A little over three years ago, I was diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). I had always felt that something was wrong with the way I overthought about everything, but couldn't understand it. Around that time I just about snapped and decided to check into the possibility that I had OCD with a doctor. My brother had been diagnosed with it a few years earlier, so I knew what it was. He had the more obvious and conspicuous traits (the constant washing of hands, etc.) than I ever had. Most of my symptoms I kept to myself, not letting anyone see. I tried to pretend everything was fine. But I was slowly hurting myself more than I can describe. It was actually a great relief when I was diagnosed and given the option of getting better. It was like a great weight had been lifted; I now knew there was a better way to live. I'm now so much better, thanks to medicine and talking about it. It's still a challenge, but the world is a much better place now. (I thought about this, because I was reading Chris' post about obsession. Think of it like that, but about 20 times more destructive to your mind.)