoccurring thoughts pour into the mind of the unfortunate individual who seems powerless to thwart the overwhelming onslaught of his intellect. Obsessions in clinical terms are thoughts which are felt as, unwanted, intrusive, unrelenting and inappropriate. Most obsessions are disturbing; frightening and overwhelming resulting in the steady deterioration of the quality of life of the sufferer and they consequently lead to compulsions.

Compulsions are powerful urges to take an action in order to mitigate the effects of the obsessions, these actions are sometimes referred to as rituals and indeed they appear to take on a ritualistic quality. Compulsive actions may be both mental and or physical. For example one of the most common compulsions of the sufferer who has contamination obsessions as part of his OCD is to wash his hands over and over, in severe cases even until the point of bleeding, this is a physical type of compulsion, an action taken in order to relieve the obsessive fear that he has been contaminated. With the less common religious obsessions the mental compulsion to mitigate a blasphemous thought might present itself as repetitive silent praying until the thought is temporarily subdued. Often a compulsion may bear no logical relation to the obsession and thus appear as a superstitious ritual. For example sufferers may carry out meaningless rituals such as touching certain objects a set number of times or mentally reciting a phrase in order to thwart a possible tragedy from occurring or to protect oneself or a loved one from some imaginary disaster. The tragic thing however, is that the more the sufferer attempts to alleviate the obsessive thoughts by the use of compulsions, the more the obsessions increase and consequently the exhausted and traumatised sufferer needs to involve himself in an ever increasing number of compulsive behaviours in order to mitigate the obsessions. It’s a vicious circle of agony and despair in which the sufferer never wins and instead deteriorates into a downward spiral of unmitigated misery as he is increasingly consumed by both obsessions and compulsions. Without treatment and continued support as the illness progresses, obsessions and compulsions become enmeshed into a complex web of misery from which few are able to extricate themselves.

Contamination fears: Commonly include concerns about contamination by germs and chemicals such as those found in household cleaning products, this obsession can have an infinite amount of nuances and its manifestation will be individually determined, thus a suffer can feel contaminated by virtually anything.

Obsessions concerning death and disaster: Such obsessions often concern self or a loved one and are common amongst the many obsessive ruminations taking place with in the mind of the unfortunate sufferer. Indeed for many sufferers fearful scenarios of catastrophe motivate most obsessions and the consequent compulsions to ward of or protect loved ones from the consequences of the many perceived disaster scenarios with which they are tormented .

Fear of shameful behaviour: This may concern fear of committing a lewd act in public even though to do such is not in the nature of the sufferer.

Concern over symmetry or neatness: This obsession focuses on having everything just right, nothing unequal or imbalanced. For example this type of person is forever concerned with for instance crooked pictures, and other minute symmetrical discrepancies which go unnoticed by most people.

Intrusive and unwanted thoughts and images: Commonly of a frightening or offensive nature, most usually sexual imagery - at least offensive according to the perspective of the sufferer. In addition such thoughts and images may include violence and harming, also blasphemous thoughts or images may be experienced.

Religious obsessions/scrupulosity: Include blasphemous or sacrilegious thoughts along with the fear of shouting obscenities in church. Scrupulosity presents as an exaggerated concern over moral and ethical behaviour and the right and wrong of any action or inaction. However it is quite conceivable that scrupulosity could exist without religious obsessions or beliefs of any kind. Religious and philosophical ruminations often occupy the thoughts of the obsessive-compulsive, such contemplations however rarely result in any satisfactory conclusion and the sufferer remains sitting on the fence seldom finding a suitable philosophical or religious belief with which he feels satisfied without recourse to continual analysis or doubt.

Harming obsessions: These often concern fears about having accidentally caused harm to oneself or others as in for example the car driver who returns time and time again to a stretch of recently travelled road where in he feels that he may have run some one over. Obsessional fears of harming can also include concerns of being responsible for involuntarily causing harm to oneself or others, for example an irrational fear of stabbing someone against one’s volition or involuntarily taking too many pills or swallowing a poisonous substance in ones sleep. The person suffering from this type of obsession will avoid contact with anything that stimulates such fears, for example removing any knives from the house.

Hoarding and collecting obsessions: This involves the hoarding of usually useless items, most common of which is the collection of old newspapers, which the hoarder believes, may contain some crucial information for possible future reference. Hoarding may result from obsessional fears concerning throwing away items the sufferer feels may cause harm to others if disposed of in the usual manner, for example empty medicine or house hold chemical containers should a minute particle of the perceived dangerous substance remain. Hoarding compulsions may not however have any evident motivating obsession save feelings of unease or anxiety. Feeling of profound loss may be experienced by hoarders when seeming useless objects are thrown away, so strong are such feelings that the hoarder will keep all sorts of clutter despite the fact that by doing so his life is detrimentally effected as his home becomes a claustrophobic mountain of confusion and untidiness.

Checking/doubting Obsessions: The French once called OCD folie de doute (delusion of doubt), for instance doubts that a task has been performed when clearly it has. This type of obsession which is very common and manifests with such doubts as: Have I switched off the gas, have I locked the door, did I turn off the iron, did I address that letter correctly or even did I write something that may be offensive or cause harm? Doubting is of course the motivation behind checking obsessions and compulsions as the sufferer returns over and over again time after time to check that the door is locked even though it has been locked and checked numerous of times before leaving the house. The doubt element in checking obsessions and compulsions can indeed be so powerful as to compel the sufferer to return home having travelled great distances just to check that the door is locked. Like all other obsessions this one can have an infinite variety of nuances involving any situation even if there would be no reason to doubt by normal comparison. Doubting plays a part in all obsessions and compulsions. Doubt is the reason why sufferers wash their hands over and over to mitigate the nagging concerns that the cause of contamination has been eliminated. As times goes on the doubts get stronger and more and more compulsions are needed to mitigate them.

Superstitious obsessions and fears: Such obsessions can involve just about any aspect of normal living and need not necessarily adhere to recognised superstitious behaviours, such fears can become extremely incapacitating, as often happens when the fear involves the avoidance of certain numbers or colours. If taken to extreme levels it will disrupt the persons ability to function, which would be the case if one was compelled to avoid certain numbers encountered during daily routines. Often such obsessions with numbers will apply in multiples, like all obsessions this one can grow to incapacitating levels. Indeed many obsessions have a superstitious or magical quality to them and the mind of the sufferer appears to exhibit a primitive like rationale when in the throes of obsessive thinking. The idea that a harmful, inappropriate or sinful thought or action can be undone by carrying out a ritual is most certainly an OCD thought pattern similar to more primitive magical and superstitious thinking. Many of these superstitious obsessions have a ritualistic component that has no relationship to the obsessive thought that first induced it. For example an OCD superstition or ritualistic act such as the compulsion to touch for instance all the lamp posts as one walks along the street may be undertaken in order to ward off the possibility of harm coming to oneself or a loved one. There may indeed be an infinite number of inappropriate compulsory acts with a superstitious element, and many may be less overt than the previous example but they are nonetheless carried out in order to negate some perceived bad luck or disaster, "If I take the same walk round the park each day my family will be safe". So the walk is undertaken each day to ward of this tragedy occurring and if the ritual is not carried out fear will result. It is like the familiar avoiding cracks in the pavement ritual, a superstitious practice performed by many, even non-sufferers, during childhood.

Obsessive concern over body image; this obsession includes anxieties about body abnormalities that go unnoticed by most people. Sufferers of this type of obsession may undergo unnecessary plastic surgery, not just once but over and over but never attain any lasting satisfaction with their appearance.

Compulsions are placed into similar categories as their corresponding obsessions and therefore include the following:

Washing and cleaning compulsions: Commonly involve repetitive hand washing to cleanse the sufferer from the effects of perceived contamination. The excessive and repeated washing of clothing, crockery, baths, kitchen worktops are compulsions usually borne from fears of contamination. In fact there are virtually no limits to what an obsessive-compulsive will wash in order to decontaminate in an attempt to negate a perceived threat of contamination of self or others. Also the compulsion to avoid situations whereby one may become contaminated can occur especially when decontaminating compulsions become overwhelming and exhausting. However avoidance can be as equally incapacitating.

Checking compulsions: This has already been mentioned in the section about obsessions and it includes repetitive checking of doors, locks, and gas alliances to see if they are locked or turned off as the case may be. Checking of letters and e-mail, along with just about any written document, for mistakes or to ascertain that one has not written anything offensive or harmful is a classic example of this type of compulsion. As with other compulsions the variety and variations of checking rituals will reflect the life style and personality of the sufferer. For example a driver may have the compulsion to check the car is locked, the tires are full of air and that the breaks work which of course would probably not happen if the sufferer did not drive. One however has to bear in mind that such checks are of course a vital necessity for reasons of safety. It is however the extremes to which they are taken that determine if one is driven by a compulsion. There is a problem if after having checked the breaks once the sufferer returns again and again in constant repetition and still continues to be assailed with doubts that the task has been carried out only seconds after completing it. Some checking obsessions can appear unique to the sufferer and may even appear odd to fellow sufferers. For instance my compulsion to check the washing for tiny insects clinging to the fabric after it has been hung on the cloths line so that such creatures may be removed and are not harmed when the cloths are folded or put into the tumble drier. The same applies when cloths are taken out of the washing basket they are checked to make sure that no spiders or other insects are present which would otherwise be drowned.

Counting compulsions: This type of compulsion occurs as an impulse to count just about anything such as cracks in the pavement, the number of lampposts along the street, books on a shelf, pictures on the wall indeed anything and everything can become subjects for this type of exhausting compulsion, a compulsion sometimes with no precipitating obsession.

Religious compulsions: May include confessing imaginary sins, praying in order to mitigate an intrusive blasphemous or sinful thought. As with all obsessions and compulsions it’s precise expression will be determined by the persons worldview, upbringing and cultural background and in the case of religious obsessions ones religion if any. For a Christian there is often ruminative concern that one has committed the unforgivable sin and the compulsion will present itself as a constant examination of scripture in order to ascertain ones supposed guilt or otherwise.

Hoarding compulsions: May include checking to make sure nothing has been accidentally discarded. Hoarding compulsions often present as an irresistible urge to collect items of no use, continuing to fill ones home with an ever increasing amount of clutter until it becomes a health or fire hazard. Eventually little or no pleasure is derived from this unrelenting acquisition.

Repetitively seeking reassurance: The OCD sufferer constantly asks for reassurance from others that for example a tragic accident has not occurred and they have not accidentally run some one over whilst driving. Constant reassurance is required, the same question is asked over and over the sufferer never convinced or satisfied after even after repeated assurance.

Compulsive rereading: Presents as an impulse to repeatedly reread over and over a single sentence or phrase, consequently education is curtailed and job prospects limited.

There are infinite variances and nuances as no two individuals are the same and the above are merely common categories, which tend to overlap. As the disease progresses the suffer presents with new and varied manifestations and eventually such obsessions and compulsions evolve into a complex web of interrelated neurotic behaviours that comprise OCD. Unless continual treatment and support is forthcoming the sufferer disintegrates into an inner hell as he becomes increasingly enmeshed in his own world of unmitigated suffering in which he can see no way out.

Return to contents page Chapter One.

I will start my story from the beginning, right from the moment of my birth for indeed without a doubt this is where it started right from the time that I first drew breath and progressively became aware of the world, conscious of a sense of self and the eventual realisation that one day I may lose that sense of self. The thought of the annihilation of my consciousness, my eventual perception of death, was a thought too abhorrent to contemplate, a thought that would eventually drive myriad obsessions and compulsions that would utterly destroy my life.

I was born in the city of Leicester on a cold spring day on March 29 1950. My birth by all accounts was a difficult one, particularly as my mother was rather anxious to the extent of having a phobia about medical procedures. After many hours of labour I was delivered by forceps whilst my mother was anaesthetised because of her acute anxiety.

My mother Alice was an intelligent woman from a middle class background; she was the only child of the owner of a lucrative hosiery factory in London. Although she was well educated she was unfortunately emotionally deprived. My maternal grandmother had been hospitalised shortly after giving birth to my mother, the precise nature of her illness is not known, however, it is almost certain that she suffered some type of psychological problem and remained in hospital for a considerable time and was never able to care for my mother. My mother always seemed to harbour some resentment towards her mother and felt that she had been abandoned; she had few memories of her and it was not until quite late into adulthood that she was to have any real contact with her estranged mother.

My mother was also virtually abandoned by her father whose womanising and business concerns were his main preoccupations. He had many different relationships with women whom he met on the platform of St Pancreas station. Eventually he met Gladys with whom he would have a permanent relationship. My mother seemed to dislike this particular women; this may have been one of the reasons why my grandfather totally abandoned all responsibility for his only child. It was therefore left to my mother’s paternal aunt, Hilda, to continue my mother’s upbringing, this she willingly did caring for my mother like a daughter.

My father, Horace, was the youngest child of a family of four. He was born into a working class family in the city of Leicester. Although he was an intelligent man my father received only a basic education and after leaving school he went to work in the local boot and shoe factory near his home in Ullswater Street.My father was totally different from my mother - at least he appeared to be. Unlike my mother whose life was marred by numerous fears and phobias and a general depressed disposition, he rarely displayed any outward sign of anxiety. At the outbreak of World War II he readily volunteered for the armed forces without any degree of hesitation. During his time in the army he was to suffer from shell shock for which he was prescribed medication for what he termed " nerves " for the rest of his life. His nervous condition was not however apparent, to all who knew him he appeared to be a jovial character full of whit and good humour. I cannot recall a time when my father ever admitted to feelings of fear or even anxiety; he would always tell us that he was an atheist and that even the prospect of death held no terror for him. His carte-blanch attitude regarding death may have been partly responsible for implanting into my mind an unnatural horror of death that has haunted me throughout my entire life; announcing his atheism he would tell us that death was a sleep from which no one ever awoke.

I had one sibling a sister, Lynda, who was eighteen months younger than I. She too seemed destined to live a life of torment. From childhood she suffered from multiple psychological disorders including hypochondria, social phobia, panic disorder, agoraphobia and anorexia nervosa. She continued to suffer from most of these disorders until her death in 2003. My sister was undoubtedly my mother’s favourite; nonetheless her life would also be marred by my mother’s neuroses. Of course neither my father nor my mother where entirely responsible for any psychological damage done to either my sister or myself. Indeed my great aunt was to add fuel to the fire of the neuroses that plagued us in childhood and eventually into adult life. Moreover, our experiences at school did much to damage us psychologically.

Furthermore it is important to realise that ones upbringing is not now considered to be the only cause of either obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) or any of the other mental maladies that have devastated the lives of both my sister and I. Other factors such as chemical imbalance, possibly caused by a genetic predisposition, are now thought to play a roll. However, I believe that family circumstances have some effect on the type of obsessions suffered and the extent to which the illness progresses in adult life. Few family environments are totally free from neurosis, however, my family seemed to have more than its share; it was a fertile breeding ground for the cultivation of mental disturbance.

After my parents marriage in 1948 my great aunt Hilda went to live with them in their new home in Dashward Road - for reasons unknown to myself she had no where else to live, apparently it was not possible for her to remain in her former home in Tennison street which both she and my mother had previously occupied. This situation displeased my father considerably; he bitterly resented my great aunt living with them. He had only consented to this arrangement for the sake of my mother who was always very domineering. My mother apparently felt responsible towards her aunt. No doubt this obligation had been borne from the gratitude that she afforded her aunt who had not only cared for her like a daughter, but had sacrificed her own happiness to do so to the extent of refusing an offer of marriage because her suitor did not want the responsibility of caring for a child who was not his own. He had wanted my great aunt to put my mother into an orphanage - my grandfather had long since relinquished any responsibility for his daughter.

My father never concealed his resentment toward my great aunt whom he virtually ignored. When of necessity he had to converse with her his manner was openly hostile. My sister recalls that on one occasion when my great aunt gave my father a Christmas present how he threw it across the room refusing to accept it. My father’s resentment was profound; he despised my great aunt, however, in all his other dealings with people he was always amiable and considerate. So it was within this tangled web of resentment and hostility that my sister and I were brought up.

To further add to the already tense situation, I felt rejected by my mother. The fact that my mother loved my sister more than she loved me was obvious, her reasons, however remain obscure. My mother always denied that she had any preference even though it was apparent to others, including my great aunt, that she favoured my sister. I do not imply that she did not love me at all - I now consider that she did in her own way and I am sure that she did not deliberately intend for me to feel rejected or relegated to second place in her affections. Nevertheless throughout my childhood I felt rejected. These feelings of rejection however where mitigated by the fact that my great aunt preferred me, although she also loved my sister it was clear that I came first in her affections. She was genuinely fond of me and her feelings towards me were reciprocated. Unfortunately her influence upon my life was to prove detrimental to some degree.

My great aunt Hilda was a very religious women, although neither she nor my mother attended church, my mother’s attendance having long since lapsed over a disagreement with the parish priest. Nevertheless we were bought up in the Catholic manner. As a child religion seemed to me to be very daunting, inspiring fear and anxiety which slowly developed into an obsession. Despite my aunt’s outward display of faith she seemed to have a profound fear of death - so profound that it was easily perceptible to my sister and I even though we were very young. Why she feared death was not however obvious, whether it was because of a suppressed lack of faith or a fear of hell fire and damnation was not apparent. It may have been the latter, as she inadvertently instilled into me as a child a profound fear of hell and damnation to such an extent that I became an abnormally well behaved and scrupulous child plagued by anxious ruminations regarding my eligibility to go to heaven rather than to suffer the horrors of hell.

Notwithstanding these idiosyncrasies my great aunt was a kind and considerate person, the type of person who puts the interests and the welfare of others before that of herself. She was always kind to both my sister and I and any psychological damage that she may have done to either of us (or to my mother) was almost certainly unintentional. She was always there for me when I was ill and had a warmth of concern that was absent from my mother. Until I met my husband she was the only person who ever told me that they loved me - the word was altogether absent from my parent’s vocabulary with regard to their feelings toward us. My great aunt was the only person with whom I could relate - the only person who seemed to want me. I am certain that my parents loved me in their own way, however they were incapable of expressing this emotion. Therefore any injustices that parents such as mine tended to unintentionally inflict were exaggerated out of all proportion. In short if it had not been for my great aunt I do not feel that, as a child, I would have felt wanted at all. It is not surpassing that I have grown up with a severe inferiority complex so entrenched in my mind that I find it difficult to accept that I am capable of loving and being loved.

My mother blamed me for the strained emotional situation that existed between us; she insisted that even as a baby I shunned her affections. Whether or not this is true I do not know and will probably never know, however, I have rarely if ever seen my mother display any intimate affection towards anyone - at least anyone human. She never appeared to find it difficult to show affection towards the numerous pets that we had during our childhood. However, towards her fellow human beings she always remained aloof and cold. Perhaps she rejected me as a child because I rejected her, but I rather feel it may have been the other way round. At various times during my life I have tried to find out from my mother the truth of the matter but she would claim to have forgotten many things about the past, she like so many people tended to distort the past to fit in with her concept of how life could or should have been.

My mother also claimed to have few memories regarding psychiatric treatment that I received during infancy. I have since seen the letters written by the consultant psychiatrist: The first was written in 1953, I was than described as a: "charming, very intelligent, extremely active and lively child" I was than also described as being "perfectly normal" Nevertheless an arrangement was made for a social worker to visit my me. It is difficult to draw any conclusions from such vagaries; attempts to investigate the matter have been inconclusive. Had my mother been concerned that I had emotional problems and had consulted her GP to this effect? Why where social workers involved? After all according to the aforementioned letter the consultant seemed satisfied that I was normal.

Another significant event in my medical history relating to the emergence of emotional problems concerns a consultation with a specialist in 1956 regarding attacks of cyclical vomiting. The consultant considered these attacks to be of psychological origin. Apparently, according to my mother, I suffered at this time from nausea and vomiting each morning. The specialist instructed my mother to give me a low fat high sugar diet.

Yet another noteworthy consultation revealing the emergence of psychological problems occurred in 1958, this time more definite emotional problems were evident which involved specific treatment, including medication with sedatives. This consultation took place with the same psychiatrist whom my mother had consulted in 1953. In a letter concerning my apparent decline from the former description of a normal child the consultant now describes me as: very moody and introverted,......along with lapses of memory .…..due emotional blocking. I was further described as: conscientious, but rebellious against discipline, tense but covering up by a precocious adult manner In the same letter mention was made of the social worker’s concern that my mother, needed opportunity to work through her pent up aggression by discussion otherwise I would suffer as a result of her , my mother’s, neurotic tendencies.

Although this letter is somewhat vague concerning the exact nature of my problems it clearly emphasises that my mother was an aggressive women with neurotic tendencies of her own and moreover these tendencies would be detrimental to me. Whether my mother received any help with her problems is not known. My mother claimed to have few memories of these events. According to my mother the teachers at the school were concerned that I was not playing with my toys in the "normal way"- exactly what was meant by the term "normal way" however, remains obscure. Was this in fact the first sign of the emergence of OCD? My mother never mentioned the problems in 1953 that resulted in the consultation with the child psychiatrist. She always insisted that I had only the one consultation with a psychiatrist regarding the problem with the toys - a consultation that she considered unnecessary. Although I had knowledge of these letters before her death in 1991 I was never able to approach her concerning them, because of the deterioration of my mother’s physical and mental health towards the end of her life, I could not in all conscience confront her with matters that she obviously did not wish to discuss. She however, once told me that in infancy I was nervous about the noise of passing traffic and would scream hysterically and was consequently prescribed sedatives. However I believe that the problem was far more complicated than this although I have no recollections of any of the aforementioned consultations or any of the circumstances surrounding them.

I have few memories regarding my relationship with my father. He was a kind good-natured man who never seemed to take life seriously. However, he was always somewhat aloof emotionally; he rarely displayed any affection for either my sister or I. I do not recall ever being kissed or cuddled by either him or my mother, moreover it was never the custom within our family to tell each other how we felt; the word love with regard to family relationships was never used. I recall however, that on occasion my father’s temper could be quite terrifying despite his usual congeniality. However, we were never punished physically beyond what was considered normal in those days - a slap on the bottom. This occurrence however was infrequent, physical punishment was rarely necessary as my father’s awesome temper was in itself a sufficient deterrent.

Both my parents may have been incapable of displaying feelings and emotions. My mother stressed throughout her life that motherhood had not come naturally to her and had only been undertaken to comply with the wishes of my father. She seemed incapable of relating to children - especially to small children and she made no attempt to hide this fact. Nevertheless despite their shortcomings my mother and father provided us with the material necessities of life; in this regard we were never neglected in any significant way. Although my father’s earnings were relatively low we were always adequately clothed and fed and never felt in the least deprived. However for my emotional requirements I depended upon my great aunt who liberally supplied this need.

Although the aforementioned consultant’s letters pertaining to my emotional problems are not specific they clearly highlight the emergence of neurosis. My earliest recollections of the emergence of the type of symptoms now known as OCD began about the age of three or four and centred upon concern over my great aunt of whom, as I have already stated, I was very fond and dependent upon for love and affection. At the time she appeared to me to be very old, she had grey hair that was tied into a roll at the back which accentuated her age, although at the time she would probably have only been in her fifties. However, in the nineteen fifties, fifty seemed old, one looked old. I began to worry that she might die - I could not envision life without her, it seemed empty, utterly void. Although I was very young at the time I was keenly aware of death - the fact that loved ones died never to be seen again. Death was a fate to be greatly feared, at least that was the impression that manifest itself to me. Death was something to be dreaded, something that one needed to be concerned about. I could not bear the thought of losing this aunt as I both loved and needed her. I began to become increasingly more preoccupied by the thought that one day she would inevitably die and leave me - I would never see her again. This thought haunted me with increasing regularity filling me with fear and despondency. I was deeply concerned that when she did eventually die that I would forget what she looked like, I had no photograph to remember her by. I would try and draw pictures of her in order to preserve some memory of her. I can recall this anxiety quite clearly, but despite my concerns I could not confide in anyone about my fears.

Gradually the entire concept of death itself became a preoccupation. I contemplated death with depressing regularity. Although I was still only very young I was fully aware of the impermanence of life, and that death was a fate from which no one ever escaped - a dreadful inevitability to which someday even I would succumb. I was aware that there were people who committed suicide in order to escape the awfulness of their lives; it would often occur to me during such ruminations upon death that one could escape anything by killings one’s self but no one could ever escape death - there was no way out, no sanctuary, no reprieve. One day I would die and there was nothing that I could do to avoid it. I was terrified. These thoughts caused me inordinate distress. Notwithstanding this dreadful anxiety I could not dismiss them from my mind. I cannot recall if I actually considered it possible not to dwell upon such morbid contemplation’s, they were there, I simply accepted them despite the feelings of dread that they caused.

I could not share these thoughts with my great aunt whom I knew was also apprehensive about the subject of death. Within our family death was never spoken of except in an impersonal way, and only than with obvious unwillingness. My great aunt would discuss death in a religious context answering my childish questions about the probability of heaven and how she perceived it to be.

It seems somehow incredible that I should have been beset with such morbid thoughts whilst so young, but nevertheless I was troubled with increasingly more complicated thoughts concerning various aspects of death. At this time my mind began to dwell upon old age; an intrusive image would form in my mind’s eye, I would perceive myself as an old women withered and wrinkled waiting for my inevitable fate. I can still recall, over forty years later, the image that haunted my mind. The thought of becoming old filled me with profound dread. At about the age of seven I was beset with religious ruminations, my anxiety about religion became severe; the subject occupied a significant amount of my thinking. I became increasingly concerned with the notion that God did not consider me to be a Christian, and that as a consequence when I died I would go to hell. The concern regarding my eligibility to be counted as a Christian was probably due to the fact that we did not attend church, therefore according to my distorted logic, I would not be classified a Christian. The prospect of going to hell was quite terrifying. At the time I did not question the validity of either the concept of hell or its existence. It was horrifyingly real. The mental images conjured up by my misguided great aunt were very vivid. The literal fires of hell raged eternally in my imaginings; I perceived the entrance of hell to be guarded by towering wrought iron gates leading to a landscape of raging infernos which forever consumed the souls of the wicked, amongst whom I would be included. My salvation, according to my irrational thinking depended upon my behaviour - good behaviour I hoped would sufficiently placate God in order that he would overlook the fact that I did not attend church. I was therefore very aware of the possible consequences of every trifling misdemeanour.

My great aunt probably did not attend church in order to avoid a confrontation with my mother who was very hostile indeed towards the church - at least as far as our attendance was concerned. My mother was always a formidable opponent who would never tolerate any opposition towards her ideas or beliefs. She was aggressive in manner towards anyone who had any inclination towards dissension. Thus to keep the peace my great aunt practised her religion passively but nevertheless very piously. She indoctrinated me in Catholic belief - a belief that included certain damnation if one did not strictly adhere to Catholic principles.

My great aunt was devout in her worship; her room was a shrine to Catholic belief. In one corner was an alter which was arranged on a cabinet and which was filled with all manner of Catholic paraphernalia, both my sister and I found it infinitely fascinating. We would spend hours looking through prayer books, bibles and church publications. Both my sister and I wanted to attend church but my mother always remained quite adamant in her refusal and never volunteered any explanation. She seemed hostile towards organised religion in general and to Catholicism in particular. I had the impression that she considered such belief to be harmful in some way. Notwithstanding her misgivings she permitted my great aunt to impose her belief upon my sister and I in a significant way; as long as we did not set foot in church she seemed satisfied.

My great aunt taught me to pray in the Catholic manner various repetitive prayers; such prayers were said whilst kneeling in front of her alter upon which were arranged some statues, probably of saints and the Virgin Mary, and a large crucifix. This nightly ritual took on an obsessive quality as it became more compulsively adhered to and was only abandoned when because of a knee injury it became impossible to kneel. Even than when I was physically unable to kneel it took considerable reassurance from my great aunt that God would understand why I could not kneel and accept my prayers regardless. At this time I was very much absorbed in religious contemplations - indeed religion became far too excessive a preoccupation for a child as young as I. On one ever seemed concerned or even aware.

I do not believe that it is the fault of religion that brought about my religious obsessions, merely the distortion of belief that my mind conjured up as a result of the influences of faulty upbringing which I am sure was never the intention of either my parents, my great aunt or anyone else, they unwittingly passed on the neurotic tendencies that they themselves had learned from their own childhood experiences. In retrospect, it is easy to identify the early signs of the emergence of OCD particularly with regards to religious and philosophical ruminations, obsessions and compulsions. For instance my preoccupation with the dilemma concerning my eligibility to be considered by God to be a Christian is typical of the ruminations that torment suffers, however, the nature of the ruminations differs from person to person; some obsessive compulsives worry about matters far less profound than religion or philosophy. Moreover my perfectionist tendencies were further indication of an obsessive personality - not only did I feel concern about being considered a Christian but I had to be perfect Christian. There was no room for half-heartedness or complacency in the matter.

Gradually more and more the fear of death came to occupy my mind, my morbid ruminations increased. Although these thoughts marred my life there were some happy times even if they were tarnished by fears and anxiety.

One such occasion was the bank holiday day-trip to the seaside. This event was eagerly anticipated and looked forward to with mounting excitement as the day approached. My parents were not well off, particularly at that time. My father still worked at the boot and shoe factory and his hours of work were being gradually reduced, therefore we could neither afford a car nor a holiday away from home. Most people in our neighbourhood were in a similar position in those days, so there was not the tendency to feel deprived if one did not possess a car or take an annual holiday at a resort. Therefore a day-trip to Mablethorpe or Skegness was the highlight of the year. We went by coach or train, the latter being the most exciting but also the most awesome. Trains in those days were mostly powered by steam and were, to a small child, quite terrifying; the train seemed huge in proportion and very daunting as it realised vast clouds of steam into the air, this loud noise frightened me inexplicably. My heart would pound and I felt gripped with fear until we were safely inside, the train seemed somehow intimidating. Although as soon as we were on our way fear was transformed into excitement as the train rattled its way along the line with increasing rapidity towards its destination.

However, these trips were always somewhat spoiled due to my anxiety concerning the availability of a toilet. It was a real worry to me; I would become increasingly anxious if a toilet was not readily available - which was always the case if one travelled by coach. Occasionally trains also did not provide toilet facilitates, particularly if the journey was not considered to be a long one. In retrospect I feel that I was unduly concerned about such matters, however, I had to urinate frequently, most probably due to my nervous disposition. This was a significant blight on my life adding to my overall anxiety - an unnecessary anxiety over my bodily functions that may have been caused by my mother’s annoyance if she was disturbed in the night by either my sister or I visiting the toilet. Although we were never punished to any great extent physically my mother’s irrational anger and aggressive tone was formidable, therefore, I tended not to get up in the night unless it was absolutely essential to do so. Consequently at bedtime I would become most concerned that I had not emptied my bladder completely and would not use the toilet until the last minute.

Christmas was another greatly anticipated event; it had a certain magical quality; I have some very fond memories of this special time despite the fact that obsessional thinking marred it. Notwithstanding my parents low income they were very generous to both of us. On Christmas morning we awoke as the first light of dawn appeared in the sky to find a seemingly endless pile of presents strewn all over the bed, on the floor and packed into pillowcases - we had long since abandoned the traditional Christmas stocking in favour of the larger pillowcase. Like all children we tended towards greediness and hoped that Father Christmas would give us more toys if we provided him with something larger to put them in.

These exciting occasions were always marred by a very disturbing intrusive thought that would worm its way into my mind during the period leading up to the climax of an anticipated event such as Christmas or day-trips. Christmas was however the time when I was most prone towards this type of thought - a thought that increased in both intensity and regularity until the anticipated even transpired. I never told either my parents or my great aunt about my fears and would instead become depressed and miserable - or moody, as my mother preferred to call my periods of introversion and despondency. The nature of this intrusive thought was morbid in its content: I was beset by the notion that I might die before I could enjoy the anticipated event. These thoughts were very strong and very real - too real for a child to doubt their validity. I certainly never attempted to dispel them, after all these thoughts lay within the bounds of possibility; I could actually die before Christmas or the anticipated day-trip arrived. It never occurred to me that it was unusual to think about such things or that other people did not dwell excessively upon such matters. Christmas eve was the climax of my anxiety. I would lie awake on Christmas Eve afraid to go to sleep in case death came to claim my soul as I slept. I have never in fact liked sleep, but more particularly so as a child, it was a daunting necessity from which, like death, I could not escape. From about adolescence onwards I tended to think of sleep as a taste of death. However, on Christmas morning the excitement of the moment dispelled the dread from my mind as if through those weeks it had never existed; the morbid preoccupation’s evaporated as I eagerly opened my presents. Although this was not a major problem for me as a child, and occurred only at relatively few time during the year, it was to eventually to return in nightmare proportion adulthood.

Despite some of the difficulties encountered with the emergence of OCD in childhood, there were some happier memories of this time, the disorder was still only in its infancy and did not dominate my life as it does today. Some of my childhood days had a carefree quality to them despite my worries and moods of morbid reverie. I enjoyed the days when we lived at Cambridge street most of all.

We lived at the end of a row of terraced houses, next door to the corner shop. My mother patronised this shop and with the exception of the local butcher and greengrocer, never shopped anywhere else. My mother found it difficult to shop in the large city centre; instead she preferred the services and friendliness of the local shops. Mr Postleswaithe, the proprietor of the grocery shop was a very amiable man, both he and his family became close friends of ours. He would bring us sweets and comics when either my sister or I were ill - which we were upon many occasions; we seemed to suffer more than our fair share of some very serious illnesses including, pneumonia and whooping cough. At Christmas time he added his presents to the vast amount with which my parents provided us; my parents had few friends or relatives to give us presents Mr postleswaithes’ generosity was most welcome as it helped alleviate the need for my parents to provide all of our presents.

My mother was very found of the Postlswaithes. I can remember nothing at all about Mrs Postlewaithe but I recall that they had a grownup daughter who taught Sunday school and took my sister and I along on a few occasions. However, both my sister and I were having problems with shyness, we both felt awkward in company, especially in the company of other children, therefore we did not enjoy Sunday school and soon stopped attending.

My mother was also on friendly terms with one or two other neighbours, however the Postlswaithes were her closest companions. My mother did not make friends easily, she tended to be over critical of people; few people measured up to her expectations. This tendency seemed to steadily get worse until she rarely had a good word to say about anyone. Notwithstanding my mother’s disapproving nature she did make a small number of friends who somehow became exempt from her scathing criticism.

One of these friends was an Indian lady. We would walk to school with her and her daughter. I recall being fascinated by this lady and the exotic saris that she always wore, one in particular was sky blue; it was encrusted with a dazzling array of beads and sequins. My mother always seemed to be attracted to people who were different - in those days there were few Asians amongst the population; this lady’s exoticness was probably the main attraction for my mother who seemed bored with the ordinary and the mundane.

Despite our shyness my sister and I made friends with some children who lived a few doors away. I can recall very little about these children, not even their gender, however, I have vivid memories of their dog, which according to my mother was vicious. Apparently it had bitten the children with whom it lived, in spite of the fact that they owned the dog; nevertheless the parents would not part with it. It was never restrained in any way and would be found sitting on the pavement outside it’s home. I remember being terrified of this dog, my heart would pound whenever I saw it and this fear spoiled my friendship with these children and caused me to feel some apprehension towards all dogs.

Next-door to us lived an elderly lady, a very fragile looking lady whom my mother and great aunt kept an eye on. My mother had a key to this lady’s house and during her absence, she had probably been admitted to hospital, my sister and I would sneak in for a look round. We were intensely curious; this lady’s house was an adventure that was infinitely fascinating. Her room was crammed with curios and antiques - real Victorian clutter that we found immensely intriguing. Most delightful of all was her button box crammed with buttons of all shapes and sizes. Some were exquisitely ornate. My mother soon discovered our exploratory visits into this lady’s house. We were not severely punished or reprimanded; nonetheless we were made to feel extremely guilty about our reprehensible violation of our neighbours privacy, property and trust. In a lot of similar instances during childhood I was made to feel inordinately guilty rather than receive any specific punishment; in some respects it would have been easier to be subjected to my mother’s familiar tirade of verbal aggression. Sometimes we would be punished in both ways, however being made to feel guilty was the more damming - at least psychologically. Although of course we did do wrong in this and many other instances, nevertheless the infliction of excessive guilt feelings was often inappropriate.

Now that I am aware of the obsessive-compulsive quality of my thoughts I can now highlight many instances in infancy when the emergence of the disorder was apparent.

The signs of the presence of the disorder were subtle; they did not appear to be obvious to anyone including myself. I did not think that I had a problem; I of course was far to young to consider such matters and consequently did not consider telling anyone about my troublesome thoughts. It is only now with hindsight that I can recognise the emergence of this distressing condition. My obsessions and compulsions at that time were mostly covert and concerned thoughts more than observable obsessions. I did have some overt obsessions such as washing my hands a certain number of times before going to bed; this nightly ritual was considered by my mother to be nothing more than a "silly habit" and one which I would soon grow out of. The only indication that there was something wrong was my periods of depression that my mother referred to as moodiness and which she considered best ignored.

My intense fear of death was one of those covert obsessions of which no one was even remotely aware - at least to my knowledge. As I have previously mentioned my ruminations about death did not centre entirely upon my own mortality; I was also preoccupied with worrying thoughts concerning the death of my great aunt. I do not recall having any such thoughts about my parents; perhaps I simply did not love them as intensely as I loved my great aunt.

During my childhood I was (in addition to the anxiety about my own mortality and that of my great aunt) keenly aware of the death of all living things. My sister and I used to collect huge numbers of caterpillars. One particular summer these creatures had bred in extraordinary proliferation in the hedge that separated the front of the house from the street. The very number of these caterpillars fascinated both my sister and I. We collected and housed large numbers of them in any receptacle including a disused sideboard that had been abandoned in the garden. One day my mother opened the door to be pleasantly surprised by the vast number of butterflies which, having fully metamorphosed in the cupboard, escaped their confinement and dispersed into the air in a profusion of fluttering wings.

