As she grew up during the 1970s in San Francisco, Traci Foust could always sense that her obsessive thoughts were unusual. Her memoir begins with her memories from age seven, when her parents divorced and she moved into an apartment with her mother, older sister, and older brother. After that, her illogical trains of thought and bizarre compulsions began to take over her life. Her hands never felt clean, so she washed them over and over. She failed her math classes because numbers multiplied and overwhelmed her mind. She worried that if she didn't snap her fingers every time she heard the word God, something terrible would happen. Her parents and teachers didn't know what to do with her. Her psychologist incorrectly diagnosed her as schizophrenic. As she grew older, she felt increasingly isolated and misunderstood as well as in constant stress under the barrage of tormenting thoughts. In high school, she used NyQuil and antihistamines to escape from her own mind. It was only as an adult that she learned how to accept her disease, stop blaming herself for it, and get it under control.
This story provides a very intimate look inside the mind of OCD. It seems like Foust is totally honest and lets it all out. I think she does a great job of telling her meaningful story without taking herself too seriously. She's not afraid to poke fun at the goofy parts of her life. I also like the way Foust stresses that mental problems are based on physical factors just like any other sickness, so it's okay--crucial even--to seek help and get the appropriate medication. Although people in general are becoming much more aware of mental illnesses, there is often still a stigma attached to those who have them. Foust's story demonstrates that the first step to getting better is to accept the disease. Her memoir should be a great inspiration to people with all kinds of mental illness--people who feel like they are crazy and that no one understands.
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