1dsexualfrustrations

You Make Me Better

This is my favorite one shot ever.

Dedicated to MayeeshaMaliha

You Make Me Better

A message from the real author: This is a one shot I decided to write because it's really personal to me. Someone very close to me suffers from OCD and yes while most people think it's just cleaning or repeating things over, it's more than that.

Warning: It's really sad and refers to mental disorders a lot so there might be triggering.

*Your POV*

It began in the summer he was seven years old. His mother was planning a vacation with her new boyfriend, his eleven-year-old sister, Gemma, and him. He had been so excited to take his first trip out of the country and see the beach and feel real sand for the first time. That excitement had been short-lived. Once there, his mother and her boyfriend began to argue, throwing plates and screaming the "bad words" at each other. She grabbed a bottle of pills and took all of them. After more arguing with her boyfriend, she ran across a busy highway. Soon she was rushed to a hospital where she stayed for the rest of the vacation.

His hand washing began soon afterward. He spent hours in the bathroom scrubbing his hands raw. He felt that if he didn't take part in this routine, his mother would die. He washed his hair without letting it touch the water in the bathtub. He forced himself to eat foods that he absolutely hated. He wouldn't allow himself to participate in the activities that most kids enjoy like when they got a pool built in their backyard when he was twelve. He thought that something horrible would happen if he did.

He never understood why he was like that. He would pray every night talking to God and begging for answer as to why he couldn't just walk up to the front door of his house like a normal person would because he would have to step a certain pattern on the stone sidewalk and if he messed up he'd have to go back down the pathway and start over again. It once took him eleven tries before he got inside.

When he was thirteen, he finally told his mother who took him to a psychiatrist. He had been so relieved to find out he wasn't the only one who had to deal with this. He felt like an outsider his entire life and it nearly drove him crazy. They gave him medications but nothing seemed to work. After years of pills and therapy, he just put him on a different medication. It was amazing that they thought a little pill could make a big difference. Seven years later, his OCD still hadn't gone away completely. His family understood him more and would try to help but he was constantly shying away from them and eventually, he began to shut people out.
He felt the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders which did nothing but worsen his anxiety. He kept himself hidden, physically and mentally. He hid his hands from his mother because he knew that if she saw the dry, cracked, bleeding skin she'd get sad because he was getting bad again. He'd clean his room when everyone was the house was quiet in the middle of the night because he couldn't possibly sleep knowing the papers on his desk could be out of place or he may not have bleached all the germs away on his bathroom floor.

They didn't meet until our freshman year in college.
To be honest, she didn't really pay attention to him. He was only in one of her classes at the time: psychology. Kind of ironic in a way but also a blessing because if she had taken that second literature course like she had planned, she may have never have met him.

He never felt that way about someone before. His disorder consumed him. He let his fears and anxiety convince him that he was an inconvenience to everyone. He didn't understand why anyone would want to put up with him that didn't have to. He'd never been able to open himself up to anyone before so how could he expose himself in such a vulnerable way to a girl he's never even spoken to. There was just something about you that made him feel better inside. He didn't understand why he wasn't afraid of the germs on the door handle when he held it open for you like he normally would, then spend the next hour washing his hands over and over. He didn't care.