However, such pleasures appeared to me to be marred. The old saying that there is always a fly in the ointment is sadly true and even as a child this fact had not gone unnoticed. Some people seem not to notice these "flies"; my awareness of such things however was profound. I derived great pleasure from collecting these creatures, providing them with food and watching them build their cocoons and to finally observe them become magically transformed from, a worm like creature that somewhat haphazardly crawled around, into a beautiful butterfly. Nevertheless I was very much aware of the negative side of the wonders of nature, particularly death; my fascination was spoiled if one of these creatures died. Sometimes one of these caterpillars failed to escape from it’s cocoon which than would inevitably decay - an experience I would find altogether distressing. Moreover, not only did I feel the loss and sadness of death, but also guilt if, with the usual clumsiness of young children, I accidentally stood on one.

My over concern for the well-being of such lowly creatures may have stemmed from an earlier incident in which my sister and I were severely reprimanded by my great aunt for pulling an earthworm in half. Obviously such cruel behaviour had to be admonished and I am sure that most sensitive adults would have done the same. However, as in other similar circumstances, I tended to be over sensitive (even now several decades on I still feel some unease with the thought that at one time I had done something so cruel) and exaggerate the situation out of all proportion and would feel far more guilty and sad than was perhaps normal in such circumstances. After all, all obsessive thoughts and compulsions are exaggerated distortions of reality - at least the way that most people perceive reality. Normal feelings and behaviour are infinitely magnified and distorted into very complex proportions in the mind of the obsessive-compulsive. Therefore, what may have produced mild feelings of guilt in the mind of a normal child, instead caused me to experience exaggerated feelings of a most profound and distressing nature.

Evan as a young child I became increasingly aware of the suffering of humanity. This awareness became more accentuated when I stated to attend school. I was aware of the suffering of all living things and in particular the plight of the starving millions in Africa. I quickly became convinced that I should devote my life to the alleviation of suffering. After learning about Albert Schweitzer in school I wanted nothing more than to become a missionary.

Stories from the Bible would invoke feelings of intense sadness for the suffering that they contained. My empathy for the people concerned was quite intense. Our teacher had a talent for description and brought these ancient tales to life. I could easily imagine, with keen sensitivity, how these people may have felt; vivid descriptions of the scourge of leprosy, with the eventual blindness and isolated degradation that this illness caused, filled me with profound sorrow for the pain and the hopelessness of the lives of those unfortunate sufferers. Although most of these Bible tales had happy, endings as the miraculous was performed, I still felt sad for those who were not healed and for their wasted lives spent in constant pain as their flesh literally rotted away whilst they still lived.

School itself made my life increasingly worse; school produced a new dimension of stress and unmitigated misery into my life.

Return to contents page Chapter Two.

Right from the very first day I dreaded school; it was a nightmare of hellish proportion - a nightmare that contributed towards the development of emotional disorders, the destruction of my self-esteem and an inability to interact socially for the rest of my life. Conjecturally, one might surmise that the morning vomiting (which could have been of psychological origin as suggested in the letter already mentioned) may have been the result of, or aggravated by, what is now recognised as school phobia. I had an overwhelming terror of school - a dread so profound that it severely marred my childhood to such a degree that I was rarely ever able to enjoy the carefree abandon of childhood that most children experience.

I clearly recall my first day at school. I lost control of my bladder because of my anxiety. I can still remember the subsequent humiliation of having to wear dress provided by the school for the rest of the day. I was easily dominated at school and remember being bossed about by another child on my first morning. I had many awful experiences of being bullied, particularly by one boy whom I grew to loath for the misery that he caused me. His name was Tony Puffer. I can still see his face as clearly as though it was yesterday. He had thick dropping lips, which spread across his face in a slimy leer whenever he was tormenting me or actually hitting me, he had beady little eyes, and light mousy hair, which was too long and flopped over his freckled face. I was horrified one day to discover that the teacher had organised the class seating arrangements in such a way that this obnoxious little boy sat next to me, which as he readily announced, made it easier for him to hit me. I still recall how painful it felt both physically and psychologically. I do not remember why I did not tell either my parents or my teacher. I simply may have been to shy to approach the teacher and too afraid of disappointing my parents; my parents seemed to take some pride in thinking, for some strange reason known only to them, that I was quite capable of sticking up for myself in this type of situation. Therefore, I may not have wanted to spoil this illusion by asking for their intervention - this was most certainly the case in future incidents of a similar nature. How this problem was resolved I do not now remember, however it continued for some considerable time and made my life an unmitigated misery.

I was severely shy and introverted at school, more so than in any other social situation. Notwithstanding these problems during this time at my first school, The Imperial Avenue Infants School, I became very friendly with two girls in my class, Jean and Ann. This friendship between these two girls and myself was very close, the only friendship, until fairly recently, that I have had in which I felt completely comfortable. It was the kind of friendship in which the participants would quarrel easily than just as easily become friends again. This friendship with Jean and Ann did much to mitigate the awfulness of school. On the occasions when we did fallout I felt depressed and horribly lost and alone until we were reconciled.

The Imperial Avenue Infants School was very pleasantly located in the suburbs of Leicester and had extensive grounds with large lawns and enormous flowerbeds for which each class was responsible for cultivating. My friends and I spent many a warm summer’s afternoon picnicking under the natural awning of a magnificent weeping willow. It was unfortunate that this idyllic situation was marred by the unkind behaviour of some of the other children. However now that I had these friends the problem with Tony Puffer had somehow been resolved, for I do not recall being tormented by him whilst I was friendly with these two girls. Nonetheless, others took his place, often these playtime picnics were ruined by the teasing of other children who seemed almost by instinct to know and select the most vulnerable and sensitive upon whom to vent their need to be cruel.

The unkind children were, however, not wholly responsible for the profound misery associated with school life, adults - particularly the dinner ladies - also had a role to play in marring my childhood days. The dinner ladies were very domineering and dedicated in their endeavours to ensure that those children unfortunate enough to have to remain at school at lunchtime ate the unpleasant food that they had prepared. On many occasions I was left on my own in the dinning room, long after the other children had been dismissed into the playground, perpetually chewing rubbery meat made tasteless and unpalatable by continued mastication. I remember on one occasion, when I was kept behind in the dinning room to complete my meal, I had to resort to spitting out the inedible meat into my handkerchief in order to finish my lunch - I simply could not chew it. Being made to eat food that I did not want and could not eat caused me extreme distress. Eventually the situation became so intolerable that my mother had to collect both my sister and I and take us home for lunch. This was awkward for my mother; it was both time consuming and exhausting, as the school was some considerable distance from our home. Nevertheless my mother was prepared to collect and return us every day rather than have us subjected to this adult form of bullying. My mother and father were always prepared to confront the school whenever they were aware that either of us was being unfairly treated. There were many such confrontations between my parents and the school.

My life at school seemed destined to get worse. My social ineptness was to gradually increase to such an extent, that when I left the infant school, I would never again form a really close friendship during my entire school life, I would form casual friendships but I could never sustain them and I never felt comfortable in social situations with my peers.

Eventually when it was time to leave the infant school it became necessary for my parents to select a suitable junior school. Most of the children from the Imperial Avenue infant school went on to attend Braunstone Manor Junior School. However, my parents were aware that this school had a bad reputation for bullying as it had a large influx of children from the Braunstone housing estate. This estate was considered to be a rough area into which the council allocated housing to societies "undesirables". Therefore my parents considered this school to be unsatisfactory for me to attend even though the few friends that I had were all going there. My parents tried to find a more suitable school for me. This task I feel may have been somewhat difficult for eventually both my sister and I were sent to an obscure little Church of England school in a very depressing and gloomy part of the city.

Although my sister had not been due to leave Imperial Avenue School, my parents had to find another school for the both of us, as we were to move from our home in Cambridge Street to live over a corner shop in Western road. My parents had bought the business and planned to run it as the local grocers and greengrocers. They hoped that the income from the shop would eventually be enough to support us, my father’s hours at the factory where becoming less regular making them insufficient for our financial needs.

It was for both of us a very disconcerting time; changing schools and moving into a different part of the city was very unsettling. Although moving into a new house was very exciting for us at that time, I would in fact be more unhappy than I had been whilst we were living in Cambridge street. After changing our home and school my life became progressively worse.

Our house in Western Road was cramped in comparison to out former home; there was insufficient room for five people. There were only two bedrooms - my sister and I had to share with our great aunt. This bedroom barely allowed enough space for the three beds. The down stairs accommodation consisted of one very tiny living room and an even smaller kitchen. There was no privacy whatsoever, we lived in very close proximity - not a very desirable situation even when the occupants were compatible, it was even less suitable considering the situation that existed between my father and my great aunt.

Furthermore the problems previously mentioned regarding access to the toilet at night became much worse; my parents slept in the back room through which we would have to go if we needed to use the toilet in the night. My mother would not permit this intrusion. There was an outside toilet but my mother would not allow us to use it as she did not consider that we were responsible enough to lock the back door again after we had been outside. Therefore once we had retired for the night it was not possible to go to the toilet. This situation caused me some considerable distress.

To further add to the increase in my anxieties my new school was to make my life an absolute misery. My inability to mix with other children was now painfully obvious, my sister was even worse in this regard. She attended the infant part of the school, which was separated from the junior department, and was located a few blocks further away. So severe were my sister’s problems with chronic shyness that my mother made an arrangement with the school for me to go over to the infant department at playtime to be with my sister. This I was only too pleased to do. My fellow pupils were making my life a misery. At this time there was a craze that had taken possession of the entire school, especially amongst the girls.

The school had a small playground separated from the garden of the vicarage by a brick wall. Inside every nook and cranny of this wall were spiders. The type of spider with long thin legs and tiny bodies occupied every conceivable space imaginable. They were of plague proportion. Although I did not find these creatures particularly frightening or ugly, I could not bear the thought of one being near me, nor was I able to pick them up. The other children did not seem to have such inhibitions and collecting these spiders was the favourite pass-time amongst my peers. It was not long before my fellow pupils realised that I could not participate in this craze and from than onwards my life was made unbearable. I was the only child in the school who could not pick up one of these creatures, and until I did I was allowed no peace from the incessant torments of my peers, who would not be appeased until finally from sheer desperation I eventually plucked up the courage to pick one up. By this time the anxiety wrought upon me by the teasing and taunts of the children far surpassed the fear that I originally had of the spiders.

Nonetheless, despite the fact that I had satisfied the other children with regard to the spiders, I was still subjected to bouts of bullying and threats that I thought would be carried out. Throughout the entire duration of one particular lesson I would be threatened with violence. Eventually I would feign illness in order to avoid attending certain classes where the teacher seemed either to be unaware of the situation or simply did not care. Again I could not tell my parents, who still thought that I was more than capable of taking care of myself.

This misconception on the part of my parents may have been the result of my tendency to put on weight; consequently they thought that I could fight my own battles. I did not feel so confident and did not want to put this theory to the test. Despite my distress I did not want to spoil my parents illusion, as if by doing so I would become lower in their estimation. Therefore I felt that I had no other way of solving this problem other than to pretend that I was ill. However, as this illness occurred on the same day each week, my great aunt became suspicious and I was forced to admit that I had been lying. I could not tell them why, and merely said that I did not like this particular lesson.

More and more, I began to dread each school day. On Sundays I would be apprehensive; I could not enjoy Sunday knowing that on the following day I would have to go to school. Fear welled up inside as I greeted each day with dreaded anticipation.

There was nothing whatsoever about this school that mitigated its awfulness. There where only two classes, first and second years where together in one class and third and forth years where in another. In retrospect I cannot understand why my parents sent us to such an unsuitable school. My mother had been of the opinion that a smaller school would be more suitable for my sister and I because of our problems with shyness. I neither understood nor agreed with this theory; I felt that because the school was so small that our shyness was more easily noticed and we became obvious targets for bullying. Eventually this school closed down and we, along with the rest of its students, were transferred to a neighbouring school that was much larger. This school, Hazel Street Junior, was also to become problematic but I was not so singled out as I had been at my former school. Nevertheless life at Hazel Street Junior was to be most distasteful indeed.

Two problems seemed to dominate: firstly I was now considerably over weight, now at the age of ten I weighed ten stones, secondly I had been put into a special class for children with learning difficulties. My chronic stress had made it impossible for me to learn. It is now an accepted fact that one cannot learn when one is in a permanent state of stress. Why no one realised that I was having problems is not obvious, however, society in general was not as aware of such matters as it is today. My parents nonetheless knew that I had an above average IQ why did they allow me to be placed in a such a class when clearly my learning difficulties were caused by anxiety rather than lack of ability. Both of these problems made my life at school more difficult than it would otherwise have been. My weight was an obvious target for tormentors. The most persistent were two boys who would constantly call me fatty. They would also call me Danny Lambert - Daniel Lambert was an extraordinarily fat man who lived in Leicester during the eighteenth century. They would tease me in this way until I was either reduced to tears or in such a state of anger, that I would chase them round the playground. I was now beginning to feel that the only way that I could resolve this problem with bullying was to retaliate with violence. However, I could never catch either of these two boys because I was too fat to run fast enough. Eventually, after suffering an accident, in which I damaged my knee, making it impossible for me to chase them, the teasing stopped. It was obviously no fun now that I could not give chase. It was this that the boys had enjoyed; the tormenting had not been malicious, merely fun - at least for them. To me though this taunting had really hurt and had destroyed the small amount of confidence that I had. The fact that I was in a special class provided more ammunition for teasing or outright bullying. Although none of this bullying at this time was ever violent, it was nevertheless destructive. Why me! I never knew, there were others in the special class; others who were fat who attended school with out being singled out for bullying.

During these stress filled days at school I began to have nightmares. Whether they were caused by my problems at school or they were the result of the subtle growth of my neurosis, I am not certain. I would wake from my sleep screaming. However, upon waking I could not remember what I had dreamed but I would be consumed with fear for a long time afterwards. I would be too afraid to return to sleep. Sleepwalking also became a problem particularly when I was away from home. Now that we owned the shop we could afford holidays, which we usually spent in North Wales. Although I enjoyed these holidays immensely, I was beset with the problem of sleepwalking. One night I crept into my parents room whilst we were staying in a guesthouse and proceeded to look for my watch talking as I did so. I was of course totally oblivious to this and awoke to find myself in my parents’ room. My mother pointed out that it was fortunate that I had not gone into one of the other guest’s rooms. These sleep disorders added a new dimension of fear to the night. As I have previously mentioned, I was somewhat anxious about sleeping, as I considered it to be like death. If this thought occurred to me before I went to sleep at night, I would become sick with dread and try not to fall asleep.

Despite all the other problems at school, the fear of death still hung over my life. It was always there, even if it was only in the background, adding a pall of gloom over the few happy events of my life. Indeed it was at such times that the concept of death would present itself into my mind much more frequently. There were certain situations that seemed to precipitate this type of thought; one of these was a visit to the local museum in New Walk.

As children we made many trips to this Museum either with our parents or with other children who had befriended us; two older boys who lived near us had gone out of their way to be friendly. These visits to this particular museum filled me with a profound sense of unease. Both my sister and I found the Egyptian room to be particularly daunting. Neither my sister nor I would enter the Egyptian room for it seemed to us that the Egyptians had a morbid preoccupation with death. Egypt to us symbolised death. The ancient mummies in the museum epitomised the horror of death and decay, and highlighted for me the concept of the inexorable passing of time and our inescapable fate. I contemplated the immense amount of time that had passed since these people had died, chills of horror ran down my spine; cold apprehension clutched my heart. My legs would feel weak and my whole body felt shaky. I would in this, and similar stressful instances, have the strange feeling of unrealness. Even though the children who accompanied us were our friends, they would tease us unmercifully about our obvious trepidation. It is important to mention that my sister also had an overwhelming fear of death, whether or not she had similar ruminations as mine I do not know. She became obviously distressed if the subject was mentioned.

At this time in our childhood my sister and I were avid collectors of dinosaur stickers that we would stick into a book especially for that purpose. We were intensely fascinated with the dinosaurs and their world. We were very fond of the gentle herbivores, about which we made up childish stories personifying our favourite dinosaur diplodocus. Notwithstanding the immense pleasure that I derived from this interest, the mysterious world of the dinosaur filled me with unease as I contemplated the vast amount of time that had elapsed since their existence and their demise - a time span that seemed incomprehensible. Yet eternity was longer, unending. The quietness that must have filled the earth in those distant times seemed to me to be reminiscent to the silence of eternity, the stillness of death.

Although I still had some religious belief the thought that death was the end of my existence was beginning to occur to me much more regularly. This thought of unending oblivion horrified me. The fear that this thought induced was hitherto unequalled.

It was during this time at junior school that I began to have the compulsive urge to mutilate myself. Although I use the word compulsive now, at the time however I did not analyse my feelings or make any attempt to either control or understand my strange behaviour. Moreover, I did not consider that my behaviour was in any way bizarre. Nevertheless, I realised that my behaviour would not be considered to be appropriate and if my parents found out I knew that I would be in trouble. With increasing frequency, I would feel the urge to mutilate myself by continually scratching various areas of my body until large scabs formed. I recall how I actually enjoyed inflicting this pain upon myself and derived perverse pleasure from observing how my skin gradually became sorer and sorer, until it finally became red raw. I would continue in this manner until I was bleeding and my skin was torn away. I would scratch an area of skin of considerable size, than the following morning a large scab would have formed. I experienced a strange satisfaction from seeing these scabs and would continually pick at them until they bled.

At first I began by mutilating myself in this manner upon my arms, eventually however I would practise this perverse mutilation all over my body. In retrospect it now seems strange that my parents did not notice this strange behaviour for some considerable time - sufficient time for it to become a habit - as on most occasions I scratched myself in this manner in the evening whilst we were all together watching TV. I was of course careful not to be too obvious, nevertheless it now seems inconceivable that no one observed my behaviour.

Why I behaved in this way I do not recall. As I have previously mentioned I did derive some masochistic pleasure from this behaviour, whether or not this was the conscious reasoning behind my perversity I do not now remember. One thing however is most definitely certain - I did not mutilate myself to get attention. As I have already stated, I knew that if I was discovered I would be in trouble.

Eventually my parents began to notice these scabs and took me to the doctors, no doubt thinking that I was suffering from some fearful illness - my mother always thought the worst. I of course could not admit that these wounds were self-inflicted. I also hoped that the doctor did not realise what I was doing. Naturally the doctor knew immediately what the problem was and asked me if I had done it deliberately. I could not now deny what I had been doing; I admitted that I had been scratching myself. I attempted to mitigate the bizarreness of my behaviour by telling him that I was very itchy, and could not therefore help scratching myself. The doctor made no comment, although he must have known that I was lying. Furthermore, he made no effort to find out why I was behaving in this way. My mother made no comment during this consultation, we merely returned home. The matter was never mentioned by either my mother or my father; I quite expected to be punished but nothing whatsoever happened. I can only assume that my parents considered that the best way to handle this problem was to simply ignore it. However, having been discovered I never behaved this way again during my childhood.

Another problem that presented itself during childhood was hypochondria. In fact both my sister and I had tendencies towards hypochondria; my sister however suffered from this neurosis more than I. She was always in a profound state of fear imagining that every irregularity in her body was due to some terrible illness. Any ache or pain however sight would become distorted, her fear filled mind conjured up all manner of dreadful scenarios in which she imagined that she had a terminal illness, usually cancer. She became so neurotic in this respect, that when the occasion arrived in which she was genuinely ill with appendicitis, my father was somewhat reluctant to take her to the doctors. Fortunately he overcame his reluctance.

Although hypochondria was not as severe a problem in childhood as it was to become in adulthood, the fear of illness was nevertheless a course of great anxiety. I clearly recall one such panic concerning the state of my health; it occurred one evening when we had been allowed to stay up late. When it was time to go to bed I became terrified as I felt that my whole body was tingling, as though an electrical current had been passed through it. I was panic stricken and cried uncontrollably, I imagined that I had Leukaemia and as a consequence I would die. I did not know what the symptoms of Leukaemia where. I knew that it was a blood disease and as such I reasoned that it would be felt all over the body. My distorted illogical reasoning convinced me that the tingling sensation I was experiencing was the result of the effects of this fearsome disease. No amount of reasoning would convince me otherwise. My father said it was nerves, he was probably right. Eventually I cried myself to sleep. In the morning the sensation was gone, and so where my fears - until the next time.

In retrospect I now realise that my entire family, except perhaps my father, was in need of help, all of us were affected in some way by neurosis. The strange behaviour of my mother and my great aunt, at least equalled the bizarreness of my compulsion to mutilate myself. The letters that I have previously mentioned, quite specifically state that my mother had neurotic tendencies. Generally my mother appeared to be moody, with bouts of irritability. She appeared not to enjoy life; there was always some underlying tension. She was aggressive and dogmatic, she was always right. She also had a certain amount of paranoia, which got steadily worse as she grew older; it is my opinion that she suffered some form of personality disorder. She had a domineering nature and was highly critical of other people. With the exception of the local undertaker’s wife and the postleawaithes she had few real friends. After moving to Western Road she lost contact altogether with these few friends. As the years went by my mother became more and more critical and suspicious of other people and their motives.

My mother suffered from severe dentist phobia - so severe that she could not take my sister and I to visit the dentist. This task was left to my great aunt. Her fear was so profound that, despite the excruciating pain of abscesses and toothache, my mother would not seek dental treatment. Even when all her teeth finally succumbed to decay, noticeably marring her appearance and ruining her self-confidence, she would not consult a dentist.

In addition to dentist phobia my mother had an irrational fear of most types of medical procedure, an anxiety problem that is much more recognised now that it was than. Her fear of hospitals was profound, only in cases of the utmost urgency would she enter one even if she herself were not having treatment. Again, as with the dentist, any hospital visits that either my sister or I had as outpatients, either my great aunt or a neighbour would always accompany us. My mother made many excuses for not taking us, however, she did not hide the fact from us that her fear of hospitals was intense.

I, in any, case much preferred to be accompanied by either my great aunt or a neighbour, as my mother was always cold and aloof and not very sympathetic despite her own obvious fears in similar circumstances. It was only really in more recent years that I became fully aware of the severe extent of my mothers fears in this regard. As children my sister and I realised that my mother had many fears, merely by listening to her anxious conversations regarding her experiences with medical procedures. It may have been my mother’s fearful conversations regarding her prenatal experiences that instilled into both my sister and I an inordinate fear of childbirth. My mother would tell us of how afraid she had been when she was pregnant; she said how anxious she had been whilst having prenatal examinations. Our mother horrified us by telling us how the doctor had inserted his entire hand into her womb, in order to examine and turn the baby. Perhaps in her naivety she had thought that this had happened. I do not understand why she felt the need to tell us about these experiences, which to our childish minds were indeed very daunting. On such occasions, when this story was being told I would quietly resolve to remain childless. My mother’s medical phobia was so severe that she did not like to watch hospital dramas on TV neither could she tolerate any conversation about such matters.

In addition she suffered from many other phobias: but these where not as disabling as the dentist and medical phobias. She had an inordinate fear of thunderstorms, whenever one occurred she would sit on the stairs with all the bedroom doors closed leaving her in total darkness. She would not leave this dark sanctuary for any reason. During a thunderstorm my father had to manage in the shop alone. Another of my mother anxieties concerned travelling by train; she had a great fear of tunnels and other enclosed spaces. She would of necessity travel by train; nonetheless, her trepidation would be marked. She however adamantly refused to travel on the underground.

My mother was also very superstitious; we were prohibited from breaking any superstitious ritual. Many of my mother’s superstitious fears were not familiar to others. She had her own home made set of superstitious ritualistic behaviour or taboos that no one else had ever heard of. One of these was sewing on Sunday. Mother was obviously distressed if anyone did any sewing on Sunday, as she thought that it was unlucky to do so. Superstitious belief or magical thinking is part of the OCD syndrome - an obsession that I would develop in adulthood that would utterly rule my life, with devastating effect. How serious this problem was for my mother is difficult to say as obsessive - compulsives are very adept at covering up this type of behaviour, even from their own families. My husband was not aware of this bizarre aspect of my condition for some considerable time. He may never have found out, had I not confided in him when the condition became severe. Unlike the more overt rituals of washing and checking, the sufferer can obey the demands of a superstitious ritual almost indefinitely, whilst finding plausible excuses for any ritual that may be noticed.

The depression that was my mother’s constant companion produced an air of apathy in her attitude to life. This may have been the reason why she took no pride whatsoever in the house; she was not in the least house-proud. Neither was she very concerned about its maintenance; she actively discouraged my father from decorating. When from absolute necessity any decoration was carried out it was done in a slipshod manner, and in the quickest possible time in order to avoid any disruption. For instance my parents would not remove the furniture that stood near the wall, such as a bookcase, but instead would paint around it. Wallpaper was hung with no attention to detail: no attempt was made to match patterns or to eliminate bubbling or creasing. On one occasion my father bought some floor tiles to replace the worn-out linoleum in the kitchen. My mother persuaded him to lay them on top of the existing floor covering. She could not cope with the disruption of removing the old linoleum to do the job properly.

This idiosyncratic behaviour may have been due to obsessive-compulsive tendencies, many obsessive-compulsives, including myself, find the prospect of decorating very daunting indeed. Alternatively, she may simply have considered such things to have been unimportant, perhaps she considered life was just too short for such considerations and there were more important issues that she need to devote her time and energies to. She of course may have been too depressed to care.

My mother’s apathy extended to most areas of her life including the housework, she was not organised at all domestically. If she was an obsessive-compulsive her perfectionist tendencies did not manifest themselves in this respect. With one or two insignificant exceptions she had no obvious fear of dirt or germs, quite the contrary in fact: the house was filthy. The kitchen seethed with chaos and confusion; nothing was ever put away after use, there was more food on the table than in either the larder or the refrigerator. The oven was rarely cleaned, except when my father cleaned it. The whole kitchen was thoroughly unhygienic and was only superficially cleaned on the rare occasion when the mood to do so overcame my mother. Notwithstanding her slothful attitude towards housework my mother had a fixation about the curtains. Disregarding the grime that increasingly overtook the rest of the house, she insisted on taking down the curtains and washing them at very frequent intervals. - Far more often than would be normal.

As children we tended not to notice the condition of the house or our mother’s apathy and unhappiness. I never once considered that our home was unclean or unhygienic, it is only now in retrospect that I look back in horrified fascination. How did we survive such filthy conditions - yet we did, none of us ever suffered from food poisoning or even an upset stomach as a result of our unhygienic environment? Apart from the illnesses already mentioned in early childhood, we were remarkable healthy.

In spite of my mother’s lack of attention to cleanliness, she had one or two quirks about dirt and germs that seemed oddly out of place considering her prevailing attitude towards hygiene. For instance she was always anxious whenever it rained because of the "filthy streets". She also considered that dogs were dirty and referred to the little park opposite the infants’ school as "dog muck" park.

We had nevertheless quite a menagerie of animals. At one time we had a budgerigar, a fish and a cat. We were never restricted from either kissing the cat or allowing the budgerigar to stand on the edge of our plates and pick at our food with its beck whilst we ate. I recall these incidents now with some abhorrence, yet at the time it never occurred to any of us that out behaviour was unhygienic or harmful, or that anyone might become ill - even die. It would have been impossible for me to envision the fact that, in later years I would be reduced to abject terror if an animal so much as touched me.

My unhappiness at junior school grew steadily worse. My parents did not like sending either my sister or I to school because of the severe distress that it caused us. Instead of trying to solve the problem regarding out inability to mix and enjoy school life, my parents tended to help us avoid situations at school, such as sports, that were exceptionally traumatic for us.

Sports were for me an unmitigated misery. I was still very much overweight and as a consequence found it very difficult to participate in sport. In running events I invariably let my team down as I could not run very fast and always came last. This caused me untold misery, as the other children, most of whom took sport very seriously, would threaten me. I was also teased more often during PE lessons than at any other time because of my weight. Eventually, because of my distress, my parents would give me the day off in order for me to avoid sporting events that were in any way competitive.

My parents would commiserate with both my sister and I regarding our dislike of school and would tell us of their own traumatic experiences of school life. Both my parents, but more particularly my father, told us that we were not very clever, therefore attendance at school was not really important and we only attended school because it was the requirement of the law to do so. My parents made no secret of the fact that they did not like having to send us to school, because of the empathy that they felt towards us concerning the unpleasant experiences that we both had to endure. Naturally at that time I considered my parents attitude to be advantageous, as it allowed my sister and I to have frequent time away from school. We also considered that our parents were very understanding about other ordeals such as the dentist.

Periodically the school nurse would see each pupil in order to carry out a superficial heath check. This included an oral examination. As I have already mentioned both my sister and I were inordinately terrified of the dentist. Any previous dental work had been carried out under a general anaesthetic because of my acute anxiety; my sister however would not be induced to go under any circumstances. During my time in junior school my teeth were in very good condition despite neglect. No one in our family attended the dentist for regular check ups: the only time that I visited the dentist was when it was unavoidable to do so because of severe toothache. As I have previously stated, my mother would never attended in spite of excruciating pain. Both my father and mother added to our trepidation by telling us that dental work, particularly fillings, could be painful; my father told us it was better to have the tooth removed than to risk being subjected to pain if the dentist accidentally hit a nerve. To our conception the dentist invariably inflicted pain - pain was unavoidable unless anaesthetised. Notwithstanding my father’s ominous stories about the dentist, he amazed us one day when he returned home with no teeth: he had had them all removed using only a local anaesthetic.

On one occasion, when the school nurse examined both my sister and I, she was appalled at the state of dental decay in my sister’s mouth: nearly all her back teeth were rotten (she was only eight or nine at the time). According to the school nurse my teeth were in good condition except for one small hole in one of my back teeth, which could easily be rectified with a filling. In a report to our parents she recommended that we receive immediate dental care. However, so terrified were both my sister and I at the daunting prospect of visiting the dentist that my parents decided not to take us. We were profoundly relieved. I can still recall my trepidation, and how, even at the age of ten, I felt that life was unfair; my life seemed to be constantly marred by fear and dread. It appeared to me that life was filled with events that induced incredible fear and constant worry. I tended to live life tainted by the cold chill of anxiety.

In retrospect my parents were very wrong and although they may have meant well, I now harbour a certain amount of resentment towards them for their irresponsible attitude with regard to our dental care. I still have a phobia about receiving dental care. At the age of twenty-five I lost half of my teeth, they were removed under a general anaesthetic because of the intensity of my fear.

What made my parents behave the way they did is difficult to conjecture. My mother’s attitude may have been the result of her own inability to cope with, not only her own fears, but ours also. Perhaps her anxieties in such situations as the dentist brought her own fears to the fore and she simply could not cope. It is important to point out that the dental profession in those days did not take into consideration such problems as dental phobia; many dentists lacked insight into this matter and were, in my experience, impatient towards obviously frightened children. School dentists were particularly notorious for their lack of understanding in this regard - we never visited a school dentist.

Notwithstanding my inability to integrate socially with my peers I managed to have a couple of casual friendships with two girls whilst attending Hazel Street School; neither of these friendships were initiated by me. Neither of these friendships lasted long and were both somewhat superficial; I could not interact with other children, I seemed unable to be casual or relaxed. I found it impossible to be myself and have fun with other children of a similar age. I longed to be like everyone else, but felt different, alienated and alone. One of these friendships was with a girl named Ann, who was in the same class as I. She had foster parents who did not appear to care for her: she had hardly any cloths, other than her school uniform, and virtually no toys. Eventually these foster parents relinquished their long-standing responsibility for their foster daughter and had her transferred from their care into a children’s home. Nonetheless, despite her situation, she was a happy girl, always giggling. Our friendship failed because I became friendlier with another girl who unexpectedly called on me one morning, so that we could go to school together. Why I could not have the two friendships at the same time I do not know. But for some reason I was not as friendly with Ann afterwards. I felt extremely guilty, but it seemed beyond my social skills at the time to integrate these two friendships.

My new friend whose name was Jane came from a very poor family who lived further along the road in which I lived, so we were able to see each other out of school hours. We were friends only for a very short while, the friendship ended when she became friendly with another girl. I became jealous and accused Jane of only playing with me because I lived in a sweet shop and always had plenty of sweets to share. In retrospect this was entirely my imagination and was precipitated not only by my jealously but by my lack of self esteem - I could not believe that someone wanted to be my friend with out having some ulterior motive for doing so. During a disagreement concerning Jane’s other friend I told her never to call for me again. She never did. I bitterly regretted losing my friendship with Jane; thereafter I had no friends during my time at junior school.

I was consequently very lonely. I felt conspicuous by my loneliness. School trips were awful; I had no one to sit with on the coach, no one to accompany me when we arrived at our destination. On one trip I can clearly recall having to sit with a child whom I did not know at all. When we arrived I had to sit alone to eat my lunch whilst the others gathered together in groups: I than had to follow the others around the stately home that we had visited alone with no one to talk with. I simply could not make friends. I wanted to be like everyone else but there seemed to be a block, an inability to communicate with my peers. I could not initiate friendships; I was tongue-tied.

My sister and I had the same difficulties in this regard; my sister had very few friendships, those she had were very shallow. My sister and I became increasingly shyer; both of us had an aversion towards other children. This fear - for indeed there was no mistaking the essence of our emotions in this matter - was exceptionally strong, almost phobic in its proportions. Very often when we were out together we determined by any means possible to avoid contact with other children. We would run the other way if any approached us or encroached upon our playing area. The very sight of a group of children, especially if we did not know them, would produce waves of anxiety. Consequently we sought places of seclusion were we could play with out the threat of torment - both my sister and I seemed somehow to be obvious targets for children who were disposed to teasing or bullying. Therefore (with the exception of the two local boys already mentioned, who befriended us just towards the end of my time at junior school) for most of our free time we played with each other. If I had not had a sister of similar age I would have been very lonely. Although we fought like cat and dog, we were nevertheless companions and went everywhere together. However, our relationship was very distant as far as intimacy was concerned. As with all my other relationships within the family we remained aloof, there was virtually no physical contact, we rarely confided in one another and tended to be jealous of each other. There was always some underlying rivalry between us. Few people have been close to me either emotionally or physically; I have had few friends of either gender. As a child I considered myself to be inferior to everyone and intellectually inadequate. I also considered myself to be ugly, with a dull personality. I imagined that because I was of low intelligence that as a consequence I was of no interest to others. Today in adulthood I still have these feelings to a great degree.

After completing the required number of years at junior school I was sent to a secondary school a short distance from my home - I had of course utterly failed my eleven plus. My mother had told me that it didn’t matter, I would not like a "snobby grammar school "and that I would be better off going to a secondary school. I couldn’t have cared less about whether or not I passed school exams; school was simply an ordeal to go through, it never occurred to me to make any effort to learn. All I wanted was for these years of torment to pass as quickly as possible. It did however occur to me that even if I wanted to learn, it would not be possible because I was not very clever. During all my school life I considered that I was subnormal intellectually - after all that is what had been implied throughout my life.

The secondary school was large in comparison to my previous school. The prospect of attending this school was indeed most daunting. At that time Westcotes secondary school of education was not a co-educational school; both boys and girls attended the school but the school was divided in such a way that they were totally separated from one another. Although housed under the same roof they were essentially separate schools. I preferred it this way - I did not like boys in the least; their torments seemed more hurtful than that of the girls.

During the school holidays, that preceded the commencement of my secondary education, I was in an increasing state of apprehension as the first day at my new school came inexorably nearer. A lot of this trepidation was partly caused by the rumours that had been circulated amongst the forth year pupils at junior school. These rumours consisted of accounts of typical bullying of first year students by the older children at the school. One rumour was particularly anxiety provoking and concerned the initiation of new comers to the school, who by all accounts were bumped several times on their first day at school. Although this practice was considered by some, including those who were destined to be included in this procedure, to be a harmless prank, it was to others, such as myself who were more sensitive, to be a daunting prospect indeed. I became quite worried about this: despite the fact that all first year students were subjected to bumping, I dreaded it and considered that this initiation portended the type of unpleasant treatment that I would be subjected to throughout my entire life at secondary school. I was still considerably overweight and thought that this would make me a target for bullying. Moreover, I became increasingly aware that I appeared to be somewhat different from my peers - at least I felt that I was. I could not explain the exact nature of this perceived difference; it was not merely physical, although I felt the odd one out due to my appearance. It was something I could not define, I simply did not feel that I fitted in. I was of a very nervous disposition, perhaps the other children were aware of this, as children tend to be. According to the stories that were circulated at junior school, first year pupils could be subjected to bullying, teasing and general mistreatment - even violence - during the entire first year, after which one graduated to a less trouble free time in the second year as new pupils took ones place. One year was a very long time.

I was also anxious about being bumped because of a problem that I had with my hip. What precisely was wrong with my hip was never correctly diagnosed. I had been to the hospital for tests, but the results had been inconclusive. My father told me that it was rheumatism - no doubt in an effort to quell the anxieties that I had concerning illness. The pain that I experienced at that time with my hip caused me to walk with a limp, I was therefore rather anxious that being bumped might cause further problems or damage to my hip.

I greeted the arrival of my first day at school with mounting dread. I paced up and down in the sitting room like a condemned man as the seconds ticked away. Fortunately my distress was somewhat mitigated by the arrival of a second year pupil, Jane, who lived nearby and who had been assigned by the school to call for me and accompany me to school and to generally show me the ropes. I was not aware of this school policy regarding new pupils but I was extremely glad of her company despite my shyness and social ineptness. My mother did not like this girl and was very critical when she arrived so unexpectedly. My mother even suggested to me that I might prefer to go to school alone, which I most certainly did not. As I have previously mentioned, my mother was always extremely critical; her scathing tongue was always so disparaging and condemning, so much so that I tended to believe that the majority of people were not very pleasant having little to redeem themselves and were therefore imperfect and best avoided. Notwithstanding my mother’s condemnation of this girl I determined to allow her to accompany me to school.

