Greetings, all!
Wow, there are so many new faces here and I am simply elated. (*Insert tender sappy face emoji!*) It is with so much gratitude and warmth that I welcome you to notice, gently! Thank you for being here. I am so delighted to connect with you in this way.
On the plane ride over from France to Doha, I was certainly spoiled by the luxurious nature of Qatar Airways. A glass of wine in one hand, the other busy tapping away at the tiny TV screen as I scanned through the seemingly endless stream of movies. Then, it caught my eye: “Turtles All the Way Down,” a movie based on the book written by John Green.
This book was lent to me by a friend back in 2020. Freshly diagnosed, and extremely mentally unwell — the book was a godsend. I read it in a weekend, and in a sobbed scurry I scrambled to message John Green on Instagram as fast as I could to thank him. He too has OCD, in which I hadn’t known. He relayed his personal experience and struggles through the lens of Aza, a teen navigating the harsh reality of a life lived with OCD.
Having read “The Fault In Our Stars” and “Looking For Alaska” as a teenager though, I noticed a resistance when my friend initially lent me the book. I made the assumption that it would involve a storyline that might risk exposing me to heartache. At that time, I was struggling to barely keep afloat in my own pool of pain — I didn’t want to read anything that could potentially add to the sadness stew. Fortunately though, my friend kindly greeted my apprehension and gently insisted I give it a chance. (And boy am I so grateful he pierced through my closed-mindedness!)
This friend was one of the few people in my life to know what had been really going on inside of me at that time. My OCD was consuming me from the inside out. Convinced I was destined to live life as a zombie led by my shadows, hungry for cycles of suffering — I had succumbed to victimhood, to hopelessness.
After sitting on my shelf for quite some time, I had finally picked the book up and decided to give it a chance. A few hours of reading later, it’s like I had been blasted through a portal. Propelled into a new reality; a glimpse into believing that healing was not only possible, but inevitable.
Reading that book was a pivotal moment in my healing journey. A glimpse into really feeling that I wasn’t alone in my experience. I could see myself so clearly in Aza, in John Green. The gut wrenching terror that comes from ruminations. The heartbreaking grief that comes with incessant compulsions. To be so consumed by the disorder that is distorts and disorients your entire reality.
To see my own story written on paper by another was everything I needed to believe in a better life for myself; to finally find my hope again.
And so, among the hundreds of movies listed on this seven hour plane ride, something whispered inside of me to revisit “Turtles All the Way Down.” It had been four years now since I had been blessed by that beloved book. Four years of healing.
Willingly (and if I’m being honest, excitingly) signing myself up for a proper sob, I settled in for the ride.
A prominent part of the plot is Ava’s mom. When I reached the scene that held a particularly tender mom-and-daughter-moment, my own memories began to resurface of my mom and I. (Cue my cry cameo).
There were so many moments throughout my childhood that my mom comforted me in my spiraling. There were moments where late at night I’d be convinced I was going to die. Rattled by my ruminations, I’d shakily knock on my mom’s bedroom door. She’d hold me in reassurance, greeting me with her total presence and unconditional love.
The movie teleported me back into my life before I had started healing. The constant turmoil and tension. The pain, heartache, and suffering. The belief that my brain was diseased, destined to live a life drowning in my perceived delusions that felt oh-so-soul-crushingly and devastatingly real.
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