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I am forty seven years old and have been dealing with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder for the vast majority of my life. I can trace it back to when I was nine years old to the Summer of 1970 immediately after my uncle, aunt and their twelve year old son were killed in a car accident. I remember having horrific thoughts of the three of them covered in blood and being unable to shake these pictures from my mind. I can also recall the excessive feelings of guilt and shame I experienced as a reaction to these obsessive thoughts. In my nine year old mind, these thoughts were very frightening and unsettling to me. And because I couldn't get rid of them, I adamantly decided I was a terrible person for having them. It seemed the harder I tried to fight them off, the more powerful and intense they would become.

From the ages of 13 and 14, my obsessive thoughts became even more frightening and disturbing. I started having obsessions of me killing my mother. These obsessions would become so intense at times that I remember being in the same room with her in the house I grew up in and just suddenly having to leave. Somehow I came to the conclusion that just having these thoughts was a horrible thing but the fact that they kept coming back and clearly just wouldn't go away was a sign that I was definitely going to act on them. And the level of guilt and shame I felt at this vulnerable time of my life in some ways seemed to equate to that I would've felt had I actually acted on these obsessions. Being raised in a devout Catholic household obviously added fuel to the fire of my dilemma because there is no guilt greater than Catholic guilt. At least not from my personal life experiences.
Obsessive thoughts would plague me throughout my life pretty much right up to the present. When I was first married, it was obsessions of me killing my wife. When her and I had our two daughters, it was obsessions of me kiling them. It always would come down to the ultimate worst scenerio I could imagine which in my mind was me murdering those of whom I loved the most. The purpose to having these obsessions seemed to be inflicting the most enormous level of guilt I could create within myself. And that purpose would always be fulfilled since this was always the end result. The guilt was more often than not both devastating and overbearing. And this OCD I was struggling with would have a negative impact on every important aspect of my life.
I became an alcoholic at the age of twenty-one shortly

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