I found Jane to be a very pleasant girl who eased me into my first day rather well. Nevertheless, I spent my first break in the playground alone, still rather tense about the possibility of being bumped despite the fact that I had been made exempt from this ordeal after Jane had explained to her peers that I had something wrong with my hip and may incur further problems if I were bumped. I was not afraid of any pain that might ensue - this had not occurred to me at all. It was an indefinable dread, probably of humiliation. There was also some paranoia involved, I knew that I would take this as a personal and malicious attack, which of course it was not. This kind of paranoia was to cause me a lot of problems throughout, not only this final phase of my school life, but my adult life also, particularly after the emergence of full-blown OCD in my early twenties.

During my time at Westcotes secondary school I was subjected to teasing and outright bullying. I was involved in several fights and was threatened with violence. Life at school was a nightmare, I longed for the day when I would be able to leave and escape the constant anxieties associated with school.

With one exception I did not make any friends and at most times felt unpopular. The exception was a short period when a group of girls in my class included me in their ball games; however, there was no association with them outside of school hours. Much to my amazement I was indeed quite popular with them and it was their vote that elected me as their form captain, a position I did not expect or want. As form captain I was responsible for keeping the" mark book " in which the teacher kept a record of each pupil’s behaviour by the allocation of good or bad marks. The form captain was also required to supervise the rest of the class in the absence of the teacher - a task that I found impossible because of my shyness. For some inexplicable reason I could never tell my parents about my newly elevated status. I was never able to share the simplest of achievements with them. Furthermore I still could not tell my parents about my problems with bullying, they knew that I did not like school and that both my sister and I could not integrate socially but I could not confide in them about specific incidents.

My close friendship with these girls came to an end as a result of a fight in the playground with another group of girls. We had been playing our usual ball game when we were interrupted by another group who ran off with our ball and commenced a game of their own despite our protests. Why? Simply for the hell of it, merely to maliciously torment. They were mindless little troublemakers, nothing more, who derived some kind of perverted pleasure for themselves by making other children’s lives a misery. I became extremely agitated. I was so tired of this type of behaviour from some of the other pupils, especially the girl who appeared to be the leader of this group. She was notorious for violent behaviour and for bullying those much younger than herself. Notwithstanding her perverse reputation I was enraged and started a fight with her. I was indeed extremely angry with this obnoxious child and had been so for a long time; I was keenly aware of her reputation and even though she had done me no harm until today, I had despised her utterly for the distress that she wrought upon others who were vulnerable. Soon after the fight commenced the teacher on playground duty separated us. During the ensuing struggle I twisted my knee, this was the reoccurrence of an old injury; some years earlier I had pulled a ligament, now every time since than I had trouble with it whenever it gave way in this manner. I was reprimanded more severely than my opponent of whom this teacher seemed anxious. The teacher was most unsympathetic and made no attempt to find the reason for the violent altercation between this girl and I. Moreover, the teacher insisted that I was making a fuss about nothing regarding the injury to my knee and refused to believe me when I told her that by the morning my knee would swell and I would be unable to walk without pain. In retrospect I am somewhat shocked by the attitude of this teacher who like her colleagues could have done much more to prevent the occurrence of such incidents and thus make life at school more tolerable for the majority. In an environment such as this it was virtually impossible to learn, especially for those who were rather over sensitive. As I had predicted based upon past experience, my knee began to swell rapidly and by next morning I was barely able to walk. Much to my delight I had to have time off from school because of my injury, notwithstanding the pain and in the incapacity I welcomed this respite from the misery of school life.

Unfortunately all things in life have a down side: on my return to school I could not participate in ball games with these friends as it took several weeks for my knee to completely heal. Therefore I had to remain in the lower playground, where pupils were not allowed to play ball games. This playground was set-aside for those pupils who wanted to sit and eat their lunch and chat. Because of my inability to participate in ball games my popularity soon waned. It was the end of an era, albeit a short one; I was never again to have such a pleasant association with my peers or feel part of a group.

Towards the end of my second year at secondary school, to my great consternation, we learnt that at the commencement of the following term Westcotes school was to become co-educational; the boy’s and girl’s departments were to be amalgamated. This caused me to be concerned about my appearance - most certainly the boys would make unkind remarks about my weight. This would hurt more than the girl’s torments. By now, like most girls of my age I was very concerned about how I would appear to the opposite sex. I was not quite as obese as I had been at junior school; nevertheless I was till considerably overweight and I was ugly. I felt grossly ugly, in my wildest dreams I could not envision the possibility that any boy would be interested in me. Furthermore I also now wore glasses. When I had first been prescribed glasses I was quite pleased with them and felt that they made me look different from everyone else. Now however I was keenly aware that girls who wore glasses were not considered to be attractive, the saying that "boys do not make passes at girls with glasses" would no doubt be quite true. Glasses in the early sixties were, in my opinion, not very flattering and although my parents had paid for private frames the style of the time did nothing to enhance my looks whatsoever and did much to reduce my self-esteem, which had in any case been very low. There was not a lot that I could do regarding my glasses; I needed to wear them. My mother had told me the reason the optician had considered it necessary for me to wear glasses: apparently, according to my mother, I had an astigmatism and if I did not wear glasses to correct this condition I would become cross-eyed. This would render me even more unattractive, therefore after some consideration I decided that I really had no choice other than to continue to wear them until the condition improved.

Therefore, I felt that I needed to make a special effort with my body image in other respects in order to compensate for having to wear glasses. The biggest problem was my weight - well it was the only problem that could be rectified. I disliked my appearance for all manner of reasons. I considered myself to be grossly overweight particularly round the waist and hips. I was also very self conscious about having a double chin, having been continually reminded of this, not only by the other children, by my sister also. My mother added to my anxiety concerning my body image by forever reminding me I was big boned - this remark made me feel clumsy and unattractive.

Why did my mother make such comments? Was it an attempt to rationalise my weight problem by implying that I was large as a consequence of my bone structure rather than as a result of being fat. This is of course conjecture, I will never know what motivated my mother to say such things, I only knew that it hurt: it hurt like hell and greatly undermined my self confidence. In retrospect I was over weight, but not excessively so, but the words "big boned" played upon my mind implying that I was big, that I was awkward and fat, even to this day I will not allow anyone to refer to me has being big boned, as it still has a very detrimental effect on the way that I see myself.

Just before the commencement of the long summer holidays I determined to diet, and diet I did with obsessive fervour. In those days dieting was not the obsession that it is today, shops did not contain the proliferation of diet books and magazines offering advice and information, it was rarely mentioned on either the TV or radio. Nonetheless I had an idea of the necessary foods to exclude from my diet in order to lose weight. My great aunt had been on diets most of her life, none seemed to make a lot of difference, however, she was uneducated in the methods of dieting. She would eat "Energin" rolls, which we referred to as cotton wool and tasted about as palatable, instead of bread and added saccharin to her tea, but as far as my memory serves me she continued to eat every thing else in the normal way.

I was however aware that I needed to exclude fat and sugar from my diet if I was to lose weight. I therefore fastidiously eliminated everything from my diet with out exception that contained fat and sugar: such as sweets, biscuits, cakes and ice cream, I allowed myself nothing from a long list of forbidden foods. I was relentless, obsessive in my determination - this fanatical behaviour was indicative of the type of character trait that would eventually rule my life. I would not be thwarted from my goal of a much slimmer, more attractive figure. There was intense opposition from the other members of the family. Both my mother and my great aunt were insistent that my course of action was not only unnecessary but could be hazardous to my health. But I was determined to lose weight before the commencement of the autumn term. I must have dieted with determination - when the new term started no one called me fatty again.

The amalgamation of the two schools was not as daunting as I had anticipated it to be. I did not think that I would be able to integrate socially with the boys, much less have a boyfriend - in spite of my dieting and subsequent slimmer figure, I still felt unattractive. However, I was relieved that I was no longer tormented about my size. Although I was teased in a different way: the Chad part of Chadwick was changed to Madwick by the boys. This type of teasing by the boys was more good-humoured and less spiteful than that of the girls. I had thought that the boy’s teasing would have hurt me more than that of the girls. It did not, as I was relieved to find. I was occasionally called four eyes, which hurt a little but was insignificant compared to being called fatty.

I was still unable to integrate socially with my peers: I found it impossible to form a friendship with either gender. I now had no friends at all. I would occupy a desk alone. If anyone did sit next to me it was only because there was nowhere else for he or she to sit. Break time was either spent alone or with my sister and her few friends, who by this time had started their first year at secondary school. I was now in my third year. I made some effort to make friends particularly if a new pupil started school. At one time an Indian girl joined a class in my year; although she was in a different class I made some attempt to form a friendship with her as I considered it was much easier to try and make friends with someone who did not know anything about me and would therefore be unaware of my shyness and social ineptitude. Unfortunately this relationship did not work out. She was absent from school for considerable periods of time and eventually left with out any goodbye and for no apparent reason. I had acquaintances, girls with whom I would occasionally chat but no real friendships were formed, they seemed aware of my awkwardness.

At weekends neither my sister nor I had friends to go out with, those few friends that my sister had at school lived too far away. Therefore as we were of similar age we pursued our leisure time together. It was at this time that my great aunt died. She had suddenly become ill; at first flu was diagnosed however as her illness progressed she deteriorated rapidly and was confined to bed. My mother found this a trying time, not only because of her concern for my great aunt, but also because she found it difficult to cope with looking after someone who was so sick. My mother was also terrified of illness that made it extremely difficult for her to cope with such a severe malady. Eventually my great aunt became so ill that she had to be admitted into hospital were she died shortly afterwards, alone; my mother did not stay with my aunt even though we were informed that her death was imminent. My sister and I were not permitted to see her by the hospital staff, later we learnt that she had died from TB.

It was a very traumatic time for all of us. My father, despite his antagonism towards my great aunt, had genuinely been concerned when she became ill. Much to our surprise he had visited her in hospital - perhaps he regretted the way he had behaved towards her and wished to make amends before it was too late. I find it difficult to express how I felt at this time. I had dreaded the day when my great aunt would eventually die and I would lose this person whom I had loved for the entirety of my life. Although the concern over the possibility of my great aunt’s death had not been quite the obsessive preoccupation that it had once been, it was nevertheless a dreadful time now that this rumination had become reality. She was the only person in the world who loved me unconditionally. I felt a kind of numbness, I did not cry a lot and felt guilty because I thought that I should. Both my sister and I experienced further anxieties about death; this was the first time that our lives had been personally touched by death. We both attended the funeral. My mother was worried about how my sister would cope. Both she and my father seemed totally oblivious to the problems that I had in this regard, no one was ever really aware of this aspect of my life. My mother assumed that I was the strong one and, unlike my sister, was able to cope with anything. My sister appeared to cope well with my aunt’s death, in retrospect however it had a profound effect upon her. Her hypochondria increased along with her shyness and general anxiety. I cannot recall with any great accuracy how much or for how long my great aunt’s death affected me. I felt guilty that I had not been as kind or as considerate towards my great aunt as I should have been; during the commencement of my teens I had become rude and uncooperative towards her. Why? I do not know. She loved me I knew; yet I was very unpleasant to her on many occasions.

It is difficult to recall the events of my life in chronological order, especially the events pertaining to the emergence of OCD. I cannot recall whether the next significant phase of the disorder occurred before or after the death of my great aunt. It did however occur during early adolescence, during the time in which most teenagers go through a period of self-examination and introspection. I began to experience feelings that can now be described as existential terror.

It was at this time that I began to seriously doubt the existence of God, which consequently increased my doubts concerning the possibility of an afterlife - even one as awful as hell. Instead of the prospect of an endless torment in hell, inducing within me an utter dread of death, I now ruminated upon the prospect of endless oblivion. I had had similar doubts during my junior school days but they had not been as frequent or as pronounced. During these periods of morbid contemplation, which were entirely involuntary I did not want such distressing thoughts forcing their way into my mind, I would be in an intense state of fear that lasted many hours. During these periods of morbid reverie I would sit in my chair vaguely aware of the presence of other family members. My mother considered that I was merely being moody and chose to ignore me. No one asked what was wrong. I was not encouraged to volunteer any information that might explain my depressed mood.

From that time onwards, throughout the rest of my life I would be beset with this and many other types of existential thought, it would vary in its degree of intensity but would nevertheless continue to occupy more and more of my thinking processes. I would be preoccupied with the contemplation concerning the meaning of life; the inexorable passing of time; the origins of life and the universe - reflections upon the vastness of the universe filled me with inordinate terror. During these periods of morbid rumination I would compare the universe with death - the duration of the state of death, like the universe stretched into infinity, like the universe it had no perceivable end. More and more I contemplated the finality of death and an eternity of oblivion, without respite, without hope of ever again existing. The fear of the ultimate annihilation of my existence, of my awareness and perception, was truly terrifying indeed. I became more and more certain that life in any form ceased in its entirety at death. There was no escape. Eternal nothingness stretched before me, an infinite emptiness. These ruminations concerning the nature of death were far more terrifying than the thoughts of hell-fire and damnation that had comprised my earlier childhood contemplation, at least in hell one’s being was perpetuated, one was still aware even if one was consigned to an eternity of torment for one’s sins.

These thoughts would go round and round in my head. I could come to no conclusion, there was no answer to the unanswerable; I could find no thought or idea that would mitigate the awfulness of death. These thoughts were not easily dismissed from my mind, however, after some hours of acute anxiety they would diminish in their intensity, nevertheless they remained in the background, lucking waiting to return. Such thoughts negated any meaning to life; life seemed empty with out purpose. I could of course try to make the best of my life, to fill it with pleasurable and useful pursuits, but that would not be easy when my life would be marred by fear and depression. These depressing contemplative moods of philosophical reflection and existential terror were often made acute by chronic boredom. I found little of lasting satisfaction that was sufficiently absorbing enough to distract my mind from such disquieting ruminations.

Later in my teens and throughout the rest of my life I would become compulsively drawn to philosophical, religious and metaphysical subjects. I would avidly read any book on these subjects and, in my search for truth and the answers to life mysteries I would become involved with many religious cults. I did not consciously seek out such pursuits; I was not aware of these compulsions and did not realise that I in fact suffered from a psychological disorder. I do not of course imply that everyone who is interested in such subjects has a psychological disorder. Nor do I consider that everyone who contemplates the meaning of life is mentally ill. It would however be a long time before I realised that I had a problem in this regard, or that my thoughts concerning such matters were part of a recognised disorder. Nevertheless, I was aware that, in some indefinable way, I was not like other people and often felt that some day I would need to consult a psychiatrist as soon as I was old enough to do so.

It was at about this time that I was beset with other thoughts of a very troublesome nature. I became absorbed with the notion that I may be accused of killing someone. I found this idea most distressing. The thought of harming someone was totally abhorrent to me, although I had been involved in play ground fights which were nothing more than hair pulling, pushing and shoving, I would never at this time intentionally wish to seriously harm anyone or any thing. The thought that I might be accused of doing so caused some considerable anxiety. Why did I not realise the absurdity of such a bizarre notion! I do not know. I did not analyse my thought processes in this regard. The thoughts were merely there, I had no insight into them. I simply excepted them and instead of trying to ignore them, I would attempt to console myself, by telling myself that it did not matter if I was accused of such awful wrong doing, as long as I knew that I was innocent.

In those days the death penalty was still carried out, we had discussions in class about capital punishment in general and in particular the execution of Ruth Elliss. I found the contemplation of such matters very disconcerting; the thought of someone being executed filled me with profound horror. I had a keen empathy for the way the condemned person may have felt as the appointed hour of death inexorably approached. I disliked intensely any mention of the subject; films that portrayed executions were particularly depressing. When James Hanratty was executed I was particularly troubled. I had followed the trail on TV and had thought him to be innocent. I developed the strange notion that if I was to write down everything that I knew about him than in some superstitious way I would be able to save his life. Again I did not rationalise my distorted logic: It did not even occur to me that my reasoning was in any way bizarre. On the day that he was executed at eight o clock I felt distressed with some considerable anxiety. I felt profound empathy for the terrible fear that he must have experienced. Whenever there was an execution I would experience similar feelings regardless of whether or not I considered the person concerned to be innocent.

Sometimes the content of my ruminative thoughts were of a less frightening nature. I had very strong and precise views about life and how it should be lived. I was also very much aware of the injustices of life. I visualised a world in which everyone was equal, were no one was hungry and were every one had his fair share, a world in which no one exploited another in order to gain for himself a greater wealth or opportunity. I believed that everyone should work for the good of all. I strongly believed all men should be equal regardless of race, colour, creed or social position. My mother called me a communist. I could not however equate my ideology with the events that occurred behind what was than the "iron curtain." Although this type of reflection was not in itself disturbing it was nevertheless rather excessive. I was totally adamant in my beliefs, totally inflexible. This kind of philosophical or ideological preoccupation consumed far too much time for a child of my age and indicated that I was altogether too serious for someone so young.

Also during the early part of my adolescence I began to practice compulsive washing rituals. These rituals were performed mostly at bedtime and at bath time. If I could not carry out these rituals I would become anxious. The rituals involved washing my hands a certain number of times before going to bed, and whilst bathing I felt compelled to wash certain parts of my body in a specified way for a certain number of times. The compulsion to practice these rituals was not induced by the fear of contamination; these rituals were performed for superstitious reasons. I imagined that something (I did not know precisely what) would happen to me, something unlucky, something dire. If I did not religiously comply with the demands of my compulsions I became anxious that some unspecified disaster would befall me. My mother had noticed my strange behaviour, but chose to refer to my ritualistic behaviour as "silly habits" which I would eventually grow out of. These compulsions faded away with time but I cannot recall how or when. Other compulsions took their place.

Paradoxically, despite my intense fear of death, there were times when I would think of suicide, although it was more in the nature of an intrusive thought rather than a serious consideration. Life was increasingly becoming more difficult as gradually, sometimes almost imperceptibly, my neurosis and depression became worse. While I ruminated about death and contemplated philosophical and religious matters my peers were more interested in normal considerations, such as Pop music or their experiences with the opposite sex.

I did not feel part of this excitement. Although I was concerned about my appearance I knew that no boy would be in the least interested in me. I continued to feel increasingly more and more unattractive. As I have previously mentioned my mother in this regard enhanced my lack of self-esteem. She did not hide the fact that she considered my sister to be more attractive than I was. I rarely if ever remember her complementing me upon my appearance as she persistently did with my sister. Her constant praise of my sister’s good looks served to undermine my self-confidence concerning my appearance. I interpreted every complementary remark she made about my sister’s good looks to be an insidious innuendo implying that I was not as attractive. I always had the impression that she was comparing me to my sister. Why she behaved the way she did is difficult to conjecture. I must have had some redeeming features, I had at that time lovely long thick hair which I knew, despite my tendency to loath my appearance, most of the other girls envied. Yet all my mother could do was complain about how messy it was and how it made me look wild and unkempt. She insisted it was either put up in a rather Victorian-like arrangement or tied back. The more unattractive I felt, the more I began to consider that I would never have a boyfriend and would never be married.

Eventually my time at school came to a close. I had achieved very little academically, although I had won a certificate for progress in my second year, I was always placed to wards the bottom of the class. Any ability I may have had quickly diminished during my final two years as my inability to integrate socially became more pronounced. During the last year of school I rarely attended. I had my parents consent to stay at home. School had become increasingly more intolerable, and although my parents did not know precisely the problems involved they were aware that I was acutely distraught about school attendance. There were confrontations with the school regarding my absenteeism. Nevertheless no action was taken. I left school at the age of fifteen without any qualifications.

The sense of relief that I experienced at this time was profound: It was though a great burden had been lifted from my life. I felt ecstatic! I was free at last from the pressures of school; gone forever was the fear and anxiety of the other pupils. I was now an adult and as such no one would ever make me miserable again. I felt reborn. It seemed as if I were floating on air, as for the last time I walked away from school.

Although I had eagerly anticipated working I was understandably quite nervous about starting my first job. During my last year at School I had secured employment as a junior sales assistant in the high-class department store of Marshell and Snelgrove. My mother had suggested that I respond to the store advertisement in the local press inviting school leavers to train as sales assistants. My mother had worked for the store as a secretary before her marriage. She had been happy there, I had the impression that she may have tried to revive her fond memories vicariously through me. Nonetheless I was quite keen in spite of the fact that I had considered becoming a hairdresser. However, in view of the very low wage offered to apprentice hairdressers I had changed my mind - a decision that I have often regretted; I had a natural talent for hairdressing and would have made a good hair stylist. Unfortunately like many of my contemporaries my main criterion for selecting a job was money. The wages of sales assistant were also very low, but not as low as an apprentice hairdresser’s would have been.

Most of the other girls in my class at school had chosen to work in the many factories in the city. Those with higher academic achievements had chosen office work. I considered that office work was beyond my educational ability - I was hopeless at spelling. My mother had tried to encourage me to become a secretary; my mother had been successful in her former occupation despite the fact that she could not spell and had had to learn this skill with some considerable effort. I was not as confident and ignored my mother’s advice. I had considered factory work but had decided that it would be too monotonous and boring. I was also apprehensive about the sort of person I would have to work with, in those days factory workers had a reputation for being rough and ready, I imagined that the social environment would be similar to that which I had experienced at school, inasmuch as I would be singled out for persecution and become the butt of everyone’s jokes. I was still very shy; the down to earth atmosphere in a factory frightened me. In later years I would realise that this image of the factory environment was not necessarily true.

It may seem ironic to choose a career in the retail trade - after all shyness would not be considered an asset. Employees at Marshall and Snelgrove were required to promote sales. This was a high-class store catering for the middle to upper classes; sales staff were expected to not only make a sale, but also to generally please the customers by providing them with a friendly and pleasing service. It was not simply a matter of serving a customer, taking the money and handing out change, as sales assistants did in self-service stores. Specially selected juniors were required to attend training classes to enhance their selling skills with view to promotion. It was indeed a daunting task for someone who was so shy. The whole aspect of my employment seemed quite frightening; nevertheless I considered that this type of employment was infinitely preferable to the monotony of office or factory work. Moreover, I would be meeting people; I hoped that this would help me to overcome my shyness. It was therefore with mixed feelings that I eagerly waited my first day of employment at Marshall and snelgrove.

Staff at Marshall and Snelgrove was required to dress smartly in either black navy or grey. My mother had helped me to select a couple of stylish dresses and I felt reasonably confident. I did nevertheless resent the necessity of having to dress in a prescribed manner; it seemed reminiscent of my school uniform. However, it was a new experience to be able to wear stiletto heals and to be allowed to wear makeup; I felt that I had at last graduated to adulthood. My father had not allowed me to wear makeup at all whilst I was still at school; there had been some considerable tension between us about this issue. I had considered that his objections had been unreasonable: most of the other girls at school wore makeup at weekends and holidays; it was one of the many things that made my sister and I different from the others. Now that I had left school my father could not enforce his objection, although I had the impression that he did not approve of makeup for a fifteen-year-old.

My first day was a failure. I awoke with more anxiety than I had expected, my self confidence in my ability to cope with my first job was very low, nagging doubts crowded my mind: how would I know what to do, what would I say to my fellow workers, would I make a mistake and give the wrong change and most important of all, was I verbally articulate enough to make a sale? I had no conversational abilities at all especially with regards to small talk, I easily became tongue-tied and could not converse on matters that were trivial and mundane. I made my way to work with a pounding heart.

The weather that day was miserable. It rained incessantly, grey clouds hung over the city adding a depressing pall of gloom that seemed to enshroud me in despondency. The weather has always affected my mood and my ability to overcome that which I feared. I would have felt more self assured had I awoke to find a cheerful sunny day. I did not have an umbrella; consequently I arrived at my destination rather bedraggled. I had worn a hat but this had proved inadequate, my hair hung wet and dripping, hence I did not make a very good impression with the head of personnel, who said that I needed lessons in grooming. Any visage of self-confidence that remained was quickly vanquished. This was a most unfortunate start to my proposed career as a sales lady; the personnel supervisor from than onwards took a dislike to me, I was never chosen for staff training.

I was assigned to the knitting wool department and was promptly told by the other two ladies, with whom I would be working, that I should only serve a customer if both of them were already involved in making a sale. I felt quite dejected; despite my shyness, I was enthusiastic to approach the customers. Therefore I felt most discouraged. I also thought that neither of these two ladies particularly liked me, or perhaps they simply did not want the intrusion of a third person, it was obvious even to me on my first day that there was no real need for another assistant in the knitting wool department. Neither of these two ladies was particularly friendly, they merely made polite conversation. I felt awkward and embarrassed, I did not know quite what was expected of me. I was assigned various unnecessary tasks in the department - I was told that I had to look busy all the time in case the supervisor should walk through the store. I found this frustrating. Most of the time I could not comply with this futile procedure and once the necessary chores, such as dusting, tidying and replacing stock, were completed I would stand around hoping for an opportunity to serve a customer. I found if difficult to use my initiative with regards to occupying my time constructively; I was always afraid that I would do something wrong and would be made to feel foolish or inadequate.

Eventually the head of the knitting wool department consulted the personnel supervisor about my problem, explaining that there was not a lot for me to do and that I would be better working in a busier department. I was than transferred to the haberdashery department. This was altogether different. My colleges were more amiable, more down to earth. I had begun to dread going into work in the knitting wool department, now I began to enjoy my position as junior sales lady in the haberdashery department. There were other juniors also; one of who appeared to be as inept as I. We all got along together extremely well. The head of the department was a plump jovial lady with whom I was able to relate. Nonetheless it was still inordinately difficult for me to integrate socially; I had to make a determined effort, communication with my fellow workers and customers did not come naturally. I persevered and struggled incessantly to overcome my social awkwardness. Working in close proximity to genuinely amicable people was indeed an enormously advantage and I made considerable progress.

On one day each week I had to work in the kitchenware department on my own whilst the regular assistant had a day off. I was delighted. My qualms about approaching customers had not only been caused by my fears concerning my inability to converse with them, but also by my feelings of self-consciousness. I lacked confidence in front of my fellow workers, I feared that I might make a mistake and appear foolish. I would become apprehensive if I was observed by any of the other members of staff; I imagined that I was under critical scrutiny. I became severely inhibited, consequently my ability to be proficient as a sales assistant was seriously effected. I had these misgivings with my peers as well as with senior members of staff even though we all seemed to get along well together. Paranoid? It’s hard to say. Did my concerns about such matters stem from a lack of self-esteem? I will never know. I did not analyse my reasoning, it never occurred to me to do so. I merely thought the way I did and reacted accordingly. In the kitchenware department I would be free from such inhibitions. I would still of course be reticent about approaching customers, but I determined to make myself appear as confident and as self-assured as I possibly could. I was quite successful; I made several sales and was praised by the head of my department.

The kitchenware department was not a very busy section of the store; it was not as frequented by customers as was the haberdashery department. On many occasions it was very boring. I sought relief from this tedium by dusting and rearranging the displays; I found it satisfying to have the opportunity to display the merchandise in a creative way. This was yet another task that I found difficult to do in front of my associates because of anxieties concerning possible negative criticism. Moreover, I experienced considerable anxiety in the presence other members of staff whom I considered were more intelligent than I. This category included the office staff and most of the sales assistants in the fashion department. With one or two exceptions the former appeared to display an air of condescending superiority whilst the latter, without exception, were extremely unsociable or deliberately unpleasant inasmuch as they would make disparaging remarks in a very subtle way. I dreaded tea breaks if mine corresponded with theirs. I really had a very severe inferiority complex, these unkind remarks that were often banded about added their toll towards my increasing negativity concerning my self-esteem. Most of the time working was quite stressful, nonetheless, unlike school there were some mitigating features; gradually I made one or two friends and became a more competent sales assistant.

In view of my progress the head of the department approached the personnel supervisor on my behalf to recommend that I should be considered for staff training. However, the personnel supervisor remained adamant and would not be swayed from the original decision that she had made shortly after the commencement of my employment to exclude me from participation in the staff training program. Her only concession was to offer to review the situation in six months time. No explanation was ever given. I felt rather rejected as others younger than I who had not worked there as long as I had done, by this time I had worked for the store for six months, were being allocated places on the staff training program. Although I had made good progress, sufficient for the head of my department to recommend me for staff training, I was still considered by this person not be competent enough. This situation made me feel most discouraged, I did not know quite what I was supposed to do to qualify, after all if I was so inept that I could not benefit from such a training course I wondered why they bothered to employ me in the first place.

Sally was one of the girls with whom I became friendly. She was a couple of years older than I and had started working at the store sometime after I had. Somehow it was easier for me to approach a new staff member in a friendly manner rather than someone who had been there for many years, in whose presence I would feel inadequate. Perhaps I considered that a newcomer needed a sympathetic friend or perhaps I felt less disadvantaged with someone who was even less experienced than I. However, our friendship did not last long; it had been in any case very superficial - I still couldn’t develop a close relationship with anyone. I could not be relaxed and be myself, it was always such a strain. Friendships did not come naturally to me. Moreover, my friendship with this girl, and other similar friendships, was affected by my mother’s tendency to be over protective and unsociable - my mother still discouraged both my sister and I from bringing friends home. I was still only fifteen, consequently my mother would not permit me to go to dances, and she considered that I was too young. She was concerned that men who would be much older than I would approach me and I would therefore be in moral danger. I was banned from dances and pubs - I was allowed to go with my parents to the pub and have a alcoholic drink, I had been allowed to do this since the age of fourteen, but I was not permitted to enter such establishments lone or in the company of friends. I was allowed to go to restaurants, bowling and the cinema. Ironically both my sister and I were often pestered by men in the cinema who would sit beside us, touch our legs and make other unsolicited intimate advances. On one occasion a much older man sat next to me, throughout out the duration of the entire film he touched my legs and laid his hand upon my lap. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I did not deter him, I had felt flattered by his advances, and it boosted my self-esteem. I was rapt that a man was interested in me.

These restrictions of my mother’s upon my social life inhibited my friendship with Sally, gradually we went out together less and less until we were merely acquaintances.

My mother also considered it unreasonable that I should wish to do something that did not involve my sister. Although my sister and I had a good relationship I considered that it was totally unreasonable that my mother should expect me to be responsible for my sister’s social life, or that I should automatically include her whenever I went out with a friend. My sister did not help matters at all. She would behave in a childish manner by sulking whenever I did not include her when I went out with a friend. All in all I considered my life at home to be very suppressive.

Life at home was very stressful in many other ways, not only with regards to my social activities. My mother was always a very aggressive opponent if she were thwarted from getting her own way. Any hint of dissension was vehemently opposed. Any arguments would quickly evolve into violent verbal explosions followed by days, even weeks, of non communication, during such times we would stubbornly refuse to speak to each other. I would never make any attempt at a reconciliation, my mother had to invariably take the initiative after the continued lack of conversation became intolerable. There were continual confrontations between my mother and I, mostly over trivial matters. I can say in all honesty that I was a well behaved teenager: I drank only occasionally and than only when I accompanied my parents to the pub, I did not smoke, neither did I take drugs, stay out late or get pregnant. In short I did nothing particularly perverse. Yet somehow my relationship with my mother was dogged with incessant rowing.

On one occasion a particularly unpleasant altercation erupted between my mother and I over my choice of makeup. I had bought some make up which consisted of lose powder rather than a compact. My mother’s temper flared, she vehemently objected to the use of lose powder insisting that it would make a mess. Perhaps she had a point, however, it was the aggressive way in which she expressed herself that tended to provoke these heated arguments. She could never approach the situation in a reasonable manner; she would be uncontrollably cross, ranting and raving. She was upon most occasions unreasonably enraged. Her volatile temper was awesome. I had learned to respond likewise. In between arguments she could be reasonable albeit easily provoked and quick tempered. She was moody and unpredictable.

It was during this period of my life whilst working at Marshall and Snelgrove that I developed a strange compulsive habit that was of a superstitious nature. For some inexplicable reason I felt compelled to perform a senseless ritual. This ritual was performed each day; failure to do so would evoke great unease. I felt that some undefined disaster would befall me if I did not satisfy the obligations of this bizarre ritual. Furthermore it had to be carried out precisely. The ritual involved walking through the city centre during my lunch break in exactly the same manner; I was compelled to visit the same shops, in the exact same order, entering and leaving by the same door. It was also imperative that I examine the same items on the various display counters of each of the shops that I visited. I felt somewhat self-conscious: I realised that my behaviour might be noticed and that I would appear to others to be acting strangely. I often considered the possibility that someone might think that I was shoplifting. Surely the sales staff noticed regular visitors to the shop especially one who came everyday at the same time, examined the goods for sale, but never made a purchase. Notwithstanding the possible implications of my ritualistic obligations the compulsive urge to comply was too strong to resist, the thoughts and fears too powerful to ignore. Therefore regardless of consequence I religiously practiced this bizarre procedure, which even included a visit to a public toilet regardless of necessity. For some inexplicable reason I felt reprieved from these self imposed obligations if a colleague accompanied me for lunch. Why I considered myself excused from complying with my compulsions on such occasions I cannot now recall. Moreover, I did not incur any anxiety or even unease if I neglected to perform these compulsions whenever anyone was with me.

The precise pattern of this daily ritual was established on the first day of my employment at Marshall and Snelgrove. During my first lunch break I decided to have lunch at a cafe in the market place. Whilst in the cafe I had to use the toilet, thereafter I would habitually frequent this toilet each working day as part of my daily compulsive routine - apparently this compulsion did not necessitate having lunch there every day, which was fortunate as it would have been too expensive for me to eat there regularly. It was however awkward to use the toilet every day with out eating at the cafe: at least that is how I felt as I furtively made my way to the toilet each day hoping that I would not be observed. My apprehension was substantial as with head down and bated breath I anxiously complied with the dictates of my strange obligation. It was a very busy self-service cafe, despite my concern no one appeared to notice.

After I had finished my meal, which had been a first day at work treat, I roamed around the busy city department stores unknowingly establishing a ludicrous pattern of behaviour, which persisted until I changed my place of employment. I did not question my compulsion, I did not consider that it was bizarre or in any way abnormal, just necessary. I did not think that I was crazy or neurotic and I had never heard of OCD or obsessional neurosis, as it would have been called in the sixties. Neither did I think it expedient or necessary to try and ignore either my compulsions or their accompanying obsessions. Moreover, I did not analyse my thoughts, they were so real, and I merely accepted the situation.

Notwithstanding my lack of insight, I kept this strange behaviour a secret, I dreaded anyone noticing my compulsive habits. Furthermore I did not consider telling my parents, because I did not realise that I had a problem. My parents would have in any case not understood. Although I would be anxious if I did not carry out the obligations of my rituals, the performance of them was relatively speaking not unbearably distressful - at least not in comparison to the distress I would feel in later life when such compulsive behaviour would totally dominate my life. The stress produced by the performance of these rituals soon abated once my daily routine had been carried out. My compulsions were however a nuisance, particularly if I wished to do other things at lunchtime. Obsessive behaviour not only induces devastating fear but also causes intolerable frustration, which in its self produces underlying anxiety and depression.

It was during this period of my life that I began to ruminate upon the passing of time; increasingly I became more aware that life was fleeting and should therefore be lived to its fullest extent. Time marched inexorably on; time could never be retrieved. Life finished at death, one-day death would claim me; the taste of death would be profoundly more bitter if I had not lived my life satisfyingly or usefully. My reasoning crowded my mind; these ruminations were indeed most depressing. Death meant the annihilation of my existence, my perceptions, and my awareness; therefore I became concerned that I should enjoy whatever life I would be fortunate to have before the great abyss of oblivion claimed my existence. Yet I could not enjoy life. I was depressed by my morbid ruminations and my social inadequacy. Moreover, I felt that my parents exerted undue restrictions on my ability to partake of what society considered enjoyment. Most evenings were spent at home watching the television. Except for socialising at work I now had no other social contact outside the home. As I have already mentioned my previous friendship - albeit superficial - that I had developed at work was now virtually non-existent; I now had no real friends to go out with due to my mother’s prohibitions banning my attendance at pubs and dances. This anxiety concerning my inability to live my life to the fullest was a frequent contemplation, which led to periods of profound depression. At sixteen I was dissatisfied with life, I felt trapped. Suppressed.

Notwithstanding my desire to enjoy life with regard to social pursuits I tended to consider that such pastimes were in any case superficial, somewhat shallow offering no real satisfaction. I searched for some meaning for my existence: I needed something with which to fill my life, something more meaningful than the pursuit of pleasure. Despite my increasing need to find some meaning to existence, I continued to feel that I should partake of the more mundane pleasures of which I had been denied. I worried constantly that my life would continue in the same way; I did not consider that I would ever have any real friends or have a social life. I also knew that I would never have a boyfriend and would consequently never be married - I was just too undesirable, too unattractive. At sixteen I had never been kissed or been asked on a date.

I made all manner of attempts to appear more attractive and experimented incessantly with jewellery and cosmetics. I still considered that I was over weight, although not obese as I had been during childhood, I was certainly not slim, and I did not have a good figure. I tended to feel clumsy and awkward. I still had to wear glasses, which I reasoned made me even more unattractive.

It is important to mention that during this period of introspection, although OCD had clearly manifested itself in my behaviour in the form of senseless rituals, intrusive thoughts, existential terror and intrusive morbid ruminations, I had no fear of contamination by germs or toxins - two powerful obsessions that would, in later life, reduce me to a state of virtual incapacity. Eventually severe contamination obsessions would emerge in young adulthood to produce within me such profound terror of mind that I would be reduced to hysterical screaming, incessant washing and eventually hospitalisation.

It seems, in retrospect, unreal as I recall my teens. It is as though I were a different person, for I was not particularly clean. As I have stated earlier my previous hand washing and cleansing rituals were not carried out due to fears of contamination, but were only adhered to for superstitious reasons. Particularly during my adolescence, I was not concerned in the least degree about cleanliness. I never washed between baths, not even my face. I only took baths sporadically and often had to be reminded by my mother to do so. I was concerned about my outward appearance, plastering my face with cosmetics but having little regard for cleansing it. My hair however was a different matter; I would be very particular that it was always clean and shinning. I would use a deodorant to eliminate offensive smells but simply couldn’t be bothered to wash regularly. Neither did I wash my cloths very often and if a garment looked clean I wore it.

