Table of Contents

Prologue

Introduction.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

                                   Prologue.

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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.
 

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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.

Obsessions are commonly placed in the following categories:

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.

Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

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 wha