No inducement or nagging from my mother would persuade me to change, I just couldn’t care less about washing and could not understand the need to wash every day between bathing, as most people did in those days. At this time in the middle to late sixties most people did not take a bath everyday but would strip wash instead. I am astonished now as I recall my behaviour in this regard; notwithstanding the nature of my recollections I still cannot logically arrive at the conclusion that my uncleanness did not harm any one than, and therefore could not harm anyone now. The obsessive fears that were soon to devastate my life were too powerful, too real to be blotted out by recalling my former behaviour. I do not of course wish to revert back to this type of extreme uncleanness. I would merely like to be normal with regard to hygiene, with no extremes.

Extremes of both my behaviour and thoughts have always been part of my personality. I was according to my mother either black or white; there were no shades of grey. Every pursuit was accomplished with sheer fanaticism and the goal of perfection ruled my life. I never did anything by half, I never took the middle road: hobbies, interests or pastimes became all consuming obsessions obscuring other aspects of my life. This characteristic was however not a conscious one; most of the time I was not aware of this tendency.

My employment at Marshall and Snelgrove was to prove most unsuccessful. I could not fit in despite all my attempts to do so; no one seemed satisfied for very long with my efforts. I still found it very difficult to comply with the policy regarding daily routine duties that were unnecessary. Particularly irksome was the pressure on sales staff to appear to be busy at all times, even if there was nothing that really needed to be done. To continue to dust and tidy unnecessarily was tedious and unsatisfying. Although the haberdashery department was busy there were times, such as rainy days, when on one went shopping; at such times there was very little to do. Moreover as the months went by it became more and more obvious that I would not be selected for staff training. I was disappointed and began to realise that if I remained in my present employment I would not make any progress or even worse, I may eventually be asked to leave.

I therefore secured myself employment as a junior sales assistant at a much smaller retail shop in the city centre; it was a retailer of ornaments and electrical goods. I started my first day with some trepidation; I felt extremely self conscious, riddled with anxieties concerning my shyness and appearance; I was concerned that I would appear to my colleagues to be inept, as I did not know what was expected of me.

I was assigned to the first floor, which mainly stocked ornaments and paintings. Very few customers seemed to even browse, very few made a purchase, I often wondered how this shop remained viable, however it did and it is still in business. Consequently most of my time was spent dusting the displays, in fact more time was given to restocking and cleaning than it was to serving customers. I was expected to help the manageress with the window display; this consisted of running backwards and forwards to get items to display in the window. I was never given the opportunity to arrange the window - something that I could have excelled in as I have a certain amount of artistic ability. Again I was only allowed to serve customers when more senior members of the staff were occupied. I could now approach customers without too many qualms, nonetheless I continued to find it difficult to engage them in small talk as I was literally lost for words.

This problem was also present within my relationship with the rest of the staff - I dreaded break times. I would sit alone appearing somewhat aloof. I wanted to join in the conversations; I desperately wanted to be friendly but could not think of anything to say. The girls of my age were always engaged in lively chats, describing the events of the previous evening: dates with boyfriends, dancing, bowling, the cinema, pubs and all the rest of the variety of entertainment that a big city has to offer. I felt left out. I had nothing to offer; each night I went home to have my dinner, watch TV and finally go to bed at about nine o’ clock.

I had now completely lost contact with the acquaintances that I had had at Marshall and Snelgrove. I now had no friends at all and I certainly did not have a boyfriend and doubted that I ever would. I was desperate to live the life of a normal sixteen-year-old girl. My feelings of inferiority were becoming more and more profound. I hoped that perhaps an older man might like me, a man who was not himself handsome; someone who felt equally rejected.

The need to feel attractive to members of the opposite sex was indeed a preoccupation and, as I have already mentioned, even the attention of the most undesirable men would boost my self-confidence. I recall being followed by a man who must have been in his fifties. I had observed him watching me from a nearby table in a cafe one lunch time, I could tell that he was interested in me the way one can always tell. As soon as I had finished my meal and made ready to leave, this man abandoned his unfinished meal and followed me out. He did not make any attempt to be discreet; his intentions were blatantly obvious. I checked several times to see if he was following me, I stopped to examine various items in the shops that I passed through to see if he stopped also, which he did, I also stopped to look at him making eye contact as I did so. I shamelessly led him on I know, but this attention however undesirable was a real boost to my ego. I felt flattered. Nevertheless, I still considered that he must be desperate to want me! He obviously liked young women and this I felt was his main criteria for selecting me. He was not a handsome man; therefore it would be difficult for him to find a more attractive woman who would be interested in him. I continued to allow him to follow me around for quite some time, in retrospect it was very unkind of me, but I lavished this attention. I did not find him desirable and eventually decided it would not be wise to allow the situation to progress any further, eventually I took to my heels and ran.

Although such events as this boosted my ego, I realised that I did not attract similar attention from boys of my own age; it was always from much older men. It appeared to me that no one my own age would be interested in a short, rather overweight girl who had an unruly crop of dark hair and wore glasses.

My new place of employment had one redeeming feature - for some inexplicable reason, after changing my place of employment, the lunchtime rituals stopped. Although I still worked in the same area these compulsions ceased in their entirety without any effort from me whatsoever.

However, my social problems increased quite dramatically. I became more introverted, lonelier. I became acutely embarrassed if anyone spoke to me. I felt that I would have liked the ground to have opened up and swallowed me. I thought that I appeared to others to be dull and unintelligent. I tried to make conversation but soon became tongue-tied. When someone spoke to me I answered as best as I could, stumbling over my words, searching frantically in my mind for an appropriate response. There were always long embarrassing gaps of silence while I struggled for something interesting to say to make the conversation flow. I would become hot and I flushed profusely. Eventually, I ceased to try and integrate and preferred my own company at work. I realised that I would be more efficient if I could work alone.

I was still very much concerned that I would make a mistake therefore I never used my initiative and would either ask the supervisor what to do, or merely stand around waiting for instructions. In retrospect it is not surprising that I may have appeared to be stupid or disinterested; I most certainly did not radiate an aura of keen enthusiasm.

Eventually due to a new employment tax called the Payroll Tax, I was asked to leave. The store could not afford to keep its entire staff and therefore as the last one to be employed I would be the first one to be given notice. I was deeply upset, I felt rejected. I reasoned that the Payroll Tax had merely been an excuse and that I had been asked to leave because I had been considered unsuitable - unsuitable not only as a sales assistant, but as a fellow worker. I felt shunned. I could not hide my feelings and spent the rest of the day crying. Everyone one was very sympathetic. Had I been paranoid? I will never know. My already low opinion of myself was diminished even more.

I went from job to job rarely staying for more than a month. Any friendships that I made did not last and did not extend beyond working hours.

During this time in my life I continued to be haunted by existential fears and morbid ruminations. I became increasingly anxious that life was passing me by. I began to consider that life had no meaning, and that existence was futile. I needed to enjoy life but I was too shy and too depressed. I had moods of profound despondency when I would sit and do nothing except wallow in depression and futility. I viewed my contemporaries as they pursued life, as they participated in whatever pleasure or entertainment was in vogue. As if in a dream I felt as though I were standing on the edge of life merely as an observer, seeing things that were not a reality for me and would never be apart of my life. For most girls of my age in the sixties the main goal in life was marriage and a family. This goal seemed to me to be unobtainable.

Not only did I consider that my physical appearance and low intelligence were partly responsible for my inability to find a boyfriend but I realised that in addition I exuded an air of prudishness, which tended to deter prospective boyfriends from asking me out. I was morally bigoted. I had a somewhat Victorian attitude towards sex. This was the beginning of the permissive society yet, mostly as a result of my strict upbringing, I had a very strict moral code regarding sex. It was my opinion that it was wrong to have sex outside of marriage - a boy would have been lucky if he got a fleeting kiss on the lips or an even discreet embrace. Yet I dreamed of married life, an idyllic existence in which I would be a paragon of motherhood and a perfect homemaker. I saw myself as the old fashioned housewife who cooked nutritious meals and cleaned and tided the house, spending her leisure time knitting and sewing.

My life now at seventeen seemed quite empty. It not only lacked the normal pleasures of teenage life but it also lacked something much more important. I felt aimless. I still pondered philosophical matters but could find no solutions. I continued to change my place of employment hoping to find somewhere where I could integrate socially and find satisfaction in my work. Boredom also made life at work intolerable. I was chronically bored; I was a clock-watcher, eagerly waiting for the finish of each tedious day. I had tried to find another type of employment other than shop work, including office work, but I was never successful. After flitting from job to job I eventually found employment in a local shoe shop. The only other employee was the manageress who was very demanding, her manner was very domineering and this made me feel quite anxious. She was always insistent that I make a sale every time a customer entered the shop. She would question me intensively if a customer left the shop with out making a purchase. Nevertheless I continued to work at this shop for quite sometime. It was whilst I was thus employed that my life was to change dramatically.

Return to contents page Chapter Five.

Mrs Thompson, one of my mother’s regular customers, had recently joined the Mormon Church. My mother had read a biography about Brigham Young, one of the early leaders of the Mormon Church. According to my mother Brigham Young had had many wives, consequently my mother had considered this religion to be very strange. Nevertheless, in the course of a conversation between my mother and Mrs Thompson concerning the chronic boredom with which both my sister and I suffered, Mrs Thompson suggested that we might join the Mormon Church. According to Mrs Thompson the Mormon Church was not only " God’s true Church " but it was also a good source of entertainment, especially for the young. There were ample opportunities to participate in, sport, dancing, drama and general social intercourse. It all sounded exciting! It was however a requirement that everyone who was interested in the Church receive instruction in the beliefs of the Church, these lessons were referred to as discussions. Arrangements were made for my sister and I to attend an introductory film show and a talk at the home of one of Mrs Thompson’s friend, Mrs Black, who was a recent, convert.

When we arrived we were introduced to another perspective convert, a teenage boy a little older than I. Mrs Thompson told us that a couple of elders from the Church would arrive to commence the discussion and show the film. It was with great surprise and acute embarrassment that we were introduced to two very young and very handsome Americans. The title of elder had seemed to suggest that we were to expect someone much older, someone more senior in the church. My sister and I felt acutely awkward because of our shyness and inferiority complexes, feelings which were more severe in the presence of men - particularly young handsome men. Both of these young men were only about twenty and glowed with the exuberance of their youth and the zealous fervour of their religion. They were extremely self-confident with the glib verbosity common to all sales men - for sales men they most certainly were despite their apparent sincerity. They presented a short film about the Church that included a basic summary of its origins and its claims of divine visitations to its founder Joseph Smith. The film also briefly mentioned the present day Church, it’s social facilities and the friendliness of its members. The film asserted that members of the congregation were friendly and considered themselves spiritual brothers and sisters. This appealed to me. Both my sister and I were very impressed, although I was somewhat wary as I considered their fantastic claim that Joseph Smith had been visited my God and Jesus Christ to be incredulous. My sister however was not particularly interested in such contemplations, her interest was in the two American elders to whom she was attracted.

We were invited to attend Church the following Sunday with Mrs Thompson and our hostess Mrs Black and another lady, Mrs Down, a most pleasant and sincere lady, she was a friend of Mrs Black’s and had been a member of the Church for many years but had only recently returned after a lapse of absence. As the film had implied we were made to feel most welcome, with many members of the congregation introducing themselves and shaking our hands. I was really impressed with their sincerity, despite my shyness and inability to respond to their attempts at conversation. I was particularly shy with those who were of my own age, who nevertheless welcomed us quite openly with uninhibited friendliness. It was a novel experience to feel welcome, there seemed something different about these people, and there was a feeling of genuine caring that I had hitherto not experienced in quite the same way. It appeared to me that the members of this church had something that made them somehow different; something that gave them an aura of well-being. They glowed with the vitality of their convictions - convictions that at this stage I considered bizarre.

Notwithstanding my doubts I continued to attend the church quite regularly, twice each Sunday. My attendance at this time however was still mostly motivated by my sister’s attraction to the young elders; she would not of course attend church alone. I also felt some attraction towards them but did not seriously consider for one moment that they would be attracted to me.

These young men were in fact missionaries who between the ages of nineteen and twenty one took a two year respite from their education to spend their time, usually in a foreign country, going from door to door preaching their gospel in order to acquire converts to Mormonism. Young women between the ages of twenty one and twenty three were also encouraged to become missionaries, however there were fewer lady missionaries as the Church considered that marriage and a family were a woman’s first priority after acquiring a good education. The church in Leicester was quite large with a big congregation, therefore there were several pairs of missionary elders and one pair of missionary sisters. Missionaries of either sex were required to work together in pairs.

Most of the elders were extremely good looking and most of the younger members of the congregation considered them husband material. The church did not allow missionaries of either gender to date. Nevertheless this did not deter relationships forming between these young men and women and the members of the congregation. Many broke the rules of this prohibition; many girls married an American missionary once his mission was completed. Such relationships between female missionaries and members of the congregation were far less common. There were also rumours concerning sexual indiscretions with ladies (usually older) whom the elders contacted whilst going from door to door. However the Mormon code of moral conduct was very strict and generally most members complied with this. Most relationships between the missionaries and members in general appeared to be strictly platonic before marriage.

We were required to have six discussion sessions with the elders before we made any commitment. These discussions were designed to educate and convince perspective members that the Mormon Church was God’s only true church and that Jesus Christ had re-established, through his latter-day prophet Joseph Smith, his former church that, according to the Mormons, had fallen into apostasy. I still considered this claim to be somewhat erroneous; nevertheless I became swept away on the tide of emotion that pervaded all of the church’s meetings. It is now difficult to recall when I first stated to accept these fantastic claims. Did I ever really believe? At the time I thought that I did. Though in retrospect I may have merely been carried away by the emotions of others. Gradually I began to feel that I believed in the strange doctrine of Mormonism.

Both my sister and I were encouraged to accept baptism. I was keen to become involved in the social life of the church. I also began to consider that this religion would fill the void in my life. I thought that the church had the answers to some of the questions that had preoccupied my moods of philosophical rumination, such questions as: the meaning of existence, the origins of existence and the possibility of life after death. For the first time in many years I began to consider that there might be life after death. Death now seemed less horrifying now that the treat of oblivion no longer existed. Life began to have meaning.

It was on a hot sunny day in July 1967 that my sister and I were baptised into this strange and fascinating religion. In hindsight my decision to join the Mormon Church may also have been effected by my fascination with the bizarre, the unusual. I liked to be different from others and tended towards eccentricity.

It was not with out considerable trepidation that my sister and I arrived at the church, I had earlier in the evening considered backing out; both my sister and I were inordinately afraid of being immersed in water. Unfortunately for us the Mormon Church believed that only baptism by complete immersion was valid. It was my obsessive desire to belong to this church, for indeed it had most certainly by now become an obsession that provided me with the courage to present myself for baptism. I was still somewhat unsure about my motives but felt very strongly that this is what I had to do; I could not for one moment consider reverting back to my previously aimless existence. It was only after being baptised that I became wholly convinced of the validity of my new found faith.

It was an ordeal that I would not wish to relive again. Nonetheless once the ceremony was completed I was filled with a profound sense of elation; the feeling was truly unique to my experience. At the time I considered that this was a spiritual experience, though in retrospect the emotions that I experienced on this occasion were probably due to some form of mass hysteria; the zeal and enthusiasm of those present was indeed conducive to the promotion of such intense feelings. I felt born again, mentally if not spiritually. The world now seemed to me to be a totally different place, my whole perspective changed. I left the church feeling as though I were walking on air. From that day forwards, and for the next four years, I was utterly obsessed with Mormonism. Both my sister and I attended all the meetings, even those that were strictly speaking not appropriate, such as Relief Society - an organisation for ladies in the Church who were either married or over twenty one. My sister and I did not of course fit either category; she and I were still only fifteen and seventeen respectively.

It appeared to me that my sister’s enthusiasm was different from mine. She seemed to be more interested in the social activities of the Church. Moreover it appeared to me that her main criterion for joining the church was the attraction that she felt towards the elders. This is of course is only my opinion; we never discussed with one another our motives for joining the church. Her interest however in the elders was blatantly obvious, she wanted nothing more than for me to accompany her on a trip to the area in which the elders lived. My sister hoped to draw their attention. On these "elder watching excursions", which were indeed most embarrassing as our intentions were so blatantly obvious, I never for one moment considered that any of these young men would show me the slightest interest. I merely went along with this embarrassing game for the sake of my sister who was too shy and nervous to do so alone.

I became more and more involved in the church and my fanaticism grew rapidly. With some determination I overcame my shyness to some extent. Nonetheless I could not easily communicate with my peers; I did not know what to say to them, I was simply lost for words. Most of the young people in my age group attended church of their own volition but few however exhibited the zealous fervour that I plainly manifested in my attitude and behaviour. They considered me to be too serious and may have felt uncomfortable in my presence. Both my sister and I made every effort to try and integrate into the young society of the Church, but we never fitted in. Within all social organisations there is a click and Mormonism was no exception, if you were not included than there was not much that you could do about it. I tended in any case to get along much better with the older members of the church.

I was eventually asked to teach Sunday school - a task that I found most difficult. I was not very adept at communicating with children, I simply did not know how to talk to them and could not engage them in childlike conversation. Notwithstanding this problem I accepted this calling within the church. There was no paid ministry, even the leader, referred to as the bishop, had a regular job and fulfilled the calling as minister when he was not at work.

After some months as a member it became my greatest ambition to become a missionary for the church. I would pray that one day I would be called to join the zealous door-to-door missionaries in pursuit of new converts. It was in those days unusual for missionaries to be called into the mission field from anywhere other than America. Nevertheless there had been the occasional exception so I remained hopeful. The biggest difficulty was financial; most missionaries were supported by their parents. Obviously this means of support would not be open to me; my parents were not members of the church and in any case they would not have been able to afford to support me. Also my mother was becoming increasingly antagonistic towards the church. She considered that it was reasonable for me to belong to the church but mainly for the purpose of socialising, she considered that it was undesirable for me to become so intensively involved at only seventeen. There gradually became an atmosphere of tension between my mother and I, which became worse when I accepted the calling to become a part-time missionary.

The work of a part-time missionary involved going from door to door in my own locality whenever I had some free time at the evening or weekends. Unlike a full time missionary there was no set age nor where there any financial considerations. My sister was also called and accepted; as missionaries were required to do their proselytising in pairs the church considered us ideal companions. My mother was concerned about the possible danger that two young girls would encounter while walking the streets and entering the homes of strangers, at this time we were still only fifteen and seventeen respectively. It was of course quite an understandable anxiety, nevertheless I was determined and many an hour was spent in bitter argument between my mother and I, the repercussions of which would last for days. Notwithstanding the strained atmosphere at home I was resolute.

Much to my sorrow however I learnt that my mother in fact was not so much concerned about me rather she was more concerned about my sister. She was adamant that my sister was not to be involved in this work and, much to my embarrassment, she contacted the bishop and told him so. I felt so hurt that she had made it public that she was more concerned about my sister’s welfare than she was for mine; at least it appeared that way. It was humiliating when the bishop asked me if my mother had a preference for my sister. Despite my hurt and annoyance I felt compelled to protect my mother and denied that any preference existed, when it was plain to everyone that it did. At the time my mother’s preference worked to my advantage, I was still only seventeen therefore she could have withheld her permission for me to accept this position.

Despite my mother’s protestations my sister participated in missionary work for a short while but soon gave it up. She was far too nervous; her shyness was far more severe than mine. Furthermore she did not appear to have the necessary conviction. My conviction, or was it obsession, somehow motivated me to transcend the limits of my social inhibitions; within this area of my life I fought a bitter battle with chronic shyness, I would not be thwarted. Another companion was soon found to accompany me. My new companion Susan was rather a demure lady about four years older than I. We worked in some of the less reputable areas of Leicester without experiencing any of the problems that my mother had been concerned about.

My mother had by now conceded defeat and had accepted the fact that I was determined to pursue this work, although her concern had centred mainly around my sister she still would have preferred that I refused this particular calling. With the exception of the occasional argument about the amount of time that I spent on missionary work she rarely raised any objection. In retrospect my mother was right, I was spending far too much time involved in missionary work. The Church only required part-time missionaries to participate in missionary work for the equivalent of one evening each week. I tended to be involved in proselytising for several evenings each week - as many evenings that I could persuade my less fanatical companion to accompany me. Had my companion been willing, I would have been involved in missionary week every evening and weekend. I was utterly obsessed with Mormonism to the exclusion of other pursuits or interests. When I was not actually going from door to door I spent inordinate lengths of time studying Mormon doctrine. Mormonism became an all-consuming passion. At the time I considered this over zealousness was merely due to my sincere and intense faith; I did not realise that this behaviour was indicative of a severe neurotic disorder that would in the course of a few years emerge into its full-blown form utterly destroying the rest of my life.

During the course of the next few years I began to accept more and more responsibility within the Church: I was asked to teach an adult Sunday school class, a task that I did not consider that at the age of nineteen I was able to do - neither for that matter did the adults who would be attending. Nevertheless as usual I accepted. I found it extremely difficult to refuse any of these responsibilities without feeling guilty. Strictly speaking, according to Church policy, part-time missionaries were exempt from further duties within the Church. However, I was now part of a newly formed branch of the Church in Leicester, which had only a few members; it was sometimes difficult for the presiding minister to find someone to fill all the posts in the Church. I would have felt exceedingly guilty if I had refused.

In all matters I was very conscious of everything that I did wrong, I was keenly aware of every selfish thought or desire - I was excessively scrupulous and critical of other members of the Church who did not share the same standards. This rigid intolerance only applied to Church members, I considered myself very tolerant of others who did not share my beliefs. It was hypocrisy I could not sanction. As was conceivably possible I complied with every rule of the Church. I did not drink tea, coffee or alcohol, neither did I smoke - this was a law of the Church referred to as "The Word of Wisdom" it was strictly adhered to by all sincere members who wished to go to the Temple. The temple was the goal of every good Mormon; one had to be virtually perfect to go. After one year’s membership all members who were over twenty-one or who were married or going on a mission were expected to go to the temple. The temple was a place shrouded in secret, although the Mormons preferred the word sacred. Members of the Church who visited the temple were not permitted to discuss the ceremonies that took place with in its consecrated confines. These rites and rituals, according to Mormon doctrine, are an essential prerequisite to attaining life in the hereafter with God - anyone who had lived a good life but had not attended the temple would not be assigned to hell but would nevertheless not spend eternity with God but would instead inhabit a realm of lesser glory. The Mormons believe that there are many rewards after death and only the very wicked went to hell. Like every stalwart Mormon I desired to go to the temple where I anticipated some kind of spiritual experience.

I was offered more and more positions within the church. I was asked to teach a monthly Relief Society lesson and a primary class - primary was rather like Sunday school but was held on one evening each week. Most of the children were rebellious and I found it extremely difficult to keep control. Nevertheless I persevered with dogged determination.

To add further to my already overloaded schedule, I would enrol for all the courses in Mormon doctrine that were available and soon acquired the reputation of being the most knowledgeable member of the congregation of the Western Park Branch of the church in Leicester. Moreover I was required to spend a considerable amount of time studying the missionary discussions that my companion and I would present to the people who invited us into their homes as we went from door to door. These discussions consisted of questions and anticipated responses and had to be learnt parrot fashion. Therefore, like an actor, I needed to rehearse every day.

Eventually this daily task became an obsession that had a superstitious quality to it, inasmuch that if I did not mentally recite all the discussions everyday while I was at work something untoward would happen. The form that this adversity would take however was obscure but nevertheless my anxiety was profound. As before with earlier superstitious rituals I never considered the validity of the compulsion, neither did it occur to me that my behaviour was in any way strange or neurotic; I had no insight into the matter whatsoever. Moreover I did not question my behaviour within a religious context; most religions do not believe in the practice of superstitions. However, at the time I did not consider that my behaviour was superstitious, it was merely something that had to be done other wise I would become anxious.

Although on the surface my life seemed full - I felt that I knew (as the Mormons put it) where I came from, why I was here and where I would go when I died - I was nevertheless prone to bouts of profound depression. In retrospect there was perhaps deep down in my subconscious some nagging doubts. It was at this time that I developed the tendency to worry excessively over the most trifling of matters. I was painfully aware of everything that could possibly go wrong in any situation. I would also ruminate endlessly as to whether or not I had offended someone. I also began to contemplate upon the possibility that I would not be able to fulfil my ambition to become a full-time missionary. The fear that I may not realise my ambition haunted me.

It was at this time that I became romantically involved with an American missionary. Prior to this I had rarely considered the possibility that I would ever marry. Marriage was the most important goal of every female member of the Church and superseded missionary work, education or a career. Also Mormons were encouraged to marry within the Church and to a partner of good standing. It was considered imperative that marriages took place within the temple. Mormons accepted the usual church or registry office marriages as being valid in the eyes of God; nevertheless a temple wedding was desirable if one wished to be married for eternity. Marriages that took place elsewhere were only valid until death, a temple wedding assured that partners would be together after death.

I was considerably surprised that this elder had taken a liking towards me. At the time of our first meeting I was not remotely aware of this elder’s feelings for me, in fact I had hardly ever spoken to him previously. One evening after the usual Relief society meeting the lady with whom the elders took lodgings, who was also a member of the Church, told me that elder Sanderson wished to speak with me that evening. I assumed that he wished to discuss missionary work with me. However when I arrived at this Lady’s home I was shown into a room with this elder and we were left alone; according to the Mormon code of ethics, it was not permitted for an elder to be alone with a women whilst he was on his mission. I was both astonished and flattered when he virtually asked me to marry him in spite of the fact that I had barely spoken to him and knew nothing about him. I was elated. I had had a couple of casual dates with lay members of the church but both of these men had been many years older than I and had not been particularly my type. It sounds unkind but I did not find them attractive and felt that the only reason that they had asked me out was because they could not find anyone better.

Elder Sanderson was not particularly attractive but he was charming and alluring. I considered it quite a compliment to be approached by this man. After getting over my initial surprise we discussed our possible future together as husband and wife. He was a stranger to me, yet I readily agreed to seriously consider marrying him when his mission was over. He could not of course date me whilst he was on his mission. Furthermore, if his superiors found out about our involvement he would either be transferred immediately or be sent home. He suggested that it might be possible for me to live with his mother in Salt Lake City, that way it would be permissible for us to write to each other. He suggested talking this over with his parents. He further explained to me what he wanted from a marriage. He wanted to share married life with several other couples running a ranch as a type of commune were we would keep only enough of the profit from the ranch to live on and give the rest to the church. This was a watered down version of an old practice that was tried during the early days of the Church’s development. It was abandoned when it became apparent that this form of pseudo Marxism, called the law of consecration, was not practical. Nevertheless members were not discouraged from practising this law amongst themselves if they so desired.

I found this all very exciting and became somewhat rapt by the thought of this type of lifestyle rather than whether or not I could really love this man. I thought at the time however that I could indeed learn to love him and I quickly convinced myself that I did. The most daunting task now remained: and that was to tell my parents. I dreaded this. I was convinced that they would react unfavourably and that I would be subjected to the usual protestations that my parents (mainly my mother) made about most matters that involved the church. Moreover I was sure that this particular turn of events would be of a particularly objectionable nature to them; I am sure that it would have been difficult even for parents who where themselves Church members. The prospect of a daughter living in a foreign country many miles away from home, with little possibility of ever returning, would have been difficult for most parents to readily accept without some misgivings.

I did not know how to approach them as I had in fact always found it difficult to confide in them about anything. My mother’s volatile temper was always very daunting. The evening that I decided to broach the subject was for me filled with tension. I just did not know how to tell them, I became quiet and withdrawn, not speaking unless I was spoken to. Eventually my mother asked if there was something wrong, after some persuasion I explained to them about Elder Sanderson. To my amazement my mother reacted very well and seemed pleased for me; neither she nor my father appeared to be in anyway concerned over my proposed emigration to the USA. My sister was also excited for me and considered that I had put one over the other girls of our age whom she considered were rather superior in their attitude towards us. Naturally my parents wished to meet him. I think that they must have met him while I was out for I have no recollection of this event. During the meeting with my parents it was agreed between them and Elder Sanderson that when he eventually left Leicester, (missionaries only remained in one place for a couple of months before being transferred to another part of the mission in order to avoid this type of situation occurring) he should write to my mother; as I have previously mentioned, he was not allowed to communicate directly while he was on his mission. My Mother appeared to be genuinely pleased for me and even made enquires about the cost of a flight to Salt Lake City. The main problem in this regard was getting a visa and a work permit; I did not have a specialised profession - I had no qualifications of any kind and no education. I recall being acutely embarrassed about my occupation, my lack of education and qualifications, I now worked in a printing factory having become dissatisfied with the long hours and low pay of shop assistants. At times I felt inordinately stupid and intellectually inferior compared to most other members of the Church, most of whom were either white-collar workers or professional people.

I was ashamed to tell my fiancé - I now considered him in this regard - that I worked in a printing factory doing a very menial job. I had tried to improve my status with regard to employment but had not been very successful. My mother had encouraged me to learn to type and I had enrolled in an adult education class, I had not been in the least enthusiastic, I was far too rapt in Mormonism and had considered it a waste of time. Moreover, I lacked the confidence, especially with regard to spelling - I could not envision ever mastering this skill. My lack of educational ability was to make things difficult for me and I felt very uncomfortable most of the time amongst my more intellectual acquaintances at Church. I also considered that this problem was the main reason the relationship between Elder Sanderson and I did not work out. Eventually the missionary headquarters became aware of the situation and Elder Sanderson was transferred to another part of the mission.

Before he left Elder Sanderson arrived at my home unexpectedly. I had just returned home from work and to my discomfiture I found him sitting on the settee waiting for me. I could not take off my coat; my cloths were rather scruffy and not very clean - I did not wear my best cloths to work in a printing factory for obvious reasons. I was acutely embarrassed about my appearance and for weeks afterward ruminated upon the effect that my appearance may have had upon Elder Sanderson. Had I put him off? Day after day I was tormented by these concerns. He wrote to my mother on a couple of occasions, as we had agreed, and I sent him a photograph of myself.

I became increasingly concerned that something would happen to spoil our relationship, I worried constantly that he would change his mind. The fact that I could not go to live with his mother made matters worse; I would not have been able to obtain a work permit because I had no qualifications, furthermore I simply could not afford the air fare. Moreover my associates at work increased my anxiety with their ceaseless, albeit good-natured teasing. I had become accustomed to being teased about my religion and had always taken this friendly leg pulling in the nature that it was intended. Despite my misgivings regarding working in a factory, I had settled in considerably well socially and was indeed quite popular. I was considered to be a good sport even if somewhat eccentric. However, this particular banter regarding my relationship with Elder Sanderson did get a little hurtful and served to heighten my anxiety regarding the success of my future relationship with this man. Notwithstanding my stress I did not like to show my feelings, as I did not wish to offend or upset anyone unduly especially as this teasing was not intended to be spiteful. I was always worried about upsetting other people and often let them say things that hurt me because I did not have the heart to tell them. Each day I was filled with a foreboding of disquiet, each day I went to work with the weight of depression bearing down upon me. Again and again the question: would he change his mind? Like a gnawing toothache my doubts were unrelenting.

One morning a letter came from Elder Sanderson addressed to me instead of to my mother. I knew than that this was his final contact with me - before I even opened the letter I knew that he did not want me any more. Now it all seems so very unimportant; I do not even remember his real name, I cannot recall what he said to me in his letter except that he wanted back all the things that he had given to me. I was hurt but not surprised, I think that I knew even before he was transferred that it was over even before it had begun. I just did not fit the image of a Mormon wife: I had no career or education and my parents were not members of the Church. My colleagues at work were very sympathetic - most said that he was no great loss. However, it was a blow to my self-esteem although I knew that any feelings that I may have had for him had been very superficial and I had probably been carried away by the novelty of marrying an American and living a more exciting lifestyle.

My mother was somewhat noncommittal, referring to him as a "soda jerk," whatever that was supposed to mean I do not know, at the time I was mystified. I did not shed too many tears and renewed my determination to become a full-time missionary. In hindsight our relationship would have been doomed to failure; it was unlikely that he would have understood my problem with OCD which had not at this time clearly manifested itself.

From that time onwards I saved for my mission with renewed determination. The Mormon Church would support me on a full-time mission if I could provide a contribution of five hundred pounds - of course I could not tell my mother that I was saving to go on a mission, she would not have approved. In stead I told her that I was saving to go to Salt Lake City for a holiday. It did not occur to me that lying was not really an appropriate practice for a Christian - I lied easily. A characteristic that would change as my problem with OCD progressed rapidly in my early twenties. After two years of careful saving, just before my twenty-first birthday, I had accumulated my contribution and was ready to go into the mission field. The most daunting prospect was telling my parents that I would be leaving home for two years. My mother was not surprised having been suspicious of my real intentions from the beginning. She was quick to point out my hypocrisy as she considered that my deceit was most unchristian. My mother always had the ability to make me feel guilty. Nonetheless neither she not my father raised any objections, they implied that it would be a waste of time to do so as I usually got my own way in the end. The Church however required parental permission despite the fact that I had reached the age of consent. My mother’s only stipulation was that I should remain in Britain. With a mixture of trepidation and excitement I prepared for my mission.

Mormons entering the mission field were required to go to the temple for the ceremony referred to as an endowment. The endowment ceremony was also a prerequisite to a marriage in the temple and to spending eternity with God after death, all faithful Mormons were required to go through this ritual at sometime in their lives. In fact, according to Mormon belief, with out participating in the endowment ceremony one could not enter heaven or the celestial kingdom, as the Mormons called the highest realm of glory where they believed that God dwelt. I looked forward to this momentous Temple ceremony and prepared accordingly. My visit to the Mormon temple was to change my life dramatically - but not in the way that I had anticipated. From that day onwards I completely and irretrievably lost my faith in the Mormon religion.

The endowment ceremony seemed to me to be quite bizarre; it appeared to me to be rather ritualistic in its form and superstitious in its nature, an anachronism from ancient times. It was quite unacceptable to me. I completely lost faith in the validity of Mormonism. The consequences of my lost of faith was immediately apparent as temporarily forgotten, but very familiar feelings of existential terror flooded my mind. I could not envision my life without my faith; the thought of reverting back to my former life of aimlessness plagued by ruminative thoughts of death and a meaningless existence was abhorrent to me. Losing my faith would leave a void in my life so immense in its proportion that I would not be able to fill it. My mind reeled in turmoil. That evening when I returned home I pretended that everything had gone well, I could not for one moment consider telling my parents the truth. I needed time to recover from the shock - time to consider what I should do. I feigned an appearance that suggested that I had had the type of experience that I had expected.

I went out as usual that evening. That particular night the Church was having one of its usual amateur evenings of entertainment - I had become so obsessed with the Church that I went to everything including these somewhat trite affairs and on many occasions I had, in spite of my shyness, participated in them. This evening I was fortunately merely a part of the audience. There was also another girl there who faced the same dilemma as I, we had sat next to each other during the ceremony, she had had a similar reaction to me and like me she was undecided about what she should do. She was in a much more awkward situation than I for she was to be married in the temple in the very near future. As I watched her take part in the show I wondered how she would cope and what decision she would make, but I never found out, she did not live in Leicester and after that night I never saw her again.

It was forbidden for members to discuss the endowment ceremony outside the confines of the temple therefore I could not discuss my problems with fellow church members. I did however mention to the minister, directly after the ceremony, that I had had some misgivings but I had not been specific having been rather disorientated by my distress. I was told that one needed to go through the ceremony more than once in order to understand its significance.

After much deliberation I decided to keep my problem to myself and prepare to go on my mission as planned. I hoped that my faith would return and that I would eventually be able to come to terms with this strange temple ritual, after all most members seemed to accept it without such scepticism; perhaps time would prove to be the answer.

I tried to put my fears and doubts to one side but met with little success: the damage was done. Somehow it all seemed different, once I had felt fulfilled and had often felt sorry for those who were not of my faith because of the aimlessness of their lives. Now I was oppressed with the same profound emptiness; it was as if a vast fathomless abyss had opened before me, my life was once again without meaning with only an eternity of oblivion at its finish. Now that I had completely lost my faith in Mormonism I once again began to worry that death would mean my utter annihilation; I could not retain my belief in life after death.

During my time in the Mormon Church I had had doubts but nothing had dislodged my faith prior to this ceremony in quite the same way. Notwithstanding my former fanatical belief in Mormonism, I had, probably as a consequence of being an obsessive-compulsive, occasionally considered other philosophical theories, other views concerning our origins as they presented themselves. One of these was the theory of Ehrik von Daniken who claimed that mankind had been visited in ancient times by beings from another planet and that many biblical accounts were stories relating to these visitations rather than divine occurrences. These conjectures had been serialised in one of the Sunday papers and I had compulsively read it, although I believed in Mormonism I had felt nevertheless a momentary return of the feeling of cold apprehension, the existential terror that had haunted me since adolescence as I considered Erik Von daniken’s hypothesis. On such occasions my mother took great delight in accusing me of having doubts. My interest in such matters was however compulsive, I was drawn to such issues like a moth to a candle. This tendency also illustrated that deep beneath my fanatical faith doubt lurked, waiting to devour my life as soon as the opportunity presented itself in a significant way, to send my faith crashing into ruins. The Temple ceremony had done precisely that. Gradually, more and more of my old fears where returning and I experienced a keen sense of loss. The existential terror increased with alarming frequency as I anxiously ruminated once again upon the meaning of life, the existence of God, the origins of the universe and the passing of time. Once again life seemed meaningless, empty.

I did not consider that it was possible for another religion to take the place of Mormonism. I had had a friend at work who was a Methodist. I had gone along to some of their meetings and had gone with her on one occasion to a Christian crusade meeting. I had gone mainly to please my friend but also to try in some way to convert her to Mormonism. All of these meetings had seemed to me to be shallow and they had no impression upon me whatsoever and had only served to make me feel more convinced than ever that Mormonism had all the answers. I could not consider any of these more conventional religions as an alternative to Mormonism.

After a few weeks of preparation I was ready to embark on my mission and received my official call to go to the mission in Reading in the South East. My mother could not resist the urge to be derisive and implied that I would find it difficult to live in the South East, as I would be jealous of their more affluent life style. My mother could never accept my political views any more than she accepted my religious ones; she considered that my somewhat left-wing political opinions were born of envy for those who where more wealthy. Other than this both my parents accepted the fact that I was leaving home quite well.

On a warm day in May, dressed in a dowdy suit, the skirt of which came down past my knees (totally unfashionable for the sixties era of the mini skirt, but the dress code of the Mormon Church was very prudish, members were not allowed to dress "immodestly" especially those who were chosen to be missionaries) and with a very heavy case full of equally frumpy attire I made my way to the railway station. My mother and sister went with me to the station, my father having said his goodbyes, as he was not able to leave the shop. For the first time that I could ever remember my mother kissed me as she said goodbye. I watched them quickly shrink into the distance as the train moved further and further away with only a twinge of regret and a mixture of uncertainty and apprehension for what lay ahead.

After a very difficult journey that involved several changes I was met at Reading station by two American missionaries and escorted to the mission headquarters from where I would be assigned a companion and an area in which to work. I was really very nervous mainly about the need to make conversation with people whom I did not know, moreover I knew that I was expected to be an extrovert, most missionaries were, it was considered to be a vital asset. No one would be expecting a shy rather withdrawn person. I knew that I needed to make a supreme effort to overcome my social ineptness. However, since I had lost my faith my incentive to overcome my shyness was no longer as strong; I had lost to a great degree any motivation to overcome this handicap.

The guesthouse in which I was required to stay whilst I awaited the arrival of my companion highlighted this difficulty considerably: I did not know what to say to the landlady who chatted away incessantly shortly after my arrival at her establishment. She had expected an American who would exude confidence, as most missionaries did, she could not hide her obvious surprise to find out that I was British and not very communicative either. Eventually my companion arrived and we made our way to our assigned area in East Grinstead. It was in a way most unfortunate that this area had been selected for my first assignment as it was close to the temple; we would be expected to take perspective converts to the visitor’s centre which was situated within the temple grounds. I would be constantly reminded of the reason for the loss of my faith.

My companion was not very amiable; she was several years older than I, well past the age that the church usually calls missionaries into the mission field. She was very aloof, her manner was rigid, she had no time for anything other then serious work, which at the time suited my temperament, as I did not care for the social life that missionaries had on their day-off. Missionaries were entitled to only one day off each week during which each missionary was expected to join the other missionaries working in the same district for various sporting activities in the large church hall at Crawley. Time off was very restricted, no missionary was allowed to go out anywhere alone, each missionary was required to remain with either his or her companion or take part in the aforementioned activities.

I found missionary work quite difficult, people in the South East were generally not as friendly as they were in Leicester, and they were far less receptive and very reserved. Moreover there were a lot of strange cults that in Leicester we were not in competition with. These cults included the scientologists. Members of this cult readily admitted us into their homes as they hoped to convert us. After a time I began to find scientology quite interesting. At one time we were visiting an adult family of four, all of whom were members of this Church. They were pleasant people, although I found their beliefs to be bizarre and sometimes incomprehensible but nevertheless fascinating. They related to us accounts of out-of-body experiences, I found these accounts intriguing and listened to them with avid interest. Nevertheless because of my loyalty to the Mormons I could not express my interest. I was as usual compulsively drawn to such interests, but never realised that this tendency on my part was a symptom of a psychological disorder, although I was more aware now that I perhaps gave consideration to such matters more frequently than most people tended to.

I began to think a lot about this strange religion. I had in fact some vague knowledge of scientology prior to my arrival in East Grinstead where the cult had established its headquarters in the UK There had been some mention of their activities in the press therefore I was well aware of their existence but knew little except that, like the Mormons, Scientology was founded in America. The press had dubbed them the " mind benders" and had claimed that contact with the cult was in some way psychologically damaging.

My faith in Mormonism waned even further, especially when a young couple who we had been seeing for some time and who had indicated that it was their intention to join the Church, finally at the last minute, changed their minds. It had been the last straw. My heart was not in it: It was becoming more and more difficult for me to cope with my inner conflict. It was impossible for me to try and convince others of the validity of a religion that I simply could not believe in any more. That weekend my former bishop from Leicester came to see me whilst he was on a visit to the temple. He was not at all helpful; he suggested that it was the lack of my success as a missionary that was causing my doubts rather than my experiences in the temple. He further implied that it was my damaged ego concerning the young couple that was causing the problem and it was therefore feelings of failure rather than doubt that troubled me. I was very upset and angry. He had been very patronising. Nevertheless, I determined to continue with my mission as I just did not know what else to do, my mind was in a turmoil of indecision. I was feeling more and more depressed and very lonely; I certainly could not confide in my companion concerning my doubts. She was so distant; we had not developed any personal relationship whatsoever.

Eventually she was transferred to another area of the mission and I was assigned another companion. This girl was totally different, she was Scottish and had been in the mission field for almost a year. She was a complete contrast to my former companion; she was full of life and we spent a considerable amount of time doubled up in fits of laughter over one thing or another. It was a refreshing change and one that cast a little light into the darkness of my sadness.

At first I could not confide in my new companion, but eventually as we became more close to each other and had reached the level of genuine friendship, I told her about my doubts. I cannot recall her reaction; the only thing that I remember is that we continued with our missionary work for some time whilst I continued to maintain the outward appearance of a dedicated missionary. However, I began to find it more and more difficult to talk to people about things that I no longer believed were true. Losing my faith was by no means a trifling matter as it had left me in a vast void of emptiness, as I mourned its loss my depressive moods increased. I tended to seek solace in eating, I craved food, especially sweet things and looked forward to the occasions when I could eat as the highlight of the day. This habit has remained with me throughout my life interspersed with times when I would behave in the opposite manner and dieted to fanatical extremes.

One of the most difficult parts of my deception - for now it truly was deception, I had irretrievably lost my faith - was the meeting that the missionaries held each week with their peers. These meetings, which were presided over by the senior elder or district leader, were primarily for instruction and the setting of targets. At the end of these meetings missionaries were expected to stand and testify to their belief in the Mormon Church: this practice was quite common throughout the church, during many of their meetings members were given the opportunity to stand and publicly bear witness that they wholeheartedly believed in the Mormon faith. However, it was not usually obligatory and not everyone did so as a matter of cause, only if he or she felt inspired to do so. Yet it had become an excepted fact that each missionary should bear his or her testimony, the meeting would not conclude until everyone had done so. When I had not been sure of my position regarding my faith I had previously given testimony even if it had been somewhat half-heartedly; now that I had finally realised that the loss of my faith was irreclaimable, I could not tolerate the blatant hypocrisy of testifying to the truthfulness of a religion that I no longer believed in. Therefore I finally determined that I should make a stand and openly state my position, I could not cope with the pretence any longer. It was making me more and more depressed. I had to finally make a decision. At the next meeting I declined to give my testimony and afterwards met with the district leader to discuss the best cause of action.

Eventually after consultation with the mission president at their headquarters in Reading I was advised to stay at the temple in order to reflect upon my mission, ironic really considering that the temple had been the cause of all my doubts. After some time I decided that it would be necessary for me to make a clean break with Mormonism: I had to either return home or find employment and lodgings in East Grinstead.

By this time I had become involved with the scientologists and was taking a study course at their headquarters in East Grinstead. This religion appeared to me to be very strange indeed; I was told that it was based upon a mixture of Buddhist philosophy and modern psychology. At the time I knew nothing about either of these traditions therefore I was not in any position to make an informed comparison. My brief involvement with this cult was not merely a religious pursuit but more of a search for freedom from my depressive fears and melancholic moods. Scientology did not compare in any way with Mormonism and it did not replace my former faith in any real sense. It was most likely a diversion, a subconscious attempt to fill the yawning void left in my life after my disillusionment with Mormonism. In fact most of the teachings of this so called church were utterly incomprehensible, the courses like wise. These courses appeared to me to be utterly ludicrous, and in some indefinable way, suppressive - in fact the whole ambience of St Hill Manor, the headquarters of scientology, had an authoritarian atmosphere. My mood became more and more depressed. Unlike the Mormons these people were not in the least amicable. Furthermore their behaviour shocked me, I was stunned by their lack of morals and obscene language, it was almost as though such behaviour was part and parcel of their image and a necessity if one was to be a scientologist. The people that I had met whilst being a Mormon had kept hidden this aspect of their persona.

After much soul-searching I decided to remain in East Grinstead, I just could not contemplate the thought of returning home to the empty existence that I had had before my conversion to Mormonism - an existence filled once again with the perpetual thought of death. Life at home seemed bleak, I could not return.

Although Scientology could not replace Mormonism in terms of religious fulfilment it did, nonetheless, fill a void in my life and gave me something to focus on. In retrospect Scientology was merely a distraction.

In a very short space of time I became dissatisfied with this bizarre cult but remained with the sect for sometime; as before with my association with the Mormons I simply did not know what else to do. To make matters worse I was now also employed by them as a filing clerk. I had also moved into rented accommodation at St Hill along with other members of the cult. I was as before in a constant state of dilemma, I still did not wish to return home however I was deeply unhappy with scientology and my depression became more profound.

Some week’s employees were not paid properly: If the Church had not made sufficient profit from its courses it did not pay its employees. Some weeks I could barely afford my rent and had to take an additional job in the snack bar in the grounds of the manor. A member of the cult privately owned this, therefore the payment of wages was not dependent upon the income of the Church. At one time I hadn’t enough money to buy food after not being paid and had to resort to stealing a sandwich from the snack bar. I felt very guilty but had no choice given the circumstances. This intolerable situation caused me to become embroiled in frequent explosive altercations with senior members of the cult; I considered that I was being exploited and felt trapped in my situation. I could not cope with the fact that they were clearly taking advantage of me and many others who were in a similar position.

Once again despite my predicament I did not tell my parents nor did I consider returning home, I therefore continued with both my courses and my employment at St Hill manor.

It was during this distressful time that I met my future husband John who was not a scientologist but worked in the grounds of St Hill manor as a gardener. Most of the gardening staff were non-members and were therefore paid in full. I had become friendly with the head gardener (most of my acquaintances were non-scientologists, most members of the cult were unfriendly and unapproachable) who introduced me to John. John first appeared to be very quiet and reserved, nevertheless I felt comfortable in his company. We dated for only a very short time, probably for only about four weeks, before he asked me to become engaged, I readily accepted but with some misgivings regarding my commitments to Scientology.

I could not however make a clear decision regarding scientology. Although I had no real faith in the validity of this cult I was worried that there would be another void in my life if I abandoned this affiliation and went back to a regular job. In short I did not think that I could cope with my life without the support of some type of religious belief however undesirable or bizarre it was; I feared that I would once again be consumed by morbid preoccupation’s and that once again my life would be enshrouded with the dread of death, with its prospect of annihilation. I could not envision being able to cope with life without some of hope in an afterlife, even if it was only a very slim hope. After all I inwardly knew that scientology did not have the answers to the questions that haunted my mind - I had perhaps always known this and had only joined this cult on the rebound from my disassociation with Mormonism.

Unlike my former religion however scientology seemed cold and uncaring, the members of the cult lacked compassion, even for their own. Their strange ideas and doctrines were totally at variance with most orthodox religious belief whether Christian or non-Christian - their beliefs most certainly bore no resemblance to Buddhism as they so claimed. The organisation was totalitarian; their rules were absolute, no Scientologist in good standing would dare question them. One of these rules included the exclusion from membership of anyone who had received psychiatric treatment however brief. I had only qualified as no one could believe that a child as young as three could possibly have been referred to a psychiatrist and they had assumed that I was mistaken. At the time it suited me to allow this misconception as I was at first keen to belong to this cult. Despite the obvious unsuitability of this sect it nevertheless held me in some strange grip of bizarre fascination - the unusual and the eccentric seemed to tantalise me.

The Scientologists were fanatics and worked long hours each day; most worked right into the night. This did not leave me a lot of time for seeing John. I therefore began to refuse to do the long hours of unpaid overtime that I was expected to work. Knowing that I was engaged to a non-member attempts were made to dissuade me from marrying John. In spite of the fact that I did not really have any faith in this perverse sect, I was very confused for the reasons already mentioned concerning my need to have some kind of religious belief that would mitigate the awfulness of my ruminations. Although I loved John and wanted to marry him my mind was in turmoil, a maelstrom of doubts and fears. As a result I became confused and broke off our engagement, an action I regretted almost immediately. My mother was quick to point out that I was making a big mistake and would find scientology "cold comfort". For once I agreed with her and decided that if John still wanted me I would marry him as soon as possible and leave the scientologists and try and live a normal life. I now began to realise that all I really wanted was a home and family, just being a homemaker now seemed more important than the attainment of some elusive abstract religious fulfilment.

Fortunately John still wanted to marry me and we agreed to marry as soon as possible; now that I was absolutely sure about my decision I did not see any point in a long engagement. We decided that a registry office wedding would be more appropriate - we did not have the kind of money that would provide us with a church wedding, furthermore I had been brought up to believe that a happy marriage afterwards was more important than an extravagant wedding.

It was now of course necessary for me to leave my accommodation at St Hill, now that I had officially renounced my membership and terminated my employment I could not stay at lodgings owned by scientologists. Leaving this sect had not been as easy as leaving the Mormons had been: I had signed a works contract to work for them for several years, as a contracted member of staff I had been enrolled in several courses free of charge. Now that I was in breach of my contract the Church would require me to reimburse them for the full amount. The fees charged for some of these courses were exorbitant; I owed six hundred pounds. I only felt vaguely guilty but did not experience the agony of torment that would have been present had I considered their claim to be valid. I considered that I had been exploited having worked long hours for less money than had been agreed when I signed the contract. Moreover I considered that the fees were outrageously expensive. The Church of Scientology tried to claim the money that they insisted that I owed them. I did not of course give them my forwarding address, however when I had first been interested in the cult I had given them my parents address as my home address, to which they wrote numerous letters requesting that I pay this debt.

Although by this time I was totally disillusioned with this cult it was nevertheless quite a wrench, I suffered from bouts of depression, moods of inexplicable apprehension and existential terror. I explained to John that I was suffering from depression and had done so all my life but I did not go into detail concerning the nature of my morbid ruminations. At this time I still did not realise that these distressing preoccupations were a symptom of a specific mental disorder and not merely a part of my character or a result of my depression. It never occurred to me to discuss with John my unnatural fear of death or my obsession with religion. In retrospect I still did not see that I had a problem, it did not occur to me that I was obsessed despite the numerous times that my mother had called me a "fanatic" and a "religious maniac" - I had merely considered her remarks to be motivated by spite rather than from either concern or observation. I recall my mother saying on numerous occasions that I was like my great aunt who was, according to my mother, "never quite sure that she had the right ticket". My mother explained that my great aunt went from one religion to another; first one was right than it was not and was replaced by another.

After leaving my lodgings at St.Hill I found suitable accommodation with a lady and her daughter in a small out of the way place near Lingfield. John had had to pay a months rent in advance, as I had no money whatsoever having spent the small amount that I had soon after the scientologists had stopped paying me my regular wage. I felt very ashamed, as he had to withdraw money from his savings account. It was imperative that I find a job as soon as possible.

I secured employment at a laundry in East Grinstead. It was not a particularly interesting job, I quickly became extremely bored, but I had no qualifications and no self-confidence, moreover, it did not occur to me to try and find something better. Notwithstanding the chronic boredom it was pleasant to be with normal people once again and not to feel subjected to suppressive rules and regulations.

I did not like my new accommodation as I had become increasingly shyer and withdrew from the other occupants of the house. I spent all my time in my room and only went down into the kitchen to prepare my meals when I could be sure that no one else was at home. My anxiety in this regard became so intolerable that I eventually moved in with John and his parents. John slept on the settee; we did not feel that his parents would approve of our sleeping together before the wedding.

Return to contents page Chapter Six.

I waited my Wedding day with a mixture of excitement and trepidation; I was also beset with the fear that John would change his mind and would no longer want to marry me. I spent endless hours contemplating this possibility, especially when I was at work, when my mind had no distraction and my thoughts had full rein. John has tendencies to be very quiet at times, a mood that I am now used to, it is just the way he is and is no indication that there is a problem of any kind. However, at this stage in our relationship I was not used to this trait in his character and thought that there was something wrong, that perhaps he was having second thoughts about marrying me. These intrusive thoughts were a constant source of torment; I continually felt oppressed waiting for him to tell me that he had changed his mind. However, he never did and on August 5 1972 we were married at the registry office at Red Hill.

Neither of my parents attended, my mother insisted that she could find no one to look after the shop. My sister and her husband (she had only recently married herself) did not attend, as she had at that time severe agoraphobia. In fact no one came from my family at all, I was deeply hurt, I considered that my mother’s excuse was unreasonable. I felt even more rejected, relegated to second place once again in my mother’s affections. I knew that if she had had to make a journey to my sister’s wedding she would have found some way of doing so.

Because of our financial situation we decided to live with John’s parents until we were in a position to acquire a home of our own; this was also where we would spend our first night together as husband and wife, as we could not even afford a honeymoon. It was shortly after my marriage that my life was to take a serious turn for the worse, never again was I to have any peace of mind in fact never again was I able to feel that my mind was my own. Life was soon to take on a bizarre and terrifying perspective the like of which I could never have envisioned in my wildest dreams or more precisely in my wildest nightmares.

Shortly after my marriage to John a depressing conversation at work caused me to become severely hypochrondrical, which in turn precipitated the full-blown emergence of OCD. This short but insensitive conversation was the beginning of the destruction of my life, of my sanity and consequently my peace of mind. The lady with whom I worked each day had until this time always been a most pleasant companion albeit somewhat morbid at times. On one occasion this lady started to discuss the Film " Love Story" which had recently been on general release. For some strange reason - for it would never occur to me to ask someone such a sensitive question - she suddenly asked me to consider how I would feel if something similar should happen to me. The story concerns a passionate love affair between a young couple, the film ends tragically with the girl dying of leukaemia. I had seen this film and had been moved by its sad ending, nevertheless at that time I was not as sensitive as I was now and had not been unduly distressed by it. Now however this insensitive conversation began to sow new seeds of fear into my mind about death and added a new dimension of horror concerning my demise; now I not only dreaded the prospect of my own death because I was terrified of the annihilation of my conscious being, after this conversation I suddenly realised that death would deprive me of my life with my husband. If I were to suddenly die now I would never see him again. From that time onwards I could not dispel this thought from my mind. I did not want to die because I did not want to leave my husband and enter the black abyss of nothingness were all awareness ceased, for this was at that time, once again, my concept of death.

My job at the laundry was boring, as I had plenty of time to ruminate upon my own mortality. The fact that the film had portrayed the death of a young person of similar age to myself seemed to bring home to me vividly that I could die young; something that I had not considered to any great degree since childhood. I was utterly consumed with indescribable dread. My initial fears may have subsided if by an unfortunate quirk of fate I had not been subjected to another very morbid and frightening conversation shortly afterwards.

In the afternoons I worked with an elderly lady who had been very amiable and we had conversed easily, although the conversation had been trite and not very stimulating. Nonetheless these conversations had helped to pass the long tedious hours when time hung heavy and melancholic thoughts easily intruded. This particular afternoon the conversation seemed to lend itself to gruesome accounts of death: there was little that I could do to deter the conversation without being rude. She seemed to enjoy telling me in lurid detail how she had seen people die. She vividly described how she had seen people in the final throes of death; she explained in detail that she had observed how, despite incapacitating illness, in the last moments of life the dying person had struggled from the bed and fought futilely for his or her last breath. She even went on to tell me that at the point of death the dying person was subjected to the indignity of losing control of his or her bladder.

I was horrified; filled with a pervading dread of indescribable proportion, hitherto unequalled. I was consumed by a physical weakness as if my legs were unable to support me, as fear like the grip of death itself constricted my stomach. I had never before or since been engaged in such a lured and thoroughly distasteful conversation. What induced this lady to talk in this most insensitive way I cannot imagine. Perhaps she was able to mitigate her own fears by talking to me. She was quite elderly, close to retirement; perhaps the fear of death haunted her thoughts to some extent. I was not only filled with the sense of the most appalling dread but as a consequence I was to develop a most bitter resentment towards this thoughtless lady and others like her who, with no concept of the effect that such unpleasant conversations have on the recipient, indulge in such distasteful talk.

I went home that day in a most severe state of shock; I was preoccupied with a pervading sense of horror that enhanced to a great degree my already inordinate fear of death. I was now consumed utterly by my obsession with death, I could not rid myself of the thought of these morbid conversation, and I could concentrate my mind on little else. The thought of death was now my constant companion.

Very soon after this conversation - the same day in fact - I began to feel sick. This sudden nausea was accompanied by waves of fear that washed over me almost constantly since this abhorrent conversation. As the afternoon went on, the feeling of sickness gradually became worse, by the time that John collected me from work I was convinced that I was going to die in the immediate future.

We were still living with John’s parents which seemed to make matters worse, we had little privacy therefore I was not able to tell my husband for some time what had happened. That evening I felt so ill with nausea and so panic stricken that I could not eat - a problem that was immediately noticed by my mother-in-law who insisted on cooking all our meals (I found this situation intolerable. Not only did my mother-in-law want to cook all our meals but she even wanted to wash and iron my husband’s cloths. I felt that I had no choice in the matter regarding the preparation of meals, I did however make a stand concerning our laundry, and she relented without any appearance of ill feeling.) My mother-in-law however did try to please - perhaps a little too much, she always cooked chips with most meals, which she knew that I liked. Therefore she immediately noticed that I was not eating these specially prepared meals. I could not confide in her and insisted that nothing was wrong. As the weeks rolled by and I became increasingly more tense and morose, my mother-in-law became increasingly concerned.

Finally she approached John but he could tell her nothing as he himself was at a loss to understand precisely what ailed me. The sickness persisted, the more chronic it became the more I became convinced that I was terminally ill. I was sure that I had leukaemia.

I began to lose weight as a result of not being able to eat because of the intensity of my fear, however the loss of appetite and consequent weight loss took on a more sinister meaning for me: it served to validate the notion that I was terminally ill. I had no real facts upon which to substantiate my fears; I did not know for a fact what the symptoms of leukaemia were. I dare not consult a medical dictionary for fear that my diagnosis was correct. My mind seemed divided against itself; it was as if I were two people; one rational, the other irrational. The rational one knew that these fears were unfounded while the irrational one remained firmly convinced, forever finding fresh evidence to validate its claims. My mind was at war - a civil war. During this conflict the negative side of my mind was the most dominant.

Gradually I confided more and more in John, as I needed desperately to talk with someone, I needed constant reassurance. He was very understanding as he tried to convince me that my fears were unwarranted. After these conversations I would feel somewhat better, less convinced of the validity of my notions, nevertheless my fears soon crept back and my mind would once again be absorbed by them.

After some time of agonising torment I went to see my GP who confirmed that I did not have leukaemia - I did not mention my ruminations and obsession with death, I was still not aware that I suffered from a specific disorder, although I knew from past experience that I was suffering from hypochondria. The doctor was indeed most understanding and reassuring. He suggested that my problems where stress induced and may have been brought on perhaps by the unsatisfactory situation at home or the unfamiliarity of married life. I found little comfort in this hypothesis as these imaginary illness seemed real to my tired mind. Not only was my mind exhausted from the constant inner turmoil, but my body also became subject to extreme weakness. I would fall asleep immediately after dinner in the evening, even when we were out at the cinema or visiting my husband’s relatives. One evening, much to my embarrassment, I fell asleep during a home movie featuring my brother-in-law’s children. I felt very guilty about this display of bad manners but did not feel that I could confide in my in-laws concerning my emotional state; they simply would not have understood. They appeared to me to be down to earth people not given to any kind of emotional disturbance (I was to be proven wrong in the future when my brother-in-law suffered a nervous breakdown) at this time however I did not consider that they would understand the hell that I was going through. Also I was still painfully shy in their presence.

As my condition deteriorated further my fears occupied more and more of my life. I could think of little else but illness and death. I imagined that I had one terminal illness after another. I would seek reassurance from my GP who was very understanding, nevertheless once reassured about one illness I would within a matter of days be convinced that I had developed another serious illness. The only illnesses that worried me were those maladies that were fatal. Illness in itself did not worry me it was the fear of death that haunted me.

I imagined that I had every illness that was either mentioned by anyone or that I inadvertently read about. I remember quite clearly a colleague mentioning that a lady whom she knew had only two weeks to live; she had hardening of the arteries or as this lady described it, "her arteries were drying up". From that moment onwards I was in a permanent state of anxiety thinking that I was suffering from this condition, I became convinced that I had hardening of the arteries. The fact that I realised that this illness is a problem of old age, I was still only twenty two, did nothing to alleviate my fears, I remained convinced.

By this time my husband was spending increasingly longer amounts of time trying to convince me that my fears were unfounded. He continued to be most understanding but failed to understand the profound sense of fear that ruled my waking life. Sleep was virtually the only time that I had any respite from my anxiety, soon I was not to have this interlude as eventually terrifying dreams came to haunt me. However, in the initial stages of my illness sleep was indeed a blessing, this may have been part of the reason that I tended to fall asleep at almost any time and anywhere. It is ironic that sleep was my only salvation and my only respite, as sleep and death have always seemed to me to be very similar states. I often thought that sleep is like a taste of death. I feared death because I feared oblivion, yet at this time these slices of oblivion were the only times that I could find peace from my mental torment. My waking life was a veritable nightmare, the only difference being that nightmares came to an end upon waking, however this living nightmare existence of the daytime had no such end. My torment, like death itself, seemed eternal.

We were still living with my in-laws, it was virtually impossible to acquire rented accommodation, and moreover we did not earn enough money even with our two incomes combined to afford a mortgage. This problem increased my depression to a great degree.

On the whole my in-laws were fairly agreeable nevertheless there was an undercurrent of tension, which is common in this type of situation. I felt that there was a certain amount of competitiveness between my mother-in-law and myself, on the surface we seemed to get along but she still wanted to look after John in the same way that she had been used to before our marriage. I did not challenge her but became quite resentful. It appeared to me that she deliberately went out of her way to ensure that there was nothing around the house that I could do to help when I arrived home from work. This may not have been a conscious attempt on her part to prevent me from doing things for John and may simply have been the force of habit but nevertheless it added its toll to my other problems. I became desperate to find a place of our own were I could become a proper wife. Our privacy was very limited. On one occasion my mother-in-law came into our bedroom whilst we were in bed without knocking. I was livid with anger.

I sank deeper into depression; the fear of dying was present during most of my waking hours, I could not even tolerate the mention of the word. I existed in a perpetual state of dread.

I had now changed my job and worked in a light engineering factory. Like all such jobs it was for me very tedious, I was chronically bored; the long monotonous hours hung heavy as my mind was left free to ruminate upon the horror of death and its inevitability. Death overshadowed my life. I was rarely free from the thought of death in some form or another; I was either terrified with the notion that I had some terminal illness or I was compulsively engaged in morbid contemplation concerning the nature of death. I could not rid my mind of the fear that death would mean my total annihilation, the cessation of my being. I now started to cry a lot, most days I was tearful - frequently hysterical.

My mother-in-law continued to be concerned, however I could not confide in her; she seemed impervious to fear and appeared not to be in the least afraid of death or suffering, both she and my father-in-law seemed enveloped in their own private world - a world in which only the mundane and routine mattered. What took place in the here and now was all that was important, there appeared to be no room in their lives for pointless ruminating upon either life or death. They lived each day as it occurred, with little thought about the inevitable horror that awaited them.

In some ways however, I began to resent them, they seemed to me to be somewhat shallow. I am now ashamed of my attitude and intolerance towards them; I knew that my attitude was unfair, they could not help the way they felt any more than I could. I found it increasingly more difficult to talk with them; I rarely spoke unless spoken to, I simply could not concentrate upon ordinary conversation about matters that appeared to me to be inconsequential. The strain of living with my in-laws was adding its toll to my emotional turmoil. Eventually we found some rented accommodation, which we could barely afford but nevertheless because of the aforementioned circumstances it was imperative that we move.

It was a lovely feeling to be alone with John and to have a place of our own; it was most satisfying to have the freedom to do as we wished, the sense of independence was intoxicating. I had felt trapped; the atmosphere at my in-law’s had felt somewhat repressive, although I do not believe that they intended it to be so. Even a minor issue about what we watched on TV caused me significant irritation - at no time were we ever consulted about what we would like to watch, my mother-in-law would switch from channel to channel as if our presence in the room was of no consequence whatsoever. A mild irritation perhaps, nevertheless it all began to add up to produce increased feelings of resentment.

The house that we had rented was furnished, which detracted somewhat from the feeling that it was our home, nevertheless it was a novel experience to be able to cook and clean. I felt more like a married women. For a time I enjoyed this new status, nonetheless the old fears and trepidation’s remained the same, casting a pall over my life. Like the cancer that I feared they continued to grow. I was constantly consulting the doctor, as every little ache and pain was greatly exaggerated in my terrified mind, as I worried about one illness after another. During the period in which I was convinced that I had hardening of the arteries I actually believed that the veins in my wrist had disappeared, that they had shrivelled up. So vivid was this image in my mind that no one could convince me that this was not possible, my fear reached psychotic proportions; I totally lost touch with reality whilst in the throes of this delusion.

It was during this increasingly trying period of my life that I started to experience a type of panic attack in which I would find it difficult to breathe - at the time this only served to convince me that I had lung cancer.

After a while so great was my distress that my problems were becoming more noticeable to others - particularly to those with whom I worked. One perceptive lady implied that she had noticed from my behaviour that I had nervous problems; I was not aware that my inner turmoil was so transparent and felt somewhat shocked by this statement. She explained that she was able to recognise a fellow sufferer as she had recently experienced emotional trauma after discovering that her husband was having an affair, the shock of which had caused her to suffer profound anxiety. I could not bring myself to be wholly open with this lady, but I mentioned that I was rather anxious about contracting cancer and other terminal illnesses. She was very sympathetic albeit rather patronising as, in my experience, older people tended to be. After a while my problems became common knowledge and I was teased somewhat. This had a mixed affect; at times this teasing appeared to be insensitive and was distressing, at other times it helped me to a certain extent to get things into perspective. However I was never really certain whether this teasing was malicious or just friendly leg pulling.

The personnel officer eventually became aware of my chronic state of anxiety. One evening John had arrived late to collect me from work and I panicked and had become tearful and distraught and noticeably distressed. Senior staff had noticed my reactions and the next day the personnel officer called me into his office to enquire about my behaviour. I was very antagonistic toward him; I considered that this enquiry was an invasion of privacy. I felt that this apparent concern was feigned and that his interest in my plight was not as humanitarian as it had first appeared to be. He went on to tell me that he had had reports from the shop floor that my work had not been satisfactory, and that I had been observed to occasionally stop work and sit for a while with my head resting upon my hand, propped up on my elbow. This observation had been correct, I sometimes did this as a result of intermittent attacks of nausea - these bouts of nausea still persisted and served to confirm that I was ill, I did not realise at the time that these attacks were the result of chronic stress. He did not appear to be very sympathetic; he was more concerned that the company were paying me for these short interludes than he was for my welfare. He became rather impatient and annoyed when I would not confide in him. I did however tell him that I suffered from sudden attacks of anxiety. I did not explain further. His attitude and the fact that he was not much older than I did not encourage me to discuss my problems with him.

It was difficult for me to confide in anyone; it was impossible to relate the nature of my anxieties to anyone who obviously had no inkling of the profound torment that I was subjected to day after day. Shortly after this incident I handed in my notice and left within the week.

Fortunately my husband had secured employment for me in the factory in which he now worked. Shortly after my departure from St Hill John also left their employ he now worked in a small factory in a nearby village. Most of the other employees where young, under twenty-five, I was rather apprehensive, I had always suffered from considerable social ineptness, this problem was much worse when I was required to associate with young people of my own age. It was inordinately difficult for me to engage in any kind of social intercourse with my peers, I felt more at ease with people considerably older than I. Nevertheless I agreed to work there, as I was keen to be with my husband. Most of the other employees were women numbering perhaps half a dozen. The atmosphere at times was very tense, as gossip was rife. When I first arrived the ladies in the room in which I was working were not speaking to one of their fellow workers in an adjoining workroom. I could not relax in this kind of tense atmosphere, although everyone was very friendly towards me I nevertheless felt uncomfortable. As usual I found it very difficult to make conversation with my fellow employees, and would remained silent for long periods of time. I was acutely embarrassed by my inability to communicate and felt awkward. Most of these ladies made numerous attempts to make conversation, however, I was simply too shy and rarely spoke unless spoken to. I sensed that they were uncomfortable in my presence; perhaps they thought that I did not like them, none realised that I simply could not talk with them because I was tongue-tied. I was utterly incapable of small talk even though I longed to be able to join in. I felt lonely. I wished that I could have explained to them why I could not socialise with them, but of course I could not.

Eventually the atmosphere became so strained that my fellow workers conspired to have me sacked - at least that is the impression that I got from the manager. The manager called me into his office and explained to me that these ladies felt uncomfortable by my silence, which was more noticeable because it was only a small firm and workers worked in close proximity to one another therefore my shyness was immediately apparent, in a larger concern it would probably have gone unnoticed.

I was extremely upset, as this blatant rejection did considerable damage to my self-esteem at a time when I was particularly vulnerable and sensitive. In retrospect I understand their motives and do not hold any resentment towards them, however at the time I was sensitive to every situation that was in the least disagreeable.

I found another job very quickly in East Grinstead; this job at a light bulb factory was as soul destroying as all the rest had been, nevertheless I had to stay there in order to pay the rent.

After about six months we moved from the house in Uckfield to live in a somewhat tiny tied cottage near the Ashdown forest.

This event was to herald the emergence of severe and incapacitating OCD; the symptoms of this affliction were to become more apparent. This still undiagnosed condition was soon to introduce a new dimension of terror, which far surpassed the mental anguish that I had hitherto experienced.

Return to contents page Chapter Seven.

These things may seem ridiculous to others, even as ridiculous as they were in themselves, but to me they were the most tormenting cogitations.
John Bunyon,
Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners.

But it was neither my dislike of the thought, nor yet any desire and endeavour to resist it that in the least did shake or abate the continuation, or force and strength thereof; for it did always, in almost whatever I thought, intermix itself therewith in such sort that I could neither eat my food, stoop for a pin, chop a stick, or cast mine eye to look on this, or that, but still the temptation would come, Sell Christ for this, or sell Christ for that; sell Him, sell Him.

I feared therefore that this wicked sin of mine might be that sin unpardonable, of which he there thus speaketh, 'But he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation' (Mark 3.29). And I did the rather give credit to this, because of that sentence in the Hebrews, 'For ye know, how that afterward, when he would have inherited the blessing, he was rejected; for he found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears.' And this stuck always with me.

And now was I both a burden and a terror to myself, nor did I ever so know, as now, what it was to be weary of my life, and yet afraid to die. Oh, how gladly now would I have been anybody but myself! Anything but a man! and in any condition but mine own! for there was nothing did pass more frequently over my mind, than that it was impossible for me to be forgiven my transgression, and to be saved from wrath to come.

What, thought I, is there but one sin that is unpardonable? But one sin that layeth the soul without the reach of God's mercy; and must I be guilty of that? Must it needs be that? Is there but one sin among so many millions of sins, for which there is no forgiveness; and must I commit this? Oh, unhappy sin! Oh, unhappy man! These things would so break and confound my spirit, that I could not tell what to do; I thought, at times, they would have broke my wits; and still, to aggravate my misery, that would run in my mind, 'Ye know how that afterward, when he would have inherited the blessing, he was rejected.' Oh! none knows the terrors of those days but myself.

John Bunyon,
Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners.

In exchange for living in this rather primitive cottage my husband had to tend the garden of the owner, Mr Murray, who lived a little further along the meandering country road. John was required to work in the garden on Saturday mornings whilst I helped Mr Murray’s housekeeper, Mrs Wilson, should the need arise - which I was told would not be very often.

This rather quaint cottage was three hundred years old; it had few modern facilities, there was no bathroom and only an outside chemical toilet. The four tiny rooms consisted of a kitchen, sitting room and two bedrooms. The ceilings were very low, particularly downstairs. However the cottage was situated in a particularly pleasant and secluded part of the Ashdown forest, which more than compensated.

It was while we were living in this idyllic setting that my mental condition deteriorated dramatically as the religious ruminations and compulsions of my childhood returned but in a far more distressing and bizarre manner. I now began to experience what I will now refer to as propitiatory obsessions. It was the beginning of severe obsessive-compulsive behaviour of a religious nature. I gradually became aware of a strange compulsion to make a vow to God in a placatory manner: I would make a bargain with God in order to conciliate and appease. I had the notion that it was imperative for me to attempt to pacify God in order to insure a long life. I would make bargains with God in an attempt to propitiate; I would deny myself all manner of normal pleasures and pursuits if in return God would allow me to live. Firstly I made vows to abstain from certain types of food - those foods that gave me the most pleasure. The first item of food from which I vowed to abstain was chocolate, gradually more and more foods were added to the list, my diet became more limited and I lost weight. As my anxiety grew my distorted logic told me that God was implacable, therefore I needed to add more and more restrictions to my list in order to pacify Him and quell my mounting trepidation. No matter how much I added to the list of abstentions it was never enough. Eventually I vowed to fast everyday for twenty-three hours, during this time I would neither eat nor drink. I allowed myself one hour each day from 6pm to 7pm in which to eat. At this time I would eat my evening meal and drink as much as I could consume. Despite my increasingly austere existence my anxiety continued to increase alarmingly, I could not satisfy myself that I had taken enough precautions, that I had sufficiently appeased God - God seemed to my terrified disturbed mind to be inexorable

As my anxiety escalated I began to make vows of abstinence in other areas of my life: I denied myself all manner of mundane pleasures, such as cloths - I vowed that I would not buy any new cloths, I vowed that I would not wear makeup and that I would refrain from reading certain books that I feared may be offensive in a religious sense. The list of abstentions was endless and grew almost daily.

At first I vowed to deny myself these pleasures for a limited period of time: for instance when these notions first become apparent, I abstained from eating chocolate for one month. When this period of self denial had elapsed I would continue to eat chocolate, however as my fears grew I would renew the same vow within days of being liberated from its restriction. Eventually I would vow to give up chocolate altogether, the same bizarre pattern of behaviour occurred with each of the things that I would vow to deny myself.

It is necessary to point out that at this point in my life I did not have a normal belief in God, it was a most bizarre, truly paradoxical situation! I did not believe in an after life and did not believe in the existence of God - or did I? My rational mind did not really believe in God; deep down at a rational level I knew my behaviour was very silly and illogical. But this grip on reality was very tenuous indeed, for the most part I totally lost touch with the reality of the situation and completely failed to recognise the illogical duality of my thinking. At a more persistent and much more powerful non-logical level I believed in this distorted concept of God and considered that these perverse vows and bargains were absolutely necessary. This aberrant part of my mind believed God to be a being who could - and would if I did not comply with the obligations of my vows - eradicate those whom I loved (primarily my husband) and also myself if I did not appease him. I could not believe in the more normal concept of God as a benevolent being.

It was as though I were two people; inside my exhausted mind an eternal battle raged, however, during this phase in my illness the irrational part of my mind easily vanquished the rational part. Moreover, I rarely challenged my irrational self as I was besieged by this infinitely more powerful aspect of my being. These intrusive thoughts were immensely powerful, terrifyingly real in their coercive persuasions. My unwanted thoughts were "loud "almost audible, they fuelled the flames that fired my compulsive urge to add more and more vows to the list of propitiations. Over and over again these inner thoughts implied that if I did not comply, than I would die. So terrifyingly real were my thoughts that I could not, dare not, cease to comply with these vows - I had to adhere to my self-imposed obligations despite the severe restrictions that they imposed upon my life.

In the beginning of this bizarre manifestation of OCD (it is important to keep in mind that during this time I did not use the term OCD or indeed any other to describe the nature of this strange malady) I made the vows of my own volition although nevertheless compulsively. Whilst making these vows I did not speak to God in the manner of a formal prayer; I did not even address Him but mentally made the vow. For example something similar to the following would pass through my mind: "I will give up eating chocolate for one month if you do not take my life". After a while I started to make vows that were not of my volition, the urge to make a vow would suddenly intrude into my thoughts and I would deny myself yet another pleasure. This type of vow was little more than the essence of a thought and often times did not include the use of words as in the aforementioned example. Often just the mere idea to abstain from something would flash through my mind, it was beyond my ability to deter and it was nevertheless as binding as the more substantial voluntary commitments. The involuntary thoughts were however far more incapacitating as I had no control over their content and the vows that resulted from this "essence of a thought" were more difficult to keep and far more restrictive. This compulsion to make vows, both with and without my volition, was particularly severe if I felt in the least vulnerable. For instance, if I thought that my life was under some threat, such as during a hypochondriacal episode - in fact anytime that I felt that death was imminent for any reason.

Despite the enormous emotional upheaval in my life I was able to keep the whole matter a secret from my husband; I was too ashamed to tell him. He never realised that I had acquired a new problem; in spite of my inordinate fear of God and divine retribution I lied easily to cover up my odd behaviour, and explained my abstemiousness in many ingenious and plausible ways.

It is now difficult to recall all the details clearly during this time of great mental turmoil. I do however recall that it all seemed very real - so real that I will never forget the devastating effect that it had upon my life. I recall that I never questioned the inappropriateness or absurdity of my behaviour; it just seemed necessary and totally beyond my ability to resist. Not once did it occur to me that my behaviour and attitudes were at variance with my life style and were more suited to a pious medieval monk or nun, or a reclusive ascetic living in a hermitage somewhere in the Himalayan mountains, were this type of mortification is still practised for reasons of piety, deep religious conviction, the search for enlightenment or other spiritual experience and not from a psychotic fear of punishment and retribution.

In my opinion these episodes were psychotic; I was totally out of touch with reality in this regard. I really considered that my behaviour was necessary and although it caused me untold distress my self imposed placatory obligations had to be adhered to if I was to continue to live! I actually considered that I might die if I ignored these compulsions to make vows, moreover having once made them I dare not break them for fear of divine retribution. I seemed unable to halt the progress of these bizarre compulsions, as the months went by my life became more and more restricted.

After some tortuous months this compulsion developed a stage further and I started to make promises to God - promises that I would behave in a certain way. Most of these promises involved the performance of good deeds, such as making a donation to charity, or good behaviour, for instance not swearing or losing my temper. Similarly to the vows these commitments were made for propitiatory reasons, to further bargain for my continued existence. One of these commitments included a pledge that I would return to the Mormon Church moreover I also promised that my husband would do likewise. I cannot clearly recall why I thought that promising to attend the Mormon Church once again would appease God. This obligation was made whilst I was engaged in the many prayers of supplication that I made to God whenever I felt particularly vulnerable or whenever I thought the ascetic vows were not enough. The making of these promises may have appeared to be more like normal prayers than the aforementioned vows, however, in retrospect, they were compulsive rituals said time and time again whenever I was especially anxious about death. They were merely another bizarre aspect of my religious obsessions and compulsions. Now I was really, for all intents and purposes, the religious maniac that my mother had often called me during the time of my first involvement in the Mormon Church: the term religious mania was in fact once used to describe this aspect of OCD.

I was very convincing when I told my husband that I needed to return to the Mormon faith, when in truth I still did not believe in this religion any more than I did any other. However I had this overpowering feeling that I should try and appease God by returning to this strange religion. Like a drug addict who needs more and more drugs to satisfy his inner cravings, I needed to make more and more vows and promises to mitigate my growing anxiety - I could never be sure that I had done enough to appease God and ensure my survival. My Husband readily agreed to accompany me to church. He was very impressed by the Church, particularly the friendliness of the other members of the congregation. Unlike me John is not a complicated person, he readily accepted Mormonism without all the introspection, analysis and doubts that plagued me. Within a short time both he and his father were baptised. My father-in-law had become interested as a result of John’s commitment, yet in a more subtle way all three of us became involved in the Mormon Church because of the powerful persuasions of OCD.

I must re-emphasise that I still did not regard my behaviour as neurotic, although I loathed the pretence I was inexorably driven by my obsessions and compulsions, although I had re-joined the Mormon Church I still did not believe in God in the normal way. Consequently I found the hypocrisy of returning to the Mormon Church rather distressing but nevertheless I continued to be uncontrollably led by my bizarre thoughts. It seemed beyond my ability to resist - not that it really occurred to me to try. The fear was too strong.

Sometime shortly after returning to the Mormon Church I became obsessed by an intrusive thought of a most profane and blasphemous nature. We were returning home after a trip out when the words of a familiar hymn came into my mind, as the melodies of any kind of music tend to do from time to time. However on this occasion the words of the hymn became perverted - the original words of the hymn were replaced with words of a profoundly sacrilegious nature. Vile and obscene words flooded my mind, as sexual swear words replaced those in the hymn. I was horrified and filled with mortal dread. From than on the same words came into my mind in connection with Christ or the Holy Spirit. I cannot adequately describe the profound sense of horror that emanated throughout my being; I was utterly appalled. I thought that I had committed the unforgivable sin. The bible refers to the unforgivable sin as blasphemy against the Holy Sprit: according to the bible the sinner could not hope for reconciliation in this life or the life to come. However, as I did not believe in life after death I was more concerned about this life and feared that I had invoked dire punishment - namely death. Notwithstanding my fear of retribution I found these thoughts exceedingly distressing for their obscene content, moreover, I could not convince myself that, because these thoughts had not come of my own volition, a just God would not punish me. However as I have previously stated I did not think of God as a merciful being hence the inordinate fear these unwanted thoughts produced.

I could not rid myself of these intrusive thoughts, they returned time and time again to torment me with their vile perversions; try as I might I could not repel them. I tried to mitigate the terror that these unwanted thoughts produced by constantly pleading with God to ignore these thoughts and not to seek retribution. I pleaded with Him that he take my life and not someone else’s. I was terrified that God would punish my husband as a way of punishing me.

As the months went by the more enmeshed my life became; it became harder to keep all my obligations as the restrictions mounted. During this chronic period of my illness I was plagued by another terrifying symptom, another disturbing thought: I was beset by the notion that I would soon die at some precise time in the very near future. These thoughts came to me in the dreamlike state when one is on the verge of waking up, yet one is still not fully conscious. I recall that we had the habit of lying down after Sunday lunch for the sole purpose of cuddling each other. It was on one of these occasions that I had the first of these terrifying thoughts. We had both fallen asleep; when I awoke I had the strange idea that I was going to die in precisely two weeks time. Because this intrusive thought had introduced itself into my mind as I was on the threshold of sleep and wakefulness I became convinced that it was a premonition. I told my husband about my fears. It was impossible to hide my distress from him, he tried to reassure me the best that he could but with no effect, the thoughts seemed so real to me. I remember collapsing on the kitchen floor in a state of hysteria, crying and screaming. I was consumed by dread and foreboding.

I was to have several episodes of this nature over the ensuing years that added greatly to my overall distress. Each time that this intrusive thought came into my mind it would always be somewhat different from the last time, therefore the fact that the previous notion that I was going to die had been unfounded did nothing to mitigate the validity of the new thought. Fortunately as time went on the fears lessened to some degree, nevertheless even after many years, these thoughts continue to produce some feelings of apprehension in varying degrees.

My fear of death and the accompanying obsessions and compulsions occupied my mind to such a degree that I could not live a full life. Death was my constant companion; most of my mind was occupied with the relentless round of morbid rumination. I tried in vein to convince myself that my fears were unfounded in reality, yet for most of the time the nightmare world of OCD seemed very real. I could not distract my mind, and fear overshadowed my life. There was not a moment when death was not abhorrent to me, when the thought of its inevitability did not fill me with utter dread. I found no consolation in the Mormon Church, for I still did not believe in its teachings, I had only returned because of the inner prompting of OCD.

I continued to believe in these inner promptings and for most of the time I was swept away into a realm of horrifying fantasy. I firmly believed that I had to obey these "inner voices" that constantly reminded me that I would die if I did not adhere to my commitments; like the voice of conscience they were unrelenting in their persistence.

My unnatural fear of death was so strong that I could not walk past a cemetery without experiencing severe anxiety. I would experience something similar to a panic attack, however, unlike the clinical definition of panic attacks where the sufferer is subjected to extreme fear for no apparent reason, I knew only too well why I was reduced to a state of extreme fear. However, like the sufferer of panic attacks I was consumed with a deep penetrating fear of such proportion that my heart would palpitate; I would experience difficulty breathing; I would be consumed by waves of nausea and my legs would feel weak as if I were unable to walk. Quite often our journey into East Grinstead necessitated driving past the local churchyard; I always experienced a sense of dread and turned my head away in order not to look at the gravestones.

My life could have been so idyllic: we lived in a beautiful part of the Ashdown Forest and although our accommodation was very Spartan the delightful environment more than compensated. We had a fairly large garden in which grew two magnificent blossom trees, which in season produced a breathtaking profusion of pink flowers. My husband enjoyed tending the garden in which we were able to produce many home grown vegetables. The cottage was fairly remote and not within walking distance of either a town or a village; as a child I used to dream of living in a place such as this. All I really wanted to make things perfect was peace of mind, and freedom from my unbearable torment. I had no great ambition. I simply wanted to be a wife and eventually a mother, although my childhood fears concerning pregnancy and childbirth were still apparent. Both John and I had decided that we would in any case not have children straight the way as we needed to secure a more permanent home.

Nevertheless despite the mental turmoil I did enjoy being a homemaker to some degree; I loved to cook vast quantities of cakes and biscuits, which because of my vows I would never consume. However, I derived pleasure from cooking these treats for my husband. Saturday mornings I would be in the kitchen baking whilst my husband fulfilled his commitment to tend the garden of the owner of the cottage. I cooked enormous amounts of food and found it most satisfying to try new recipes; it was very rewarding to see the finished baking spread out to cool. I was a very good cook - too good as things turned out, John put on a vast amount of weight. I also enjoyed caring for our home and making it as comfortable as possible under the circumstances: we did not have a lot of money therefore we were very limited with regard to some basic home comforts. However, these mundane pleasures were marred to a great degree by my fears and obsessions, which were always there gnawing away at my mind destroying my happiness.

The cottage, despite its aesthetic appeal and its desirable location was less than satisfactory, however, it sufficed and we would have been reasonably content had it not been for Mr Murry’s housekeeper, Mrs Wilson, who lived in the cottage adjoining ours. Although she was pleasant enough she seemed to intrude upon our privacy in a very subtle way that made it difficult for us to say anything about it to her.

I once again changed jobs and secured a position in a small electronics factory in the same village in which my husband worked. This change of employment was very advantageous; now that my husband and I worked close to each other there was no need for him to collect me from East Grinstead. Furthermore, I could now see John during my lunch hour, which to me was the best advantage of all: I was now finding it difficult to be away from him and wanted to spend every possible moment with him. I loved him so much that my heart ached whenever we were separated.

This new job was quite interesting: unlike most of my previous jobs it required a certain amount of concentration, my mind was not left quite so free to ruminate or be subjected to the clamouring of the "voice of OCD." Unfortunately once the novelty wore off and I was well acquainted with the requirements of my job, which involved the wiring of electrical components onto a circuit board, the old intrusive thoughts and ruminations gradually returned.

I was the only woman in the factory and I worked in a small room with three men. The eldest was about thirty-five to forty; the next in age was a man in his late twenties; the third was younger than I and was probably in his late teens. Although they were quite amiable I found if difficult to talk with them, I was just too nervous and inhibited - as usual I simply didn’t have any idea what to say. I found talking with men more difficult than talking with women. I was very self-conscious for most of the time. I considered that because of my silence my colleagues thought that I was stupid. The atmosphere in the workplace appeared to be congenial; there were never any disputes or even trivial arguments that led to weeks of strained unpleasantness as there was when groups of women worked together, however, these men were avid gossips - their gossip far exceeded that which I had previously experienced when working with groups of women. Often when one of these men left the room those remaining indulged in contemptuous and spiteful comments, I naturally assumed that the same type of conversation occurred whenever I left the room. This spiteful ambience made it impossible for me to try and overcome my shyness: I felt uncomfortable for most of the time.

During my employment with this firm I began to experience a bizarre compulsion to swear an oath to God; this was not the same as the propitiatory vows by which I deprived myself of a specific pleasure. This was a random thought: I would swear either to do something or not to do something as the case may be. For instance while I was trying to work the thought would come into my mind to make a oath in which I would swear not to connect a circuit or if something fell on the floor I would make a oath not to pick it up. These oaths could be about absolutely anything and would happen at any time and in any place. The words of the oath readily formed in my mind; most times I would swear an oath involuntarily. However there would be times when I would purposely make these oaths for example whenever I could not make a decision. At such times I would have the compulsion to make an oath in favour of one of the options involved in the choice. Due to my increasingly nervous disposition I had found it becoming more and more difficult to make a choice between two or more options, even trivial matters would reduce my over wrought mind to a frantic maelstrom of indecision.

These oaths, like the propitiatory vows, consisted of both words and merely the essence of a thought. For instance both when I swore an oath voluntarily and involuntary I had a prescribed set of words that formed the commitment of the oath and also the punishment if I recanted. Most of us are familiar with oaths sworn by Children, for instance a child, or even an adult for that matter, will say something like: I swear on my life or on my mother’s life.... The words of these strange compulsive oaths followed a similar format, for example: "I swear on my life I will not pick up whatever had fallen on the floor or I swear on my life I will not wear the red dress today". At this stage of my illness I would swear an oath only on my life. Later on however as the months and years went by I would involve other people, including my husband, in the clauses of these bizarre compulsive oaths. There were occasions when I would not even have to include words - I did not at any time speak them aloud, they merely passed trough my mind, these oaths were made mentally and sometimes the mere fleeting suggestion that I had made an oath was enough to be binding.

I seemed unable to resist this terrible compulsion; I dare not break these ridiculous oaths - it all seemed incredibly real. I considered that God would punish me if I ignored them. I felt that I had no control whatsoever over my mind; I did not want to make these absurd oaths. It was as though my mind was subjected to some outside influence. As hard as I tried I could not prevent these disturbing compulsive urges from invading my mind. Most of these oaths concerned trivial matters, few had anything to do with the abstinence bargains and vows that I made with God; the compulsion to swear these oaths came and went, they were totally random and often came in spates. They were however as incapacitating as the vows and severely inhibited my day-to-day ability to function - this problem became so inhibiting that I could no longer do my work properly, eventually I would have to leave my job at the electronics factory. My fellow workers were becoming aware that there was something wrong and I could sense their annoyance when my aberrant behaviour interfered with their jobs, as it frequently did. The circuit board for which I was responsible for wiring and connecting had to be passed on to one of the other workers who than connected it to the main circuit board; naturally when increasingly more and more circuits were missing - I had compulsively sworn an oath not to connect certain wires - they became openly irritated. If I had not left of my own volition it would only have been a matter of time before I would have been asked to leave.

At this point I had not confided in my husband about either this latest manifestation of my illness or the compulsive vows and bargains with God, neither had I mentioned it to the doctor - who was still only aware that my anxieties consisted of hypochondria. Although these strange obsessions and compulsions were very real I was nevertheless aware that my thoughts and behaviour would be considered by others to be abnormal, even insane. Knowing this however, did nothing to mitigate the awesome power that these thoughts had upon me - realising that others would consider my behaviour to be irrational did not make it any easier for me to either reject or ignore these unwanted thoughts.

I secured myself a new Job working in the kitchen of a private school. My duties included helping the cook to prepare meals and to generally help in the kitchen. It wasn’t a very stimulating job, but at least the previous oaths were no longer applicable as far as working was concerned, this job was totally different from my previous employment at the electronics factory. However after a short time my mind was overwhelmed with the compulsive urge to make oaths involving various aspects of my duties as Kitchen assistant: for instance the thought would come into my mind to make an oath that I would not empty the washing up water. Again my fellow workers became irritated, as they could not understand the reasons for my behaviour and most probably considered that I was rather lazy and slothful. Why did I make such bizarre and utterly ridiculous oaths? I have no idea, the thoughts simply came I did not want to behave in this way. In later years a CPN told me that he did not think that the compulsion to make the oaths was as bizarre as their content, the odd nonsensical things that I made the oaths about utterly baffled him.

I also found that as on previous occasions I could not intermingle socially with my colleagues. From the first day I was keenly aware that the other kitchen assistants seemed threatened by my presence; they seemed to consider that because I was full-time, while they were part-time, that I had been employed to replace them. They considered that there was not enough work to warrant the employment of a full-time helper. Although nothing was ever said openly, I had found out by hearing muttered conversations exactly how they felt. On the whole however they tried to be congenial but remained aloof. To a certain extent I understood their concern; there was little to occupy me, especially during the long afternoons. Fortunately I got on well with the cook and as it was she who was in charge the aforementioned problem didn’t produce a lot of difficulty, except that at times I felt somewhat uncomfortable.

The compulsion to swear oaths, as I have already mentioned, was not confined to work, my home life and recreational activities were also affected. On one occasion I was nearly reaching the end of a book that I was reading, one that I had particularly enjoyed, when the compulsion to swear an oath not to finish the book forced its way into my mind - I use the word force literally as try as I would even the very essence of an oath would push its way into my mind. This was just as binding, as though I had recited it word for word. No amount of resistance could deter it and no amount of rationalisation could make it invalid.

During my employment at the school my obsessions and compulsions increased and new anxieties introduced themselves. I began to feel as anxious about my husbands welfare as well as my own. I started to feel the compulsion to repetitively pray to God pleading with Him to allow my husband to live to be an old man; further to dissipate my anxiety I had to visualise my husband as an old man. Most of the time these prayers were not formal, inasmuch as I did not kneel down or pray aloud, however there were occasions when the silent prayers seemed inadequate and failed to reduce my anxiety sufficiently enough, I then resorted to the more formal type of prayer until my anxiety abated.

Praying however introduced an added dimension of fear caused by the intrusion of unwanted blasphemous thoughts that forced their way into my mind whilst I was praying. Therefore all types of prayer had to be very short so that I could conclude the prayer, by saying Amen, before the profane thoughts presented themselves. I considered that as Amen concluded my prayer than it was not such a vile sin if the thoughts came into my mind afterwards and not whilst I was in communication with God. Sometimes this would mean that I had to finish my prayers before I had had time to plead with God sufficiently to quell the rising tide of my fears. Therefore on many occasions it would take several attempts to mutter my pleading petitions - for indeed this is all my prayers consisted of, they were not real prayers, merely rituals that helped me rid myself of incessant anxiety. I did not pray in any religious sense at all. These compulsive supplications took place at almost any time of the day and I would have to concentrate until my anxiety abated; it was sometimes very difficult to get a complete prayer said before the blasphemous thoughts intruded.

In one way or another my life was filled with perpetual torment, with new fears introducing themselves with alarming regularity; all of the aforementioned fears vied with one another for control of my mind, my whole existence was dominated by aberrant thoughts and behaviour. My life was ruled by an abysmal fear of death, death occupied my mind in one way or another throughout most of the day.

I also experienced an increase in my inclination towards philosophical rumination: I pondered the meaning of life; the existence of God; the origins of life; the validity of religious belief and the feasibility of an afterlife - perhaps I subconsciously hoped to find a solution to life’s vagaries and convince myself in the existence of an immortal soul. However, my contemplation never led towards any satisfactory conclusions - death still posed the terrible threat of oblivion, I could not convince myself otherwise.

My husband was aware of this aspect of my problem and tried to convince me by confirming to me his faith in God - a God who was a benevolent being. His persuasion had no impression upon my fear-ravaged mind. The torment continued unabated.

Notwithstanding my bizarre obsessions we continued to attend the Mormon Church - I dare not do otherwise. My husband genuinely felt that he believed in this strange faith; he was still oblivious of my mental state in this regard and had no idea that I attend church because of profound fear. Religion now filled me with inordinate dread. I longed to approach religion the way I had done when I had been a member of the Mormon Church prior to my visit to the temple however, I would never again be able to recapture my lost faith.

Gradually I became aware of a new fear, a strange and totally unnatural fear, especially for me. I had never been overly zealous with regard to cleanliness or hygiene, yet I became increasingly aware that I needed to clean things more, especially kitchen utensils. I also became more conscious of handling items of food with my hands; although I now washed them far more than was usual I still felt increasingly apprehensive whenever I had to prepare food. For instance I would try and remove a bouillon cube from its packet without touching it, if it accidentally came into contact with my hands I would throw it away. I could not crumble it in my hands as one normally does, instead I would add it whole into the gravy and squash it with a fork. As with all my other obsessions I did not consider that my behaviour was abnormal. It was all terrifyingly real - I felt that someone would contract food poisoning and die as a result of contamination by germs if I did not take meticulous care regarding hygiene. Moreover, it never occurred to me that we had previously survived with out the need for excessive cleaning procedures, neither did I take into account the fact that other people were not as scrupulous about hygiene during their cooking and cleaning routines. I recall being horrified to observe my father-in-law drop his fork from his plate onto the table. I was always anxious that kitchen worktops and tables were never clean enough no matter how many times I had cleaned them. I simply could not convince myself that they were clean enough to put cutlery on and therefore I always rested the cutlery on the plates and dishes rather than directly on the table. Naturally other people were not accustomed to this and by force of habit reverted back to laying down their cutlery in the usual manner. Although I would never say anything, on these occasions I would become very tense and sit watching every move at the dinning table.

This was an anxiety provoking obsession, however the fear of contamination was greatly over shadowed by the propitiatory vows, the compulsive swearing of oaths, morbid ruminations and intrusive profane thoughts - it would not be until after the birth of my baby that the obsessions with contamination would increase dramatically, to reach nightmare proportions that would devastate my life.

It was at this time that yet another intrusive thought began to take possession of my mind. I was beset with the notion that the food in the supermarket had been tampered with, that it might have been poisoned. I ruminated upon the possibility that someone may have injected poison through the packaging of such food items as dairy products, such as the tops of milk bottles or packets of cheese. Although these thoughts were distressing this obsession, like the contamination obsession, was still only in its infancy. It would be some years before this became a significant problem.

Notwithstanding my increasingly anxious state of mind life still had some pleasant respites. We tried to go out as often as we could, especially at the weekends. We lived very close to the Ashdown Forest and took advantage of the many delightful walks in the vicinity. I particularly enjoyed a part of the forest that was carpeted with bluebells each May. This pleasing display of nature was still for me, despite all the inner turmoil, a most satisfying experience; having lived in a sprawling city for most of my life seeing such a beautiful display of nature virtually on my doorstep was a refreshing sight in deed.

Despite all my problems I have some very fond memories of our first holiday together in the Lake District. I have, ever since my very first trip to Wales as a child, been partial to mountain scenery, it has always had a very uplifting effect upon me, and I have always been enraptured by mountain terrain. My husband had never been anywhere that had had this type of scenery, but he was as keen as I was to go. We arranged to stay in Keswick at a guesthouse which provided breakfast, evening meal and a packed lunch. Although we only had a week we decided to set off a day earlier, because of the length of the journey, and stay overnight in Ilkley. Although not as splendid as the Lake District it was nevertheless a magnificent place. We visited the moor in the evening and determined to stay there overnight on our return home.

The Lake District far surpassed my wildest expectations. It was the most spectacular scenery that I had ever seen; I was elated with excitement - a novel experience for me. I could barely contain my enthusiasm and eagerly anticipated our many trips into the mountains.

Notwithstanding either my excitement or my enthusiasm I still had to pay heed to my obsessions and compulsions; they could not be set aside merely because I was on holiday. For instance I could not buy myself anything in the many fascinating shops in any of the villages and towns that we visited because of the bargains and vows that I had made with God. I had also been restricted with regard to the type of clothing that I could take; as I was severely limited in what I could buy for myself, because of the conditions of my vows, I did not have any suitable clothing. For example I did not have the appropriate footwear for hill walking, due to my restrictions concerning the purchase of new clothing including footwear, therefore I had to resort to wearing an old pair of winter boots. My husband did not appear to notice my strange restrictions as he may simply have thought that I was being careful with money. Which to him would seem on the surface to be a reasonable assumption considering our financial situation. I explained away the boots, not that he asked, by insisting that this was the ideal footwear for hill walking - in reality however they were not particularly comfortable, they were far too warm for July. Although I enjoyed our first holiday together it was nevertheless somewhat depressing to be in and out of souvenir shops without being able to purchase anything throughout the entire holiday. I had to hope that my husband would buy me something. I felt like a child again hoping to be treated by my parents. My husband did buy me a pendant, but of course he was totally unaware of my predicament and most probably assumed that I did not buy anything because I was either being frugal or that I simply did not want anything.

On our return journey home we stopped off at Leicester to visit my sister and brother-in-law. My sister was in a severe state of distress; she was now a chronic hypochondriac and feared that she had cancer. No amount of encouragement or reassurance would help, by now my own hypochondria was less of a problem, it had been overshadowed to a great degree by the full-blown emergence of OCD, so I was now in a better position to reason with her, although I knew from personal experience it would be of no avail. I was quite concerned. I was still oblivious at this time that I had a severe problem and that my hypochondria had merely been forced into the background because of the escalation of a severe mental disorder. I was at this time too preoccupied with keeping my vows, oaths and promises to God to be overly concerned about my health.

Shortly after our arrival home we were required to find somewhere else to live. I cannot recall the exact circumstances but we were asked to leave. Apparently Mr Murray was not satisfied that I had fulfilled the requirements of our obligation for me to come and help his housekeeper. Mrs Wilson had never asked me for any assistance; therefore I had not been in a position to keep my part of the contract. On numerous occasions I had asked Mrs Wilson if she required any help, she had always declined informing me that if my help were required she would not hesitate to ask. It appeared to me that Mrs Wilson jealously guarded her position as housekeeper and resented any intrusion. I had tried to explain the situation to Mr Murray without actually implying that Mrs Wilson resented my intrusion and merely told him the facts. Mrs Wilson was livid, she accused me of lying and even resorted to yelling at us from outside the house in a hysterical manner for which she later apologised.

We eventually became reconciled, however we could not continue to stay under such difficult circumstances. Mr Murray had also said that I was rude and unsociable, which may have seemed on the surface to be partly true - I may well have appeared to him to be this way. Shy people are often accused of being unsociable or even outright rude merely because they find it inordinately difficult to communicate. Like all shy people I tended to avoid situations that necessitated being involved in casual conversation, this avoidance was particularly apparent whenever I had to speak with someone with whom I felt uncomfortable, someone with whom I did not feel equal. I could never relax socially with anyone whom I considered was in any way better than I. This included people whom I considered to be more attractive, more intelligent or who had a higher social standing. In this case I felt uncomfortable with this man because I considered that he was intellectually superior to me, and had a better social position. I always had the impression that he considered us to be subservient, as he treated us with an air of what can only be described as the old fashioned lord of the manner attitude.

Eventually we found alternative accommodation in Forest Row. This was vastly inferior to our previous accommodation but we had no real choice. Our accommodation consisted of just two rooms which we had rented from an elderly lady, Miss Jones, with whom we had to share the kitchen and the bathroom, it was far from ideal but it sufficed. Our privacy was limited; Miss Jones slept across the hall from us therefore we felt somewhat restricted, there was no connecting door between our two rooms, very often we would bump into Miss Jones both in the morning and evening. I found this very difficult, the prospect of having to make polite conversation upon meeting was an intense strain, and oftentimes I would put off going from one room to the other in case I should have to chat with our landlady. Although she was fairly affable, it was far from an ideal situation.

The use of the kitchen presented a particular problem; we could only use the kitchen if she were not using it. Most of the time this presented no real difficulty, during the weekday her schedule seemed to fit in with ours; by the time that we arrived home from work she had had her tea and had left the kitchen for our use. The weekend however, proved more difficult. Miss Jones would have a stew cooking for hours and oftentimes it was not possible to get into the kitchen until quite late. Moreover, she was very unhygienic, fortunately my preoccupation with cleanliness had diminished somewhat nevertheless it was a tremendous strain. I longed for somewhere of our own with more privacy and freedom. A council house would have been ideal however we would have had to wait for several years until one became available. I could not bear the thought of living in these rooms with no prospects of finding anywhere more suitable for this length of time, therefore we decided that we would try and save for a deposit on a home of our own.

It was during this time, although the exact chronological order of events has become somewhat obscured by time, that I became obsessed with the thought that I could contract rabies through any kind of association with animals either directly or indirectly via its owner. If an animal or its owner came into physical contact with me I became worried in case I should catch this fearsome disease. Rabies seemed to me to be one of the most dreadful of all illnesses, not only because there is no cure once the disease has taken hold, but also because of the horrifying nature of the symptoms and the consequent protracted and painful death. I have vague recollections of experiencing anxiety about this illness many years before during my childhood after watching a TV program about a rabid dog, which had somehow been brought into the country. Fortunately this fear had dissipated shortly afterward and had not effected my associations with animals.

Regretfully this fear was revived quite suddenly; it was completely unexpected. I recall the incident quite clearly: I was standing in a queue at the chemists when I felt a cold clammy sensation on the back of my leg. I was startled and turned to see that a Labrador had been nuzzling up to my leg; the clammy sensation had been caused by the dog rubbing its nose on the back of my leg. Normally I would have patted the dog and generally made a fuss of it, however, on this occasion I felt intense fear and quickly removed myself from any further contact with the animal. The cold sense of dread that I experienced at this time was totally unexpected and was different from my previous childhood anxiety concerning rabies. The thought that this dog had rabies immediately and irrevocably flooded my mind. I abandoned the rest of my shopping, rushed home and washed my leg straight the way in disinfectant and changed my tights. Little did I realise that this was the beginning of a powerful obsession that would, after the birth my baby, reach nightmare proportions; an obsession that would be impossible to completely eradicate; an obsession that would blight the rest of my life, utterly destroying my ability to fulfil a basic human need - namely to have companionship with animals. At the time of this incident however it did not immediately occur to me that from that day onwards I would never be able to own an animal or have any type of normal contact with one - something that hitherto had brought me enormous pleasure and satisfaction in a way that all those who truly love animals will understand.

This incident may not have evolved into a serious obsession had it not been for the recent preoccupation in the media concerning rabies which unfortunately served to emphasise my fears, thus fuelling the fires of my anxiety. One article in particular in a popular magazine had gone into considerable detail about the disease, outlining the precise symptoms, in an attempt to impress upon the public the serious consequences of flouting the law and bringing into the country an animal that had not been quarantined. The interest in the media concerning rabies had been sparked off by considerable discussion in parliament about the threat of rabies, which had resulted in the implementation of stricter laws and heavier fines for any violation of the quarantine laws. I had read the aforementioned article prior to my experience in the chemist but had not been unduly alarmed by its implications, now however the thought of contracting rabies played upon my mind, it became part of my morbid ruminations along with my regular thoughts of death, disaster and indeed anything else remotely ominous.

I began to imagine that I had the symptoms of this fearsome illness; I imagined that my throat was sore and that the back of my leg where I had been in contact with the dog was burning - I understood, rightly or wrongly, that these two symptoms heralded the onset of this terrifying disease. I knew that the incubation time was approximately two weeks; I lived through this time feeling anxious in case I had caught rabies through my contact with the dog at the chemist. It did not occur to me that it was extremely unlikely that the dog had rabies. Moreover I could not consider the fact that I had not been bitten or that I did not even have an open wound in this area - two of the usual ways in which the rabies virus is transmitted. In fact any attempts at logical reasoning tended to increase my anxiety rather than reduce it; in a superstitious way I considered such reasoning to be tempting fate, in other words, any attempt to convince myself that my fears were unfounded would in some magical way actually cause me to develop the illness, as if a positive statement would produce a negative outcome. I was not at the time however aware of this insidious working of my aberrant mind and was held sway within the dictates of its fearful reasoning. After the two weeks had elapsed I became less concerned, although I had read that in rare cases incubation could take up to two years, therefore my anxieties remained lurking in the background. However, this obsession did not increase significantly until about four or five years had passed, at which time it escalated rapidly. I was nevertheless, after this incident in the chemist, very much aware of animals and tended to avoid them.

During this trying time of emotional upheaval my parents, who had no knowledge of my problems anymore than did my husband, wanted us to consider moving to Wales and buying a guesthouse. Their idea was that the four of us would run it together. Unfortunately, at least that is the way that I felt at the time, the building society would not consider a loan on this type of property and recommend that we consult an insurance company who would be able to consider this type of loan which, apparently was different from a regular mortgage and would involve higher rates of interest. However, the insurance company would only consider this type of loan in accordance with stringent guarantees that the business would prove sufficiently viable to enable us to pay off the very high interest rate required. My husband felt that he did not want to take the risk or have the worry of meeting the very high mortgage repayments, which would be particularly difficult during the winter months. Much to my parents dismay we declined the offer. I was rather disappointed, however, with hindsight we made the right decision, very soon my mother would become impossible to live with, moreover, as my contamination obsessions began to increase I would not have been able to have coped with the house work and the cooking - in about four years time I would not have been able to cater for a house full of guests. My mother was bitterly disappointed; she conveyed this in no uncertain terms.

I had by this time left my employment at the school kitchen and had secured a job in a factory in a village nearby. In spite of the mundane monotony, this job was not too unpleasant and the company, with one or two exceptions, more than compensated for the boredom. Although the work was varied, I did not have to sit at the same machine all day, it was nevertheless tedious. My mind was left to roam hither and thither from one depressing rumination to the next, death in some aspect or another being the most usual ruminative problem. My compulsory oaths, vows and promises still ruled my life, I still felt inextricably bound by them; I was severely limited in what I could eat, in what I could wear and, most bizarre of all, in what I could say. My circle of existence was diminishing daily as I added more and more restrictions to my life. Whenever I felt particularly threatened by death I would make another bargain with God. I had to be very diligent whilst shopping or cooking: I had to be very careful not to either buy or consume a forbidden item by mistake. I never forgot, as my memory never failed me in this regard. I also became very adept at providing plausible reasons for my abstinence - at least one that would satisfy any occasional inquiry from my husband.

Naturally I became very demoralised as the list of restrictions grew; I wanted to wear makeup, eat a bar of chocolate, buy some cloths - I longed to go into a shop and buy a dress. Any dress! Any thing! I could buy myself nothing except the bear essentials. I felt utterly consumed by my fears; they ruled my entire life.

Yet again amidst the ever-increasing turmoil of my tormented mind another anxiety was insidiously forming to add its toll to the morbid ruminations, the unwanted profane thoughts and the self-imposed prohibitions. I now became increasingly concerned if my husband went out in the car without me. I became very anxious until his return. He had become interested in Karate and had to go to Brighten to join a club. Eventually my anxiety became so strong that I had to accompany him. If I remained at home I would be plagued by ruminations that he may have an accident, if I accompanied him however, my fears in this regard were much less even though I realised that he could still have an accident if I was with him. It was much easier to accompany him, despite having to sit outside and wait for him for two hours, than it was for me to sit at home worrying and making continuous pleas to God for his safety.

Eventually the strain of my increasing torments became too much, especially with regard to the religious obsessions and compulsions. So far I had been able to find a compromise - a substitute for whatever it was that I had denied myself. However, as the list became longer, my options became more limited. I became increasingly more introverted and depressed. My mind was so intensely occupied with one or the other of the many manifestations of this insidious disorder that I had little time for normal thoughts or pursuits. After much soul searching and in dire desperation I decided to confide in my husband, I needed help, as I could not cope any longer. My life was an unmitigated misery, a living hell.

I dreaded approaching him, the very thought of telling him about my strange behaviour was indeed a very daunting prospect. I had to summon up the necessary courage. In hindsight it seems ironic that I appeared to recognise the fact that this disclosure would seem bizarre, if not insane, to my husband, yet realising this did nothing to alleviate the terrifying conviction that it was all very real. Yet according, to the present classification of psychiatric disorders, there is a fine distinction between a neurosis and a psychosis; a truly psychotic person is beyond reason concerning the reality of the situation, whilst the neurotic person is more in touch with reality to varying degrees. The neurotic has more insight into the fact that his behaviour or perspective is not normal. It is my opinion - an opinion borne from painful experience - that sufferers from OCD have psychotic episodes, when they become for a time truly withdrawn from reality. This I felt was often the case regarding my obsessions - especially the religious ones. I was swept away in a tide of profound fear; there were times when my obsessions and compulsions were terrifyingly real, too real to doubt even for a moment. To reiterate: at this time the terms obsessions and compulsions were unknown to me in reference to my problem. I had no idea what was wrong I had had no diagnosis and consequently no label of any kind to attach to the terrifying things that were happening to me. Oftentimes I did not even consider that I had a mental illness because it was all so very real. I dare not question the validity of the intrusive thoughts and the consequences of breaking my commitments; I had to obey the dictates of my thoughts and compulsions or die. It was not until I began to emerge from this more psychotic phase of my illness that I became more aware that my behaviour was neither normal nor appropriate for my lifestyle. My behaviour was more suited to the lifestyle of an ascetic; a monk or nun, who from a sense of piety makes vows of abstention as a result of a profound religious belief, not from neurotic fear - a neurotic fear made more strange by the fact that I was not sure if I actually believed in God in any normal or real sense. I realised that I needed help - help to allow me to gain a more normal perspective on the situation. It was only when I realised that I had a problem that I knew that I could not cope with the increasing demands of my obsessions and compulsions any longer.

I recall the day vividly, the day that I decided to confide in my husband. It took most of the day to prepare myself for the task of confronting my husband about my strange notions and behaviour. I realised that because my husband was a mild mannered man, not prone to anger or any violent display of emotion that I didn’t need to have any fears about the possibility of provoking an argument. Nonetheless, the fear that he would think that I was quite mad was profound. I loved my husband and did not want to lose him; I feared that he would not love me as a result of my obvious insanity. To all intents and purposes, to anyone not acquainted with the facts concerning my mental illness, I would appear to be totally insane. Furthermore he had shown great forbearance concerning my hypochondria and preoccupation’s with death; it is not easy to live with someone who is easily and frequently distraught with this type of morbid imaginings. During these traumatic episodes he never, not even for a moment, showed the least degree of irritation or annoyance.

It was a glorious summer’s evening towards the end of August that I decided to relieve the burden of my tormented soul. The weather has always had some effect on my ability to cope, thus this particularly pleasant day gave me further incentive to try and approach my husband. I approached the situation in the same immature way that I had done as a child whenever I needed to discuss something that could cause an adverse reaction: I went into a mood of introversion and became sullen and withdrawn, not specking unless spoken to. Why I habitually adopted this approach I do not know, it seemed almost involuntary, I compulsively behaved in this manner. I had done so all my life. After some time my husband became aware that all was not well and inquired why I was so withdrawn. I cannot recall how I prepared myself or if I had rehearsed what I intended to say, however, I told him about the problem with painful deliberation. It was, no doubt to John, a totally unique situation and would therefore need extensive explanation. Eventually however I was able to get him to understand the unusual nature of my problem.

To my surprise and relief he did not react in the way that I had expected; he did not appear in the least shocked or even mildly surprised, neither did he display any signs of amusement or bewilderment. John was remarkably sympathetic. He tried to reason with me from a religious viewpoint in an attempt to allay my fears. John tried to point out that God, according to his interpretation of Christian belief, did not require people to behave in such a way therefore God would not consider my vows, oaths and promises to be binding. He added that if I disregarded them I would not die; that God would not seek retribution. John also applied a more down to earth approach and said, in his usual calm and non-derisive manner, that he considered the whole matter to be "rubbish". He also said that I should immediately break one of these commitments and once and for all prove to myself that these fears were all in my mind and as such bore no resemblance to reality.

I experienced an enormous sense of relief, an intoxicating sense of elation after having confided in my husband. This euphoria left me feeling invigorated, more alive than I had done for a long time. Nevertheless, I still needed to break the cycle of fear by breaking the vows that I considered that I had made to God; it was imperative that I break these inhibiting rules of abstinence as quickly as possible before my determination diminished as it most surely would if I were left on my own to think things out. I therefore determined that I should eat chocolate, as this was the most accessible thing to buy at that time in the evening, also chocolate was the thing that I missed the most.

Actually breaking this oath was not as traumatic as I had anticipated it to be. Having broken one of these self imposed vows I felt released from all the other commitments of this type; I did not have to break each and every vow separately, the moment that I had eaten the forbidden item I felt that I had automatically relinquished myself from all my other commitments. The anticipation of actually divesting myself of these distressing obligations was in fact far worse than actually committing the act of freeing myself from their suppressive restrictions - I actually enjoyed eating the chocolate with great relish after many months of deprivation.

My life seemed to take on a new perspective. Of course I still had the involuntary compulsion to swear an oath, however this tendency diminished considerably now that I had made the first real stand against my illness. I was nonetheless still subject to the morbid dreams, the profane thoughts, and the morbid and philosophical ruminations. Ruminations upon my own mortality and that of my husband still haunted me, nevertheless now that the restrictions imposed upon me by my oaths and vows were annulled I felt a certain freedom; life became somewhat more normal, more enjoyable. It was to me a novel experience to be able to do what normal people did without undue hesitation. To be able to go into a shop and buy whatever I wanted - with normal restrictions, such as money being the only limiting criteria - was a truly exhilarating feeling indeed.

Life carried on now much the same as it does for other people. However, I still had to cope with depression and the aforementioned ruminations and profane thoughts. Nevertheless I began to lead a more normal life with regard to the behaviour aspect of my illness - I still did not realise that I had a specific mental disorder, and having resolved a major part of my problem, did not consider seeking professional help with the difficulties that remained.

Although my job was very tedious it was nevertheless the first job that I had been able to keep for more than a few months since the onset of full-blown OCD. The greatest difficulty however arose from the fact that I worked in the inspection department with the chief inspector, Paul, and one other lady, Doris. Sometimes relationships between her and the chief inspector were strained; he had the annoying tendency to sulk following any disagreement between himself and Doris which resulted in many days passing before he would be his old self again and talk to us. At such times the atmosphere became very strained and tense. This situation was much worse when Doris was away and I had a disagreement with Paul, at such times he would spend longer on the factory floor leaving me alone - well alone except for the unwanted thoughts that were always waiting to torment me. Thoughts that told me that I was going to die; thoughts that continually gnawed away at my brain forever reminding me of my own mortality. These thoughts were more difficult to cope with whenever I was alone with little to occupy my mind. At such times they had full rein upon my emotions. Therefore any respite from this torment was most welcomed. Occasionally if another worker in the factory had nothing to do he would be assigned to help me, I eagerly hoped for these opportunities for distraction; having someone to talk with no matter how mundane the subject helped to limit the frequency of my unwanted thoughts. With the exception of the aforementioned disagreements with Paul the atmosphere was on the whole most congenial, I had now lost a lot of my shyness whilst working here, on many occasions I involved my fellow workers in more stimulating debates.

It was fortunate that I was now able to socialise with my colleagues; I now needed to work longer hours each week. I would probably have not been able to cope with this if I had had to spend much of the day with people whom I could not have a friendly and relaxed association. Now that we had decided not to buy a guesthouse we had become more earnest in our endeavours to save a deposit on a home of our own, therefore, it had become necessary for both of us to work overtime in the evenings.

We considered that buying a flat rather than a house was more realistic, even with both our wages combined we would not be able to earn enough to meet the repayments on a house. Although a mortgage on a flat was considerably cheaper than that on a house, it nevertheless took considerable determination and many long hours of overtime in order to save the required £1,000 deposit. Naturally I had to deprive myself of luxuries yet again, this time however it was for rational reasons; therefore the new prohibitions did not have the same distressing connotations as the compulsive placatory abstinence’s had. Nonetheless we were greatly relieved to finally accumulate the required amount and begin the task of finding a suitable place to live.

Eventually we were able to find a one bed-roomed flat in a nearby village. It was not particularly how we had imagined our first home to be, however it would be our first real home and our first opportunity for some real privacy. It was unfortunately exceptionally small. The one bedroom barely afforded enough space for a bed and side table - a small alcove in the wall had to suffice as a wardrobe with a curtain pulled across to hide our few items of clothing. The sitting room, although a more reasonable size, was gloomy owing to the fact that it was a basement flat. The kitchen was also very tiny, but it was well fitted making it quite efficient. There was no garden as such, but residents of the six flats that comprised the unit were able to use a small portion of land belonging to the leasehold property for hanging out washing.

The prospect of owning our own home was indeed a most satisfying thought; nonetheless it was not without reservation that we finally completed the paper work. I was somewhat concerned that the property was not freehold, as I considered that this detracted from the sense of ownership. Nevertheless, because of our financial situation it was the only type of property that we could have afforded if we wished to remain in the South East. Even this relatively cheap property would take a considerable amount of careful economising in order to meet the mortgage repayments. We therefore resigned ourselves to its shortcomings.

I recall that, when the final papers arrived from the building society informing us that they were prepared to grant us a mortgage, we were very excited indeed, but we were still anxious about this enormous financial obligation. We would always need to be careful about how we spent our income; it appeared at this time that I would always have to work.

Things were however to get even more complicated, just prior to signing the mortgage agreement I discovered that I was pregnant.

Return to contents page Chapter Eight.

My pregnancy was a truly unexpected surprise, although we were somewhat shocked at first - our concern centred around our ability to pay the mortgage repayments once I had finished work to have our baby - we decided to sign the mortgage agreement and manage the best we could to make ends meet. Somehow we would find a way to pay the mortgage, in any case we could not possibly stay in our present two-room accommodation, it simply was not suitable for a baby.

After the initial surprise - and we had made the necessary decisions and it had become clear in our minds about how we would cope with this financial dilemma - we were rapt at the prospect of having a baby. I had always wanted a baby, however the thought of the medical procedures involved filled me with considerable trepidation. The fear of pregnancy was considerable, as I could vividly recall my mother’s accounts of her anxieties concerning her experiences with pregnancy and childbirth.

The most difficult aspect of this fear centred on the prospect of having an internal examination, my mind dwelt upon my mother’s bizarre and horrific accounts concerning the nature of the procedure. I did not think that I would be able to undergo this simple procedure; I was exceedingly concerned, more for my baby than for myself. However, when the time arrived I did in fact manage to undergo this examination after some persuasion by the hospital doctor who seemed to understand my anxieties.

My pregnancy was an ordeal. I was sick all the way through my pregnancy, each and every day. There was not a moment during my waking hours when I did not feel nauseous, either mildly or severely with vomiting. I was also subject to heartburn and strange pains in the limbs that came on at night time. For the relief of the latter unpleasant condition I was advised to lie down at night on my back with my hands crossed in front of my chest in much the same way as an undertaker lays out a dead body. I found this posture somewhat disconcerting, but complied anyway.

The continual sickness seemed to quell some of my anxieties to a certain degree; it was a distraction albeit an unpleasant one. However, I began to brood on the possibility of dying in childbirth. I tried to mitigate this oppressive dread by reverting to my former compulsions and obsessions - I tried to make bargains with God that if he let me live, than in two years time I would have another baby. Why I considered that God would wish me to have another baby, and therefore be placated by this promise, I do not know. Perhaps this idea was a remnant of Mormon doctrine to which I subconsciously gave credence: According to Mormon belief, a married woman’s main duty in life is to have as many children as the family finances will permit. Suffice it to say I felt compelled to keep reciting this promise over and over again until my anxiety abated.

This terrifying thought remained my preoccupation throughout the entire duration of my pregnancy; the prospect of dying in childbirth haunted my life, it detracted from any pleasure that may have been derived from preparing for the birth of our baby. As I sorted out the collection of baby cloths one afternoon my mind brooded upon the possibility that I may not survive childbirth and reap the rewards of having our baby. Had it not been for the continual gnawing sickness my morbid preoccupations would have been worse - at least I had only made the one bargain with God, I had not reverted back to my former placatory abstinence obsessions.

I continued to work, but not for the long hours that I had previously done. Eventually I had to reduce my hours sufficiently to allow time for my afternoon rest. Despite our fears concerning our financial situation we seemed to manage on a slightly lower income, however, we were still concerned about how we would cope with only the one wage coming in, when John would have the sole responsibility of paying the mortgage as well as supporting both our baby and myself.

To add to our difficulties we began to have problems with the couple who lived above us; they were forever complaining about the noise that we made, which in our opinion was not excessive and was no more than the average day-to-day noise - noise that was totally unavoidable. They considered however that they were within their rights to make as much noise as they liked. After a most unpleasant row between the husband and myself our ability to arrive at an amicable compromise deteriorated rapidly. There was a feeling of uneasiness whenever we unavoidably met - I began to dread them being at home, their every noise made my nerves taunt, I couldn’t relax.

It was during this very emotional time in my life when the relationship between my mother and I deteriorated rapidly - a deterioration from which our already somewhat precarious relationship would never really recover. My mother did her utmost to alienate herself from me. Whether this unexpected rejection of me by my mother had anything to do with the fact that I was pregnant or that we had taken out a mortgage I will never know; both events took place almost simultaneously with my mother’s abrupt change in her attitude towards me. She had not been in the least pleased that I was having a baby, she became cold towards me right from the very beginning of my pregnancy. Why? I can only conjecture. She may have been concerned for me, as she knew that I was afraid of the medical procedures involved and she had even suggested that I have an abortion if I could not cope with the fear of childbirth. Some years previously my sister had been pregnant and had spent a considerable time in hospital due to numerous difficulties with her pregnancy - a pregnancy that unfortunately ended in tragedy when her new born baby died after living for only twenty minutes. This pregnancy had been very traumatic for my sister who, as I have already mentioned, also suffered from metal disorders.

This tragedy had had a disastrous effect upon my mother, who was in any case a habitual worrier. She doted upon my sister; throughout the duration of Lynda’s pregnancy my mother had been in a state of profound anxiety regarding my sister’s welfare. Perhaps these events were still foremost in her mind as they so often are within the minds of those, like my mother, who live their lives in a perpetual state of apprehension - an apprehension born of fearful imaginings, when the worst possible scenario is played over and over again like an eternal video tape in the mind of the tormented sufferer.

Perhaps the thought of having to go through a similar ordeal may have caused her to become cold towards me. Although it had always appeared to me that my mother preferred my sister I still felt that she loved me nevertheless, and was, therefore worried about my welfare in this regard. It is quite common for people to become antagonistic towards people whom they care about, if the person concerned does something that may result in harm, even if it is something as natural as childbirth. However, after the birth of our baby her attitude towards me became steadily worse. She did not want us to visit her; neither did she wish to visit with us, although she did not openly say so. Nevertheless it was plainly obvious that she did not wish to see John and I or her grandchild. On many occasions she wrote with all manner of outrageous excuses, such as the cat had had kittens and would be disturbed by our visit. At this time my anxiety about contamination by animals was not as acute and I would have most probably been able to cope with the cat. Besides my mother was not aware of my problems in this regard and references to disturbing the cat were merely an excuse - an excuse that was so very obvious that it was indeed most hurtful. Notwithstanding my mother’s strange attitude towards me we visited for the sake of my father who was mystified by my mother’s behaviour, both before and after the birth of our baby.

Another possible reason for my Mother’s antagonism may have been our decision not to buy a guesthouse - now that we had moved into the flat it was now obvious to her that we would never consider this venture; she may have still been hoping that perhaps we would be swayed into changing our minds. Whatever her reasons were I would never know. She would not discuss it and strongly denied that a problem existed. However the situation was blatantly obvious to the rest of the family and was not some figment of my imagination.

Her attitude towards me improved slightly during the ensuing years but not significantly so; she still bore me some resentment for reasons that were either real or imagined - reasons that would always remain obscure. Whatever her reasoning, her conclusions were totally irrational; as far as I am aware I have never done anything that could possibly cause her to reject me in such an obvious and dramatic way.

At thirty weeks pregnant I decided that it would be advisable to finish working. It was a relief to be able to rest and to prepare for the birth of our baby. However, I was now alone for ten hours each day - a long time to ponder upon all the things that could go wrong with my pregnancy. After I had been at home for a couple of weeks I was admitted to hospital for tests, the doctors did not say why and for some reason I never asked. It was a time of considerable stress. I was anxious about John coming to visit me in case he should have an accident. One evening he was late, when he finally arrived I was in tears. Also my stay in hospital was stressful because of my inability to converse with the other patients. It was a small intimate ward and all the other ladies had become well acquainted with one another and chatted away amicably throughout most of the day. I could not join in, I felt tongue tied and simply did not know what to say. It was obvious that my presence marred the congenial atmosphere; try as I might to converse with these ladies I continued to remain in a constant state of self-conscious anxiety because of what appeared to be my aloofness.

I was inordinately relieved when I was discharged from hospital - apparently they considered that everything was all right after all; I still had not inquired why I had been admitted in the first place! I was not however unduly concerned about the whys and wherefores of my admission and was simply glad to be going home after spending a week in hospital.

A week later, at about thirty-two weeks pregnant, I went into premature labour. In the middle of the morning my water’s broke, however at that time I did not realise this and merely thought that I had become incontinent, as my bladder had seemed to become weak as a result of being pregnant. As the afternoon approached I began to get backache - nothing unusual, I had had plenty of back pain throughout my pregnancy, most women do. Eventually the ache increased, yet I still did not realise that I was in labour and merely thought that my backache was worse than usual. Although the discomfort was distressful, it in no way resembled the kind of pain that one normally associates with the onset of labour. I continued to ignore the pain and settled down for my afternoon rest. However as the pain became steadily more persistent I eventually went along to the pay phone in the village and rang my husband who immediately contacted the surgery and arranged for an ambulance. I was certain now that I had gone into labour even though the pain was not really as intense as I had anticipated that it would be.

It was a traumatic dash to the hospital and despite my fears I felt foolish for leaving it so long - at thirty two weeks I had not been prepared for the onset of labour, despite the morbid nature of my mind with its ability to imagine every possible thing that could go wrong in any situation, I had not for one moment anticipated that I would go into premature labour. The ambulance men were concerned that I would not arrive at the hospital in time, the birth of my baby seemed imminent and Pembary Hospital was twelve miles away. The possibility that the ambulance would have to pull into the side of the road whilst I gave birth was mentioned. Despite my fears I somehow felt that I would actually prefer this than having to go into hospital and face all the necessary examinations. We however arrived on time. My husband, who had been following in his car, had become delayed so I was whisked off to the delivery room without him - we had originally planned for him to be present at the birth.

It was a humiliating ordeal, there wasn’t time for any pleasantries or even a kind word of reassurance; my cloths were practically pulled off me. The nurses seemed to be all over me poking and prodding with no concern whatsoever for my obvious nervous disposition. With one exception the nursing staff were most unpleasant and appeared to be irritated, they continually asked me why I had left it for so long before coming into hospital. After I had been in the delivery room for only half an hour I gave birth to Kevin at 5.45 p.m. on December 20th 1976. The birth itself had been remarkably quick; one push and with a muffled cry he was born. He was handed to me for a quick cuddle and was than taken to the special care unit for premature babies. I had to be taken to the operating theatre; I had a retained placenta and had to have it removed under an anaesthetic. This was yet another ordeal. I was very frightened that I would die and again the hospital staff was very unsympathetic which added to the increasing toll of my distress.

Fortunately however the staff on the ward seemed more amicable. John, having finally arrived, too late to be present at the birth, had to leave me as I was just too sleepy to talk. The following day I was taken to the special care unit to see my baby; from than on I lived in dread of losing Kevin, I would cry often rushing into the toilet to avoid attention. He was so small, as he weighed only four pounds ten ounces. He could take neither breast milk nor feed from a bottle and was tube fed for several days. This state of affairs caused me untold concern; I was so afraid that he would not survive despite the constant reassurances from the doctors, who seemed somewhat bemused by my anxiety.

During this time I was once again reduced to tears whenever my husband was late, which he almost invariably was. For one reason or another I was in a constant state of tension. However, the fears concerning the possibility of death through childbirth were forgotten, like the remnants of a bad dream they now seemed remote, unreal, almost as if this fear had never existed. Nonetheless, I remembered my bargain with God, but due to the current anxieties I succeeded in putting these thoughts aside for the time being. I had in any case stipulated that I would have a baby in two years time - two years seemed a long way away.

Kevin made slow progress, however, despite my fears there were no complications. After two weeks in hospital I was discharged, Kevin however, had to remain in hospital for a further two weeks until he reached the required five pounds.

Eventually he too was discharged from hospital. I was possessed of mixed feelings, excited to have my son home, but apprehensive about my ability to care for him. There were all manner of precautions that needed to be followed to ensure his continuing good health. Some of these precautions were excessive owing to the fact that he had been born prematurely. One important rule was that he should be kept warm; this I did to excess, we arrived at the hospital with his carrycot full of blankets and a hot water bottle - this excess caused some amusement to the nursing staff. My husband as usual remained calm and generally unaffected by my anxiety, he never appeared to be overly concerned, nevertheless he did not interfere in any way with my excessive precautions concerning the welfare of our son - precautions that were to be taken out of all proportion in the weeks to come.

It was a relief to have Kevin home and, in spite of my anxiety, I looked forward to being a mother and caring for our son; it seemed like the fulfilment of my idyllic dream of being a wife, mother and homemaker.

Despite my ever-present preoccupation with death I felt more content than I had done for a long time. This respite however was very short-lived.

During my prenatal care at the hospital I had been instructed regarding the care of our baby. The baby care classes, and indeed all the books that I had been issued emphasised the importance of scrupulous hygiene with regards to the cleaning of feeding utensils - I had not been able to breast feed, my milk had long since dried up therefore I had no choice but to bottle feed. The necessity of these strict hygiene precautions precipitated a phase of obsessive cleaning - cleaning not only everything that Kevin would come into contact with, but everything within his immediate vicinity including paint-work, walls, floors. Anything that could be cleaned was cleaned or, as I referred to it at the time, sterilised. Everything was sterilised and washed in a solution especially prepared for the sterilisation of baby’s feeding implements but which could also be used for the cleaning of work surfaces and the like.

What should have been a time of happiness turned into a period of great distress. Every morning I changed all of Kevin’s bedding and cleaned out the cot thoroughly with the sterilising solution, the sheets were boiled for prolonged periods of time in an electric boiler. However I did not consider that this method was wholly adequate and I would rinse them out and re-boil them for further lengthy periods, after which they would be washed in detergent and rinsed many times over.

I never questioned the appropriateness of my behaviour; never for one moment did I consider it to be extreme or unnecessary, I felt compelled, driven by fear - fear that if everything was not scrupulously clean than some harm would befall my son. I considered that he was more vulnerable to disease than other babies because he had been born prematurely. I was made well aware during my prenatal classes that the immune system did not function properly until a child reached the age of one year, therefore sloppy hygiene may result in the contraction of enteritis and with it the possibility of death. This emphasis upon the cleaning of feeding utensils heralded the emergence of the aforementioned excessive cleaning procedures which became increasingly more exaggerated, taking more and more of my time. Most of my day was occupied with superfluous cleaning rituals. The rest of the time was spent feeding Kevin. Kevin appeared to me to be an unusual baby who slept for most of the time, rarely crying, not even for his bottle. I had to wake him up for a feed which would take him more than an hour to complete. I even woke him in the night because of my anxiety concerning his diet - I could never satisfy myself that he had taken sufficient nourishment.

The night time feeds were particularly exhausting. After I had fed Kevin I could not go back to bed until the feeding bottle had been washed, thoroughly scrubbed with a bottle brush, that had previously been boiled for a least twenty minutes in order to eradicate harmful bacteria. The bottlebrush had to be sterilised in this manner each time that I cleaned his bottle, which was six times each day. I could not leave all the bottles and wash them together at the end of the day: I had to wash each bottle after each feed - even at 2 P.M.! This became a wearisome task, I was never satisfied that everything was clean enough to put into the sterilisation unit. The sterilisation unit was a plastic cylindrical container in to which the sterilisation solution was poured and the previously thoroughly cleaned bottles were than placed. I would change the sterilising solution over and over again - all bottles and teats had to be soaked in the solution for twenty-four hours. It was of course was quite normal to soak the feeding utensils for twenty-four hours, all mothers were advised to follow this procedure. It was my excess that was not normal. I had more and more distressing thoughts about the effectiveness of this system. For instance the fact that bubbles formed after the solution had been standing for some time precipitated great anxiety. I considered the possibility that these bubbles could harbour harmful bacteria. I would keep changing the solution many times during the day in an attempt to eradicate the bubbles - it was usual at that time to change the solution once in twenty fours hours. It was virtually impossible to prevent these bubbles forming, after a few hours they would return and I would than be compelled to re-wash the bottles and change the solution. I expressed my anxiety to the health visitor who seemed somewhat surprised at my concern, but admitted that she had not been made aware of this problem by any one else, but she assured me that there was no need for me to worry. Despite this assurance I continued to ruminate about this problem, nevertheless I tried to accept her advice and use the solution, albeit with unease, regardless of the bubbles.

These excessive cleaning rituals continued until Kevin was weaned, after which time I was more able to relax to some extent, but it was not until he was over twelve months old that I could I feel that it was safe to abandon them completely. There was a particularly anxious time when I felt the need to sterilise Kevin’s toys in a solution of sterilisation fluid. At this time his toys were relatively small, such as a rattle, and were therefore quite easy to sterilise, but we had to purchase a larger sterilisation unit for this purpose. I continued to clean all surfaces especially the kitchen with a solution of the sterilising fluid. Like most mothers I was also very concerned about every irregularity in Kevin’s habits and would check frequently that he was all right.

I spent most of my time alone with Kevin during the day - John worked from 7a.m until 5.30pm. I had no mother or mother-in-law close by and had no friends, although I had one or two acquaintances that I knew at the mother and toddler’s group that I had reluctantly joined on the advice of the health visitor, I had no one to turn to for advice. I was still very shy and was reluctant to engage in conversation with the other mothers, as usual I simply did not know what to say. Try as I might I could not fit in and would spend the entire afternoon feeling conspicuous and awkward.

I was occupied throughout most of the day looking after Kevin, once the cleaning rituals became less frequent as he grew older I spent quite sometime doing outwork for my husband’s firm. This helped to relieve our financial problems. Despite our earlier fears we somehow managed with the one wage and my small earnings as an out-worker. Although this work was indescribably tedious I was able to distract myself by listening to the local radio - the telephone program in particular afforded some measure of distraction for my mind. I always listened especially intently to the monthly phone-in program when a psychiatrist would be offering advice to listeners who telephoned the station. I hoped that someone would telephone the program with a problem similar to mine, but no one ever did. I did not consider telephoning the program myself, with my usual pessimism I did not think that it was worth the effort as undoubtedly I would not be able to get through. Moreover, I would be too nervous to confide in someone about my strange thoughts whilst thousands of people were listening.

I continued to ruminate about philosophical issues: the passing of time and the inevitability of death. Nevertheless now the cleaning rituals were in abeyance my life seemed to take on a semblance of normality.

I also occupied my time with cooking and baking - I enjoyed trying new recipes. I tried crafts such as knitting and needlework and derived some measure of satisfaction from these pass-times.

I joined the local library and avidly read philosophical and religious books not realising that this tendency was for me a symptom of a severe and chronic mental disorder; I still had no inkling whatsoever that my preoccupation with these subjects was part of a bizarre obsessive illness. I was well aware that most of my peers would not consider reading about such matters, however, I still didn’t think that my interest in such matters was anything to be concerned about, I merely considered myself to be more aware of such issues than the average person might be. I considered that my investigations into such profound matters set me apart from most others who seemed uninterested for most of the time in anything other than the routine and mundane issues of everyday life. I realised that my interest was therefore not usual, however I did not consider that either my interest or my reaction to these matters was abnormal, even though many other people did not dwell on these subjects in quite the same way that I did. In retrospect my preoccupation with philosophy and religion had a very compulsive quality to it, at the time I did not of course think of it that way. It is now only with hindsight that I understand the feelings that compelled me to pursue these issues, which could be at times most interesting but also distressing, certain issues precipitated the feelings of existential terror.

I recall quite distinctly on one such occasion reading something, which even now fills me with some trepidation as I recall the details. I had read an article in the "Reader’s Digest". This article was more of a scientific nature than a philosophical, religious or a metaphysical one. However, for the obsessive-compulsive, scientific hypothesis or scientific fact can provide fertile grounds for philosophical, religious or metaphysical rumination. The article gave an account of the eventual demise of the sun, how that in billions of years time our sun, like millions of other observable sun’s in our universe, would deteriorate and become a super Nova consequently extinguishing any life that remained upon the earth - at least that is how I understood it from the article. This thought fill me with indescribable dread. The fact that these events would not occur within my lifetime did nothing to mitigate the clutch of fear that welled up inside after reading this article. I felt sick with dread, shaky and heavy with depression. I had had an idea what the article would contain and knew from past experiences of childhood that it would have an adverse effect upon me, yet compulsively I read this article, almost as if it were beyond my volition to refrain from doing so. It was as if at some subconscious level I was determined to destroy what little piece of mind that I possessed. Also, I may have felt that there may be something in the article that would throw a light upon my quest for enlightenment concerning the nature of existence.

This dreadful feeling lasted for some considerable time and served to cultivate intense morbid ruminations. The thought that the universe could be devoid of life after the occurrence of such an event left me with feelings of great unease, even though I would be dead the possibility of an eternal lifelessness in the universe was quite horrifying to my mind, yet I could give no logical reason for my concern. It was indeed a most strange paradox particularly as I considered that death would result in my total annihilation, the cessation of my awareness, therefore I would not be aware of the non-existence of life in the universe after this awesome event, when earth would become a lifeless planet. Yet this concept filled me with a profound sense of dread and great unease. The thought of a universe totally void of life within the perceivable realm of existence induced in me a strange sense of horror - unless of course there was life elsewhere in the universe.

I had speculated upon the possibility of other living beings in the universe, but had never given these considerations much credence. However, it was at about this time that I became an avid reader of UFO books - or should that be an obsessive reader? Whether this was as a result of the aforementioned experiences I do not now recall, suffice it to say I devoured such books with the usual obsessive -compulsiveness to the exclusion of other literature. In particular I was interested in Erik von Danikins’ books wherein he posed the question: "Was God an astronaut?" Von Danikin conjectured that people from other worlds had visited the earth in ancient times and that these alien visitors had been partly responsible for some of our religious beliefs and myths. As I have already mentioned I had previously read articles in the newspaper about this book some years before, however, now as I became more fixated on this subject I carefully read all of the books that he had written on this theory. Whether or not I gave his theory any serious consideration I cannot now recall. I do however remember that reading these books caused me some feelings of unease - how would I cope if his claims were in fact valid? On the one hand, although I did not believe in God conclusively, despite the religious obsessions and compulsions, I still needed to hope that there was a benevolent God. However on the other hand I needed to feel that we were not alone in the universe.

Although at that time the phenomena of UFOs was not usually thought of as a philosophical or religious subject, I managed to find books that adopted a more mystical approach, books that tended to place this phenomenon into the realms of metaphysics and the supernatural rather than into the sphere of science. Naturally with my obsessive nature I much preferred the former unscientific approach. This interest in the UFO phenomenon was almost certainly precipitated by my inner urges to solve the mysteries of the universe, an attempt to find the answers that would satisfy the internal prompting of the " voice" of OCD. It is my experience that most sufferers of OCD are subjected to this type of ruminative thought to some degree or another and most never resolve the issue never arriving at any conclusion. I was no exception. I could never find an acceptable theory that would satisfactorily explain the purpose of existence, neither could I find a religious or philosophical ideal in which to wholeheartedly believe. Moreover without any insight into my disorder I continued to ruminate, speculate and increase my knowledge hoping to silence the voice from within, the voice that forever urged me on.

I desperately needed to silence the persistent voice that reminded me that life was ephemeral, death inevitable and eternal - eternal nothingness. One day I would die and there was nothing to prevent this awful fate. My quest to find the answers to the unanswerable may have been a subconscious attempt to mitigate my horror of death - if of course my conclusions were satisfactory and proved that life continued after death. I may have studied the aforementioned subjects in order to relieve my existential terror. My search for enlightenment was compulsive and relentless. However, because of my ignorance concerning my illness I did not realise that I was adding fuel to the fire of my neurosis and consequently increasing my dilemma. The words of a song that was popular in the sixties sums up the problem quite adequately, the lyrics are as follows: "There are more questions than answers, And the more I find out the less I know ". In deed the more theories that I studied, whether scientific, religious, metaphysical or philosophical, increased my confusion making it increasingly more difficult for me to arrive at any one conclusion. Whatever the theory there was always in my mind the question: "what if?" Some theories were more plausible than others, yet nothing was ever wholly satisfactory; there was invariably some floor in the conjecture or theory to prevent me from accepting completely any idea or belief. Yet I continued to search for the elusive truth of life’s enigmas. I still had no inkling whatsoever regarding the motivating force behind my thoughts and behaviour; I had still not heard of OCD and at no time did it occur to me that this preoccupation was a symptom of a severe and chronic psychiatric disorder.

Return to contents page Chapter Nine.

My life at this juncture was not totally consumed by my obsessions and compulsions. In spite of my difficulties I tried to function as a normal wife and mother - for indeed I did not think that I was anything else other than normal, albeit somewhat depressed. There followed a period of time, when apart from the morbid and philosophical ruminations, I was relatively free from any obvious obsessive behaviour; my cleaning rituals had diminished somewhat now that Kevin was much older and his immune system was fully functional. But slowly and insidiously my OCD problem grew in significance once again but this time reintroducing a dormant aspect of the disorder.

The placatory religious obsessions now returned. Now however, these bizarre bargains and vows with God were made in order to protect my husband’s life rather than my own, my life now seemed less important. The fear of losing my husband now overshadowed my dread concerning my own mortality. The thought of living without my husband left me with a profound empty feeling, my heart constricted with dread every time that this thought intruded itself into my mind, which it did in increasing frequency. I felt waves of panic whenever I considered that my husband’s life would be in danger. If he had to drive anywhere without me I became fearful for his welfare and would consequently feel overcome with the compulsion to make some bargain with God for his safe return. As I had previously done when the bargains with God had been made to protect my life, I abstained from indulging in something desirable, something that I enjoyed, in an attempt to placate God so that He would protect my husband from harm. The same obsessive behaviour that I had once learned to control now returned to an even greater degree.

With hindsight I now realise that this compulsion was indeed very primitive and superstitious in its content and was reminiscent of the type of behaviour of ancient primitive people who sacrificed to their Gods, their possessions, their livestock or even the lives of other human beings in order to appease their Gods. My neurotic mind however at this time seemed incapable of any kind of rational thought or insight in this regard and I was not able to make such a comparison, once again it was all too real. Yet again when the vows of abstinence where made I was too afraid to break them despite that fact that I had done so earlier.

As before I gave up all manner of pleasures; the greater the anxiety concerning my husband’s welfare the more inhibiting the vows would become until my anxiety was quelled and I felt satisfied that I had made a sufficient sacrifice to appease God. For instance: If my husband was late returning home, I would become gripped in such a severe state of trepidation that I would give up something that I enjoyed if my husband was returned safely to me. As with the previous obsession of this type I gave up pleasures such as cloths, food even books - I vowed that I would refrain from reading certain books that I had wanted to read, especially any literature that may be construed to be even remotely offensive in a religious context. There was one book in particular that I prohibited myself form reading because it might be blasphemous, at least according to the dictate of my distorted mind. I had wanted to read this book and in fact bought a copy in a vain attempt to ignore the dictate of these compulsive urges, however, I was simply too afraid to read it. I still have this book in my possession today and although I am not as affected by religious obsessions and compulsions I am still, after several attempts, unable to read it.

I had now reached a new level of absurdity inasmuch as I vowed that I would not cut my hair. This was very distressful; my hair had become very thin, most likely as a result of my chronic anxiety. Since I had become increasingly more fearful, my hair, which was once lustrous and exceptionally thick, now seemed to fall out, in what appeared to me to be an alarming rate - I was afraid that I was going bald. I realised that because of this problem that my hair would look thicker if it was cut a lot shorter. This state of affairs did much to destroy what little self-confidence that I possessed; I felt extremely embarrassed by the thinness of my hair. I felt very unattractive. To make matters worse, I had once again vowed not to wear makeup. Again I had hardly any new cloths after once again including this prohibition in my extensive list of vows. These vows had been introduced in the same manner as on the previous occasion some years earlier; I would begin by making a temporary vow lasting for only a limited duration, after which I was than at liberty to indulge in the forbidden item. However, as before, the period of limitations lasted longer and longer each time until eventually I would vow to make the abstention permanent.

As on the previous occasion when these compulsions first became manifest, I not only voluntarily made vows but I also made vows that were not of my volition. As before the urge to make a vow would force its way into my mind, I could not deter its intrusion, neither could I discount it because I had not intended to make it - all vows whether voluntary or involuntary were inexorably binding. I would try and mitigate the restrictions of the involuntary vows by quickly adding a clause that would in some way limit the very restrictive content of this type of vow - for some reason these involuntary vows were much more inhibiting than the ones that I made of my own volition. When the involuntary vow not to buy cloths intruded itself upon my mind, I was able to quickly add a clause that would mitigate the severity of its restrictive limitations: I would quickly add that I would allow myself to buy second hand cloths; buy essentials such as tights; I would allow others to buy me cloths and I would be permitted to make my own - which was not practical as I had no sewing machine.

These vows permeated every aspect of my day-to-day living, as they were not merely limited to abstinence’s of pleasurable pursuits but extended to include obligations involving my daily routines. Most of the vows that controlled my daily pursuits were involuntary and did not restrict me from any pleasure as such, but they were nevertheless distressing inasmuch as they forced me to occupy my time in a way that I did not always want and was on many occasions inappropriate. However, as with the vows of abstinence they were binding I was too afraid to break them because of my fear concerning the consequences - I was afraid that God would punish me by not taking care of my husband’s welfare.

These vows concerning normal day-to-day activities would appear to the observer to be quite normal. For instance, I had vowed to read to my son a certain number of times each day. I also had to take him out each and everyday regardless of the weather. I was required to take him to the recreation ground each day following the same route. I recall quite vividly standing with Kevin in the recreation ground on a bitterly cold New Year’s Day, there was no one else in sight, the air was filled with an eerie silence. Although our visit was very brief I had to at least, in a superstitious way, go throughout the motions of this ritual or something dire would happen - at least that is what the persuasive "voice" of OCD led me to believe.

Unlike the previous problems with this bizarre manifestation of the disorder I was not able to resolve it with my husband’s help. Now that the placatory vows concerned my husband’s well being rather than my own I was just too afraid to relinquish my commitment to them. I had been prepared to risk my on life - for this is how my neurotic mind perceived the possible outcome - but I was not prepared to risk my husband’s life. Once again these fears were very real; my mind was unable to rationalise my behaviour. I still did not have a normal religious belief; neither of us went to church anymore. I had stopped going shortly after having Kevin; I had felt increasingly more uncomfortable about my hypocrisy and had had the courage not to go. Moreover I realised that I would never again be able to believe in the teachings of this cult. Also when I had relinquished my former vows I had freed myself from the obligation to attend this church - fortunately I had not made any vows this time concerning church attendance, although in the near future I would have a compulsive commitment to attend a more conventional type of church. My husband had also stopped attending church, he had become somewhat disillusioned by the social aspect of the Mormon Church - sometimes he would attend church and be virtually ignored by other members of the congregation.

I could not confide in anyone. Although, these obsessions seemed to me to be real (I still did not consider that I was ill) I was well aware that others would consider that I was crazy. It is ironic that in spite of my awareness of the way in which others would view my behaviour I still could not rationalise the inappropriateness of my obsessions. Had I asked the opinion of a rational individual regarding my vows, would I really expect him or her to agree with me that my behaviour was normal and that my fears were valid? However, I rarely tired to consider the matter in this way; my fears were too real.

Despite these distressing problems I determined to at least try to live my life with some semblance of normality for the sake of our child. I took him out - not only on the ritual walks but also, during the summer, I took him to sit in the field near where we lived to read to him and to play ball. I read frequently to him, not merely to fulfil the requirements of my vows, but to encourage him to learn to talk and to stimulate within him an appreciation of books, to help him learn to enjoy reading for both pleasure and for education. Kevin enjoyed the rhythm of the endless nursery rhymes that I read and re-read to him as he willingly sat on my knee to listen.

Kevin had been born prematurely; the paediatrician at the hospital seemed concerned that he may be rather slow to learn to talk in comparison with other children of a similar age - an assumption that I did not altogether agree with. Nevertheless the doctor’s concern in this matter induced in me an anxiety about Kevin’s progress. I was not a very accomplished conversationalist, even with adults; with children this inability to make conversation was even more apparent. I did not know baby talk at all. Kevin’s rather precocious manner and adult conversation as a child may possibly have been the result of my inability to talk with him on a level more appropriate for a child. Although I worried about my inability in this regard I was not particularly convinced that one should speak to one’s child as if he lacked intelligence - taking down to one’s child seemed to me to be somewhat demeaning and limiting. I talked with Kevin in the same way that I would talk with an adult. To compensate for any lack of conversation I read to him as much as possible. Most weeks I bought him a book and when he was old enough he joined the library. The concern that he may be slower to learn than other children proved to be totally unfounded, he soon learnt to read and throughout his childhood he had an excellent vocabulary far in excess of his age.

Despite my shyness I determined that Kevin should be given every opportunity to mix with other children, therefore, as I mentioned earlier, I took him regularly to the mother and toddlers meetings in the village hall.

On the whole, to the observer, my life may have appeared to be idyllic, however, nothing could be further from the truth. The weight of the restrictions caused by my placatory vows became more and more oppressive, although I was remarkably adept at living within these self-imposed confines. No amount of reasoning from my husband had any affect whatsoever; these compulsions exerted a powerful hold upon my perception of life - my perception of reality. Once again these bizarre compulsions had weaved themselves into a complex web of fear from which it was impossible to extricate myself.

The obsessions now gradually began to occur with regular frequency, I was compulsively driven to swear more and more vows in order to quell the increasing fear that my husband would come to some harm if I did not. Now the thought of death in some form or another was my constant companion; its presence was kept alive by these constant reminders - the propitiatory vows served to enhance the thought of death. How could I turn from the intrusive thoughts of death when all the time I was mindful of the obligation of my vows and the reason I had to abide by their restrictions. Gradually, as my mind became wearier of the unremitting torment I began to become increasingly more aware that my thinking was neither normal nor acceptable. Nevertheless, I was too afraid to make any attempt at ignoring these compulsions for you see I still believed in their validity for most of the time. However, I was now so distressed that I began to realise that I needed some outside help, I needed to confide in someone, but who?

I had never told anyone other than my husband, he had been extremely understanding albeit somewhat mystified. I knew that most people would not be nearly as understanding, moreover, I felt acutely embarrassed about the content of my strange problem. I could not consider for one moment talking to my parents and I had no friends in whom I could confide. I knew that I needed help but did not quite know whom to approach, as I still did not consider that I had a psychiatric problem and was in any case too embarrassed to tell my Doctor. Therefore my situation continued unabated for many months to come, during which time I would suffer the tragedy of losing my father.

It was during this re-occurrence of my religious obsessions that we decided that we really needed somewhere else to live. Kevin was now two years old. We needed to find somewhere that would allow Kevin to have his own room. We had been more able to cope financially than we had at first expected, it was therefore possible for us to sell the flat and buy a house. It was very difficult to find somewhere that we could afford, however, a house came on the market in a village closer to the firm for which my husband worked, it was in fact the only house in the area that we could afford. We were lucky, someone else had been interested but with the help of my husband’s employer, who provided us with a bridging loan, we were able to secure the house with a deposit.

It was a rewarding experience to at last have a real home that would be permanent. It was not ideal but it was considerably better than the flat had been. It afforded more living space - three bedrooms, living room bathroom and kitchen. There was also a small garden. Although the house was situated on the main road it was nevertheless very private; we had only one immediate neighbour - this would be the only neighbour we would have to consider with regard to noise.

We looked forward with great anticipation to the day that we would move. We were still quite poor relatively speaking - at least compared to our more affluent middle class neighbours. We found it difficult at first to furnish the extra room for Kevin; also there was no heating at all except for an open fire in the sitting room which at first I thought would be delightful as it would provide us with a cosy old fashioned atmosphere, this would be especially so as the cottage was Victorian.

Soon however, our contentment would be severely marred; about a week before we were due to move into our new home I received a distressing letter from my paternal Aunt. Aunt Phyllis had written to tell me that my father was ill and had been confined to hospital for tests. I immediately rang my mother to enquire, not only what was wrong with my father, but also to find out why she had not told me herself that my father was so ill. Apparently my father had been ill for some time - at least this is how I interpreted the information in the letter. Why hadn’t my mother contacted me? As I have previously mentioned my relationship with my mother had deteriorated in recent years, nevertheless, I was shocked that she had seemingly taken this resentment to this extreme. Surely at such a time as this she would set aside her resentment - her reasons for this obvious rancour towards me still remained obscure. We had visited once after the birth of Kevin and had been given a most cold reception from my mother; she virtually ignored her grandson, refusing even to hold him. This was indeed most distressing as well as totally mystifying.

When I rang her she excused her behaviour by implying that she had not contacted me because she had not wanted me to worry. I asked her if she would like us to come and visit, she was very non-committal, it appeared to me that she really did not want to see me. Nevertheless, I told her that we would arrive the following day. I was naturally concerned about my father and wanted to see him. According to my mother he had had chest problems, later we were to learn that lung cancer was suspected but, until further tests were carried out, there was no definite diagnosis.

The following day John and I went to Leicester having left Kevin with his paternal grandparents.

It was a very traumatic time, my mother was obviously concerned, and she suspected the worst. My sister also was in a severe state of stress, over the years her nervous problems had not improved. This extra trauma would put even more strain upon her already disturbed mental state. She was tearful and distraught and like my mother she expected the worse but hoped that my father was suffering from TB rather than from cancer, as TB would more likely be curable.

Unfortunately our worst fears were confirmed, the hospital discharged my father; there was nothing that could be done.

It is difficult to describe my feelings at this time, sometimes my emotions were just dead while at other times I desperately sought a solution - I couldn’t just give up. My mother’s life would be ruined without Dad, they were so close like John and I. She couldn’t envision life without Dad. Even though my mother and I were estranged I did not stop caring for her and felt sorrow for the pain she would suffer. I was also very concerned for my father. He now seemed very fearful, although he had not been told that he was terminally ill. He had shown considerable distress at the prospect of an exploratory operation; previously my father had never displayed any kind of fear or even mild apprehension. It disturbed me to see my father this way, I felt so helpless and found it difficult to offer reassurance.

Throughout this traumatic time I continued with my obsessive-compulsive behaviour, indeed circumstances made me feel that it was imperative to comply with my placatory vows. I began to try and appease God hoping that he would spare my father’s life. This took place prior to the confirmation that my father did indeed have cancer.

I would plead with God to let my father live and to take ten years from my life instead, rather than take his. I also fasted every day in an attempt to placate God. However, I still did not have a normal faith in God and was only compulsively drawn to this type of behaviour. Not to have made the repetitive prayers or not to have fasted could, according to my distorted logic, bring dire consequences. Again I felt as though I were two people, one rational, and the other irrational. The rational side of my personality was very weak, while the other irrational side was exceptionally strong and totally overwhelmed its more passive counterpart. The stronger part of my being persisted unmercifully with its insane prompting; any opposition by the rational side of my personality was immediately crushed, utterly subjugated. I felt torn apart as a perpetual battle raged. Mostly however, I declined to fight and surrendered to the inner promptings too terrified of the possible consequences if I ignored them. The inner "voice" was forever casting doubt upon any attempt to subdue it, it was ever confident. If I tried to resist and consider the situation as normal people would the inner "voice", the voice of OCD would be "screaming" its insane interpretations of reality, it always presented further evidence to confirm that irrationality was real and that reality was merely a delusion. Moreover, obsessive thoughts and compulsions gain further advantage during conditions of severe stress when the sufferer is too weak mentally to oppose them. This was not a suitable time for me to attempt to depose them.

Despite the prognosis concerning my father I could not concede defeat. I visited the Christian Science Church in East Grinstead. I knew nothing about this religious sect but vainly hoped that someone would miraculously heal my father. I had no real faith in divine healing and was not even sure whether this particular church practised this. I felt drawn compulsively by the fear that I might not have pursued my father’s cure diligently; I was concerned that if I did not pursue every possibility, however remote, than I would be responsible for my father’s death. I felt desperate I could leave no stone unturned. I even asked my mother if she would consider consulting a healer: I knew that she would turn down this idea with some antagonism towards me for suggesting such a thing. Nevertheless, I approached her with this suggestion despite my feelings of anxiety, not only because of her likely aggressive response, but also because of the possibility of upsetting her further, especially when deep down I knew that faith healing would not help my father. Nevertheless, the "voice" of OCD prompted me to approach her; its urgings insisted that if I did not explore every conceivable possibility, than ultimately I would be responsible for my father’s death. As I suspected she turned down the suggestion with certain vehemence in her voice when I mentioned faith healing to her. The Christian Science Church was unable to help. I had hoped that they practised absent healing, as I knew that some Churches did. They did not even offer the least degree of consolation and seemed rather reluctant to explain why. The lady that I approached in their reading room seemed somewhat aloof and unconcerned; I left feeling very dejected.

In my desperation I considered approaching the Spiritualist Church - I had been acquainted with a lady some years earlier who had attended this Church, I recalled that she had mentioned absent healing (absent healing as its name implies is carried out without the afflicted person being present and from any distance simply by praying and concentrating upon the forces of healing). However, I did not know were to obtain absent healing. I wrote to the presenter of one of our local radio stations phone in program - he always seemed to help people with a variety of matters. I wrote a long and detailed letter that only received the briefest reply. Nevertheless, they found the information that I had been seeking. I had found their concise letter quite upsetting even though I realised that the radio station was most likely inundated with letters. I was perhaps oversensitive; the world seems an uncaring place when one is under this kind of pressure. I was very susceptible to every hurt whether intentional or unintentional. I felt fearful and my heart felt weighed down with depression and a sense of hopelessness. This feeling that the world was an uncaring place was further enhanced by the reaction of the spiritualist centre when I contacted them immediately after receiving the information from the radio station. The lady who spoke to me on the telephone was very abrupt, almost irritated when I said that I did not want either my father or my mother to know about my request for absent healing. It appeared to me that her attitude was not very compassionate. However, they did agree to comply with my request. Nevertheless, I returned home after telephoning from the local call box in floods of tears; it seemed that no one cared, perhaps I was oversensitive but I seemed to be keenly aware of the way in which those from whom I had sought help had responded - for most of the time with an attitude of disinterest and lack of compassion. It may simply of course been my imagination but I will never know.

After about a month my father died. We had visited him as often as we could; to have gone more frequently would have aroused his suspicions. Although, we knew, despite all our hopes and endeavours that my father was going to die it was still a traumatic shock to all of us. When my mother rang to tell me that he was not expected to live through the night, John and I packed immediately and after leaving Kevin with his paternal grandparents we went straight the way to Leicester.

Despite the obvious reality of the situation it all seemed like a dream, an illusion. I felt detached, emotionally empty. I thought that I ought to feel more upset; I felt guilty that I did not cry or show undue emotion, but I felt dead inside. My father died at dawn. My mother called us down from upstairs; she did not know what to do. The funeral also had an unreal quality, my feelings seemed dead, and it was a strange sensation. I was concerned that my mother would consider that I did not care, but I knew that I did. I cared not only for my father who had worked hard all his life and had died before he could enjoy the benefits of retirement, but I cared also for my mother who would now be alone. At the time I did not shed many tears, but many times during the ensuing years I have missed my father. As I write this memoir I feel a profound sadness as I recall the sorrow of this loss.

On the surface the relationship between my mother and I seemed to improve, however, she was always very quick to find fault and to call attention to my failings - failings that were either real or imagined. Most of the time they were imagined.

My father had died early in November, it was a very empty Christmas for my mother. With some considerable persuasion we arranged for her, my sister and my brother-in-law to come and stay with us over Christmas. This would be the first time that my mother had visited with us although we had been married for six years.

My mother still had the shop to run and was very concerned about leaving it for too long therefore her visit with us would be brief. The holiday was to prove very difficult; my mother seemed possessed of a strange paranoia and thought that we all talked about her whenever she left the room. The holiday was further disrupted when an argument between my sister and I broke out. What started as merely a religious debate turned into a bizarre row between my sister and I. I am not sure of the exact nature of the debate but the discussion concerned the following type of questions that most people have considered from time to time, not just obsessive-compulsives: Was there a God? Where did he come from? Did he always exist? What existed before the universe? My sister became very upset. She like me has a profound fear of death and this kind of discussion may have invoked some form of existential terror. My sister at that time tended to become verbally aggressive if she was upset in this manner, I had started the debate therefore a row between us ensued. My mother was upset and tended to take my sister’s side, implying that my sister’s mental illness was the cause of her distress and consequently her oversensitive behaviour. It was at this time that I told my mother that I too had fears, and that I also suffered from depression. I did not of course go into detail and my mother never asked, all she said was that neither she nor my father had ever realised that I had this type of problem and that my father had been pleased that I had been spared the mental torment that afflicted my sister.

For some inexplicable reason, after this visit the relationship with my mother once again started to deteriorate. We visited my mother several times but on most occasions our time together was marred by my mother’s propensity to start a most violent argument. She was very aggressive in her attitude towards me, as she still held a grudge against me. Her reasons however were still obscure. She refused to enter into any reasonable discussion in order to try and solve the problem and find some reconciliation between us. She would never tell me what was on her mind; she merely found an excuse for an argument making it impossible to reason with her. Most times whenever she visited us a violent disagreement would erupt, her volatile temper would flare. Her aggressive attitude would linger for days afterwards. She would get up in the morning in a foul mood and she would persist all day with sarcastic and caustic remarks. I was on edge throughout her visits and was always profoundly relieved when she returned home. Things improved only slightly as time went on, however our relationship would never be the same; I was always conscious of her hostility towards me.

The restrictions caused by my obsessive-compulsiveness became increasingly more intolerable. I began to realise that I could not free myself from this behaviour as easily as I had previously done. In this instance the support of my husband alone would be insufficient, I needed someone not involved in the obsessions to encourage me to abandon them. I considered that if someone other than my husband were to tell me that my behaviour had no basis in reality than I could relinquish my vows and resist the urge to make further commitments. In other words I needed extra reassurance.

My rapidly diminishing circle of freedom finally made me determined to consult my doctor. Although I was confident in my doctor I was somewhat apprehensive about approaching her with this bizarre state of affairs. I could not for one moment imagine that she would have ever heard of anything quite as weird as the matters with which I was to present her. Had I had some recognisable emotional disorder such as agoraphobia I would not have felt so embarrassed. However the severe disruption to my life and the resulting depression compelled me to seek some help. I was now desperate.

We had now changed our doctor. Having moved further away it was difficult for me to see the doctor, unless my husband was available to take me; there was no regular public transport. After making Doctor Jones’ acquaintance we decided to approach her concerning my neurosis I was far from getting any better; my condition in fact was deteriorating rapidly once again. I cannot recall precisely how I broached the subject or even if I was really open with her, somehow I feel that I concealed my real problem and may merely have said that I was depressed. She arranged for me to see Doctor Richardson a consultant psychiatrist.

I was rather apprehensive but he was very pleasant, his congeniality put me at my ease.

There was another person present at the consultation that he introduced as Mike Donaldson, a psychiatric nurse. I was very reticent about confiding in either of these two people and skirted around the real problem. I told them that I was depressed and that I worried inordinately about death, I could not bring myself to reveal the precise nature of my problem, namely the compulsive vows. Both seemed very concerned and were aware that I had an underlying problem and attempted to increase my confidence in order for me to be able to relate to them the exact nature of my obvious distress, by this time I had dissolved into tears. Eventually thanks to their perseverance I told them about my compulsive urge to swear vows and make bargains with God.

I was acutely embarrassed but nevertheless felt relieved that I had at last been able to talk with an outsider about my problems without too much inhibition; I told them everything concealing nothing. I expected then to say that I was being ridiculous and to go home had try and forget about it. However, they seemed not to be in the least surprised and explained to me that my behaviour was caused by anxiety and I that was not going mad. Neither did either of them attempt to reassure me that my thoughts were nonsense. I had hoped for this type of reassurance and had expected that they would suggest that I immediately abandon the obligations of my vows the way that I had previously done with the help of my husband. I considered that all I really needed was further reassurance that I was behaving illogically. However, it was suggested that I attend group therapy; this I was told was a group of people with similar problems. I was also prescribed a course of Anafranil, an antidepressant that is thought to relieve the symptoms of OCD to a certain degree. I was not however diagnosed at this time; during the entire consultation neither OCD nor obsessional neurosis, as the condition was than called, was mentioned. The fact that I had a specific disorder was not even implied and no label of any kind was attached to the malady that was devastating my life. In retrospect I consider that it would have helped my peace of mind considerably if my condition had been specifically diagnosed and the prognosis clearly explained.

Mike Donaldson later visited me at my home prior to joining the group. During his visit Mike asked me if I ever worried about contamination by germs. At the time the placatory obsessions ruled my life, the fear precipitated by them seemed to over shadow other aspects of my life including contamination fears that were in any case dormant. At this time I did not really consider that this was a problem which needed any attention; I had no idea that the two problems were in any way related, I therefore told him that I did not have this obsession. Had I been clearly informed concerning the precise nature of my illness I may not have neglected to mention this problem. Moreover, had I been better informed about this disorder, I might have gained some valuable insight, which would have alerted me to the first signs of the emergence of a full-blown contamination obsession that insidiously crept into my life whilst I was still attending the group. My illness was merely referred to as an anxiety problem. I was assured that if I made an effort, with the aid of the group, than I would be able to eradicate the problem. It was impressed upon me that I should hold back nothing, I should confront all my problems, and failure to do so would mean the return of all my symptoms. With the support of the group I would break all my vows and bargains with God and I would resist the compulsion to make more.

Furthermore, I was led to believe that once I had eliminated the religious obsessions and compulsions from my life the morbid preoccupation with death would diminish; it was suggested to me that my persistence in making and complying with my vows in fact produced the morbid fears. After all, if I spent most of my time doing things that I considered essential for either my own survival or the survival of others I was keeping the intrusive thoughts well provided with fuel to add to the fires of my morbid preoccupation with death. How could I ignore death when I considered that everything that I did, or didn’t do as the case may be, had some effect upon life and death?

At this time I really believed that I could be rid of this distressing illness and live a normal life; due to my ignorance concerning the nature of OCD I did not realise that I had in fact never been normal and that I had been born with the propensity to develop this debilitating condition.

Mike seemed very understanding if somewhat surprised at the extent to which my obsessions had developed; he was amazed that I could actually recall all the vows that I had made, "did I not forget?" " Never" was my reply. The thought that it was possible to forget all of these restrictions never occurred to me despite the ever increasing number of abstentions that I continued to add to the list.

Mike asked me to write it down in a notebook every time that I made a vow and he would see me in a week’s time.

Compiling this list of vows was to prove very enlightening; hitherto I had not realised either the extent of the problem or just how restricted my life had become.

To reiterate: There were two types of vow, one voluntary the other involuntary. I made the voluntary vow whenever I felt anxious and wanted to placate God. The involuntary vow could occur at any time, in any circumstance and be about almost anything, I had no control over its content. Involuntary vows occasionally contained vows of abstention but more usually concerned vows that affected my daily routine. There was also another kind of commitment that I refer to as an oath; I would swear an oath upon my life to follow or not to follow a course of action as the case may be. For instance, I would swear on my life to make a drink, go to the shops, buy something or not buy something depending on the circumstance at the time. Like the vows oaths were both voluntary and involuntary. In the beginning I purposely swore oaths in order to make decisions, I would swear an oath in favour of one option or the other. Eventually this compulsion intruded itself with out my volition whenever I had to make a decision whether big or small, significant or insignificant. I had of course no control over the outcome of the involuntary intrusive oaths; they rarely worked in my favour. Even a decision whether or not to go to the toilet would be included. Any hesitation arriving at a decision, however momentary, would precipitate an involuntary oath to intrude itself into my mind. My mind whirled round in a maelstrom of indecision, before I could make any normal attempt at arriving at a conclusion one of these intrusive thoughts popped into my mind almost simultaneously. I could do nothing to either resist them, or stop their formation. Naturally I endeavoured to resist its invasion, however even the very essence of a thought would be binding. Yet again I had weaved myself into a complex web of fear; my life was held sway to the weird notions of my mind.

I meticulously made a list of every oath that I swore both voluntary and involuntary; Mike was even more surprised concerning the extent of my problem - I had filled a good-sized notebook with every vow and oath that I had made during the week. After looking through my notes he committed me to promise not to make any further vows or oaths and if I did - which naturally I would do compulsively in the way already mentioned - I was to try and ignore them and not to carry out their dictate. Incredibly I was able to comply with this commitment, all I needed was a little encouragement in order to break this web of fear, Mike than made arrangements for me to attend the group.

The group met at a school in a nearby town. The room allocated for use by the group was very cold and gloomy and often added an air of despondency to my already depressed mood. Fortunately however my first visit to the group took place on a gloriously sunny day, which served to alleviate this depressing atmosphere to some extent.

The first visit to the group was extremely anxiety provoking, I felt very apprehensive not only at the prospect of discussing my bizarre behaviour with strangers but also with the thought of having to socialise - I realised that both before and after the meeting I would have to become involved in conversation. Moreover, Mike was planning to arrange for me to have a lift home with one of the other group members. This would be particularly stressful for me, as I knew that I would be particularly tongue-tied as this group member was a man.

I arrived at the group early, which is almost invariably normal for me: I would get quite anxious about being late therefore I tended to arrive at my destination rather earlier than would normally be expected. We all sat in a circle; there were more men than women. I appeared to be the youngest. Most of these people seemed to be at their ease, chatting with each other quite freely. Mike Donaldson arrived along with the psychologist, Mr Phillips. My anxiety mounted.

It would not be easy to talk in front of a group of complete strangers about problems as bizarre as mine - problems that I considered to be extremely embarrassing. However, I had been told that the rest of the group suffered with similar problems therefore I was rather less anxious than I would otherwise have been had I in fact known that none of the group, except for one lady who was attending for the last time, had any of the bizarre symptoms that I had presented with.

I was introduced to each of the group members and was than asked to speak first, everyone thereafter was asked to speak in turn. This was rather a shock, I had assumed that no one spoke until he or she was ready to do so and not at all if he or she did not feel ready or confident enough. I was therefore taken by surprise and was thus somewhat flustered. In retrospect, however, had I not spoken first, before hearing from the rest of the group, I most probably would not have been able to talk about my problems. I would simply have been far too embarrassed to do so; despite Mike’s insistence that my fellow group members suffered similarly I was soon to learn that I had nothing whatsoever in common with the rest of the group with regard to symptoms. Most of the group members were agoraphobic; one suffered from panic attacks, another from dentist phobia and a fear of travelling. Paul, the group member from whom I was to get a life home suffered from agoraphobia, claustrophobia and social phobia. There was one man who had a phobia that was difficult to define that could well have been a type of OCD; he appeared to have some difficulty associated with driving his car and was assigned longer and longer drives in his car each week. It is necessary to point out that I had to ascertain from the weekly progress reports of the other group members concerning the nature of their problems, for although I was expected to tell the group in some detail about my problems the group were not encouraged to, even briefly, tell me theirs. This situation added further to my discomfort.

When the psychologist asked me to introduce myself and explain to the group the precise nature of my problems, I began by explaining in some detail my fear of death. It was much more difficult to explain my compulsion to make oaths and vows. I really could not bring myself to explain the problem precisely and I simply said that in a superstitious way I had felt compelled to give up pleasurable pursuits and practice certain rituals, such as the daily walk to the recreation ground. I cannot recall if I even mentioned the religious significance at all. Both Mike and Mr Phillips knew the exact nature of my problem but did not encourage me to be more accurate. Thereafter, during my time with the group, my compulsive vows and oaths were referred to as promises. However, for the sake of clarity I will now refer to both the vows and oaths as vows only.

Mr Phillips asked me to make a list of my current vows in a descending order beginning with the easiest to relinquish down to the most difficult. The idea was that each week I would break one of these restrictions starting with the least anxiety provoking and concluding with the one that produced the most fear. I was required to tell the group about each vow that I planned to break each week. However, the problem was that all the vows carried with them the same amount of fearful thought processes; no vow was any easier to break than any other. If I broke one vow I may as well break the rest. As before, I only needed to break one vow in order to release myself from the restrictions of the others at this stage of my illness it was not necessary for me to either break each vow separately or in any particular order. In fact there was no descending order.

I could not make either Mike or Mr Phillips understand this point. Perhaps they could not fit this concept into the normal activity of the group which involved dealing with the easiest problem first, leaving the more difficult to cope with aspect of the disorder until last, when the patient had built up sufficient confidence through achieving success with the easier problems. For instance an agoraphobic would be asked to go as far as his or her gate and back for the first week, or even just to stand on the door-step if the condition was very severe, and than the sufferer would be asked to report back to the group concerning his or her progress with the assignment. If the patient had been able to cope with going as far as the gate the patient would than be asked to go a little further, until all his or her fears were confronted reserving the most fearful task until last. By this method the symptoms of fear were gradually reduced.

This system of therapy, referred to as desensitisation, was not appropriate for my circumstances at this time. However, I could not impress upon either therapist this aspect of my illness, therefore I determined simply to break these vows one at a time in a random order saving the most bizarre restriction, having my hair cut, until last. This procedure in fact hindered my progress and made it more difficult for me to cope with the problem when it re-emerged some years later. Previously (on the occasion when my husband had helped me cope with this compulsion) when I had broken one vow I had considered that the rest were automatically nullified. Now however, because of the desensitisation program, I would not be able to consider that I need only break one vow in order to nullify the rest. From that time onwards whenever this problem returned, I would have to consider each vow separately, as I now felt conditioned to approach the problem in this manner, instead of facing my fear once I had to face it over and over.

After I had explained my problem to the group, the other members gave a progress report. Everyone had been successful, it was most encouraging, nevertheless I felt acutely embarrassed - I worried that the rest of the group would think that I was quite mad. The meeting concluded after everyone had committed himself or herself to a further task. I selected one of my vows and committed myself to breaking it and to refrain from making further vows.

Although I persevered with the group I never really felt comfortable. When new members arrived the same procedure took place, like me the new member would be required to explain the nature of his or her problems to the group and like me the new comer did not receive any information about the problems of the rest of the group. My problem must have appeared to a new member to be very obscure. Most of the time I felt very embarrassed and considered that I must appear to be rather an enigma. I felt a bit of a freak. During my time with the group I managed to complete most of my weekly assignments. However, as already mentioned, I considered that I did not need to treat each oath and vow as a separate issue and the therapists’ insistence that I do so hindered my progress. Nevertheless, I derived some benefit from the group, namely support.

During my time with the group I was encouraged to try and improve my social skills and try to make more friends in my local area, a task that I was to find rather difficult. Besides my inhibitions I found it more difficult to make friends in the South East where most people tended to be very reserved. Fortunately however, prior to joining the group, I had in fact become very friendly with a lady in my neighbourhood. We had met at the local mother and toddler’s club.

I had been taking my son to the mother and toddler’s club one afternoon each week after being advised to do so by the health visitor. There still seemed to be some concern that Kevin would have difficulties because he had been born prematurely, it was therefore considered important that he should be given the opportunity to mix with children of a similar age. I remember feeling very guilty and inadequate by the concerns of the health visitor. I considered that this concern was precipitated by my shyness; I considered that the health visitor implied that Kevin’s progress was being inhibited by my shyness.

The mother and toddler afternoons were an ordeal. I was keenly aware of the fact that I could not mix and that this inability was blatantly obvious. I was incapable of making conversation and spent most of the time sitting alone while Kevin played with the other children. Despite the anxiety caused by attending the mother and toddler’s group it did in fact help me to some extent, at least it was a respite from the relative isolation of being at home for most of the day.

Eventually I became friendly with another mother, Jill Jarvis, who occasionally attended the mother and toddler’s group. However it was she who initiated the friendship rather than I. I had often longed to be able to approach some of the other mothers but never knew quite what to say; as usual I was lost for words. This particular lady was more extroverted than the rest, she seemed to have no social inhibitions whatsoever, as she chatted away quite amiably to the other mothers. One afternoon when I was returning home with Kevin, she approached me and invited me to her home for a coffee and a chat. She had two children, one of who, Samuel, was only two days younger than Kevin. This was an excellent opportunity for Kevin to have a personal friend and not to be just one of many as he was at the mother and toddler’s club. The other child, Simon, was a couple of years younger, as time went on all three were to relate to one another and become firm friends.

Jill was a very lively person, openly friendly. She was easy to talk with and she chatted without any apparent shyness. I felt quite relaxed in her company; I did not feel any of the usual strain of conversation. We became close friends visiting each other in a casual and relaxed manner. She lived close by, in a house that was always in a state of chaotic mess and not particularly hygienic. At the time this was not a problem for me, I was not too concerned about contamination during this stage of my illness and I felt reasonably comfortable there.

As our friendship grew I was able to confide in Jill to some extent. Nonetheless I was never very specific and only mentioned that I was depressed and worried unduly about death - I did not tell her about my obsessions, I could not run the risk of either being rejected or considered mad.

Unfortunately despite her caring nature Jill tended to be somewhat condescending and, although she was four years younger than I, she tended to talk to me as though I were much younger and as a consequence lacked experience of motherhood. She seemed to consider herself to be superior; she would imply that her methods of childcare were more beneficial. I do not believe that she intended to be as patronising as she appeared to be, as she seemed to have only the best of intentions. However, her attitude did not help my self-esteem. She would often talk to me as though I were a child or at least a teenage mother who lacked any maternal instincts because of her immaturity. I was now in my early thirties.

Jill was not the first, nor would she be the last to treat me in this way; most people throughout my life have tended to treat me in a similar manner. It appears to me that there are a certain number of people who regard shyness synonymously with a low IQ, often introverted people are considered to be less intelligent because of their inability to converse or associate with others. Their lack of conversation is often mistaken for a lack of intelligence. Mental illness is another stigma that tends to label the sufferer as being below average intelligence. In later years however I was to learn that Jill tended to treat everyone in this way. Despite this annoying part of her character I became more and more friendly with Jill as we associated with one another with increasingly regularity. Eventually I confided in her more than I had hitherto done before with anyone except John, something that I would later regret.

This friendship in spite of its drawbacks helped me to gain more confidence with my relationships with others. Thus encouraged I therefore determined to improve my social skills and mentioned this to the group, whereupon a program designed to improve my social skills was introduced to run concurrently with the OCD desensitisation program. I was encouraged to make conversation with people at bus stops, in shops and so on. My social skills were also improved during group therapy sessions by role-playing situations that I found difficult.

These role-playing sessions were recorded on video and played back in order that I could observe myself, as I would appear to others. This was all very novel to me and may be the idea of seeing myself, as I would appear to others, may have been an attempt to improve my self-confidence, an attempt to make me feel that I did not appear strange or awkward during conversations. However, this was not the main problem. The greatest difficulty concerning my associations with others was my inability to engage in small talk. I also had some anxiety in case I should say something foolish, inappropriate or unintelligent. Moreover, I considered myself to be boring and uninteresting. I also sensed that people were aware that I was shy, tongue-tied and awkward and that they therefore tended to ignore me because they became embarrassed by my lack of response and my difficulty making eye contact.

Now I had two assignments within the group, my OCD and my social phobia or shyness. I was determined to improve my life, to try and become normal, as everyone else appeared to be. I was still unaware of the nature of my disorder and that the prognosis of complete recovery was unlikely and that I could in fact only learn to keep it under control. At this time I remained under the assumption that I would be completely cured, that I would be free from my obsessions and compulsions. I was led to believe that eventually I would not be tormented by these thoughts and that I would be as normal as any one else. Throughout the duration of my time within the group the terms obsessions and compulsions were never used to explain my bizarre behaviour. I still had no clear idea quite what was wrong; the only explanation that I received was that my condition was induced by anxiety. I was told that once I had eradicated the compulsion to make vows from my life and was therefore on longer subjected to their repressive influence, I would than also free myself from my unnatural preoccupation with death.

Nothing was ever mentioned about my philosophical/ religious ruminations; I was never told that this was part of the disorder. I would have at the very least like to have been made aware of this, although I doubt that I would have been affected by this knowledge as my compulsion to seek religious enlightenment and the meaning of existence was a powerful obsession. Nevertheless I feel that I had the right to know the exact nature of my illness.

I continued throughout the duration of my membership with the group to relentlessly pursue religious, philosophical and metaphysical matters. I would read everything that I could possibly lay my hands on, the more weird or bizarre the more fascinated I was. I was compulsively driven to explore every possibility but never came near to resolving the issue; life still remained an enigma, death still a terrifying prospect. The more I read, the more confused I became.

Moreover, I would perceive everything else that I read in a philosophical, metaphysical or religious context. For instance I would enjoy reading science fiction, however this would oftentimes be seen in the aforementioned context. This type of novel often added food for thought regarding existence and the origins of life. On some occasions it even provided me with a bizarre hypothesis concerning the cause of my condition. I would often ruminate upon the possibility that I was under the influence of some form of incorporeal entity - a common science fiction scenario - a disembodied being of pure intelligence who had evolved to such an elevated state of being, that it no longer required a physical body in order to exist. This entity than spent the duration of its existence tormenting the minds of other more primitive life forms in the universe. I considered the possibility, and still do, that there are other realms of existence that are not manifest through the ordinary senses and are therefore not a perceivable part of the universe, however, the inhabitants of these realms or dimensions could and do influence humanity for either good or ill.

Religion of course has produced a similar hypothesis: I was not in fact neurotic but I was instead possessed by a demon or demons, beings who spent the duration of eternity tormenting the minds of anyone wh

Demons of the Mind :
A Memoir of An Obsessive-Compulsive.

This book is dedicated to the memory of

my sister Lynda Johnson.

You will always be in my heart as long as my life endures

...Time does not heal,

It makes a half-stitched scar

That can be broken and again you feel
Grief as total as in its first hour.

Elizabeth Jennings.

A mind not to be changed by place or time;

The mind is in it’s own place,

And in itself

Can make a heav’n of hell,

A hell of heav’n

John Milton:
Paradise lost.

Prologue.

Introduction.

Return to contents page Chapter One.

Return to contents page Chapter Two.

Return to contents page Chapter Five.

Return to contents page Chapter Six.

Return to contents page Chapter Seven.

Return to contents page Chapter Eight.

Return to contents page Chapter Nine.

Demons of the Mind : A Memoir of An Obsessive-Compulsive.

This book is dedicated to the memory of

my sister Lynda Johnson.

You will always be in my heart as long as my life endures

...Time does not heal,

It makes a half-stitched scar

That can be broken and again you feelGrief as total as in its first hour.

Elizabeth Jennings.

A mind not to be changed by place or time;

The mind is in it’s own place,

And in itself

Can make a heav’n of hell,

A hell of heav’n

John Milton:Paradise lost.

Prologue.

Introduction.

Return to contents page Chapter One.

Return to contents page Chapter Two.

Return to contents page Chapter Five.

Return to contents page Chapter Six.

Return to contents page Chapter Seven.

Return to contents page Chapter Eight.

Return to contents page Chapter Nine.

Demons of the Mind :
A Memoir of An Obsessive-Compulsive.

That can be broken and again you feel
Grief as total as in its first hour.

John Milton:
Paradise lost.