<p>I was happy when I looked at the application to Nova Southeastern University and discovered this question: If you would like to explain shortcomings in your academic history, you are encouraged to submit an essay on a separate sheet of paper. I wrote an essay but it seems a bit long (they didn't mention anything about maximum amount of words) and its only a first draft, so its not the best. I would forever be grateful if anyone would read it and tell me what I should fix.</p>
<p>Ohhh and by the way, I think the ending may be a bit cheesy.</p>
<p>Inside The Box: My Battle with Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder
By: H. Rehr</p>
<pre><code>When you envision a pile of empty cereal boxes, outdated newspapers and broken toys, you may think about the local refuse dump. But the location of these objects were far from what anyone could expect, these so called pieces of trash were my treasures, and they were hidden in the solitude of my room. Not only did I hoard objects, I held inside all of my swirling emotions, until the day my body finally gave way and collapsed. This is the story of my struggle with Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder.
Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder or OCPD is characterized by perfectionism and inflexibility. A person with an Obsessive-Compulsive Personality becomes preoccupied with uncontrollable patterns of thought and action. Symptoms may cause extreme distress and interfere with a person's occupational, educational and social functioning. This definition was my life. My parents had no idea what was wrong. They were dealing with their own problems. My mother has Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and my father has Anxiety Disorder, both were attempting to heal their pain with alcohol. Without guidance and unable to stop my obsessive thoughts, I resulted to staying at home and plunging deeper and deeper into catastrophe.
During the school year, I would wake up some mornings with only an hour of sleep. My mind would be plagued with irrational thoughts such as: If I go to sleep tonight, I won’t wake up or if I blink my eyes a certain number of times, my house won’t catch on fire. These ideas would run rampant through my brain the previous evening making it impossible to sleep. With little shut-eye, I would get ready for school in my disastrous room. We had to eventually abandon my house due to my hoarding problems. Now came my routine. I had to brush my teeth 4 times during the course of the morning. I had to try on 10 outfits before I finally could get dressed, I would have to wear at least 5 shirts at a time, and before I could even step foot outside my door, I had to kiss the doorknob twice. Now I was prepared for school, or at least with my unreasonable rituals. Because of my inability to turn in an imperfect paper or assignment, I would neglect to turn in anything to the teacher that morning at all. My fear of failure was turning me into one. Also adding to my levels of disorder complexity, was my focus. It didn’t exist. Along with my Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder, I also suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder. So when I wasn’t worried about dying from touching the walls, I was staring at anything in the room that held more interest for me than the subject that was being taught. Next came lunch, where I would have to eat my food in a counter-clockwise position or something unthinkable and unmentionable would happen to me. After school ended, I finally was able to go home. I felt comfort in being able to bury myself under my dirt and sheathing myself from the outside world. I was finally able to cry without worrying what others thought of me. I could never be able to show the outside world who I really was. It was unthinkable for me to be able to engage in anything less than angelic. What would people perceive of me if I were to actually do such a thing as to enjoy life? “I’m not worthy of life” was my daily mantra. I was afraid to drive for fear I may cause a car accident. I was afraid to work for fear I may make a mistake. I was even too afraid to apply for college because I have a fear of rejection. In my junior year of high school, I was in my child development class when I started to have shortness of breath. The room was spinning and my body tingled, I felt like I was dying. That was the first of my panic attacks. My body finally gave way to my stress and had exploded with adrenaline. For then and the next following year when I was a senior, I preceded to having about 80 more of them, some mild and others severe. Although, to most, this would be an alarm for a serious problem, but my mother brushed it off as something I was doing to myself. She said I had to work it out on my own. Eventually my disease worsened, I wouldn’t even step out of the house unless it was absolutely necessary. In my room was my own little world. No one could get to me. Nothing could harm me if I stayed here. It was my cage that I could not escape from. It was my box that wasn’t fully opened until about 4 months ago.
I walked into the room with apprehension. Earlier that week my mother recommended that I see a therapist, she was finally starting to notice how bad I was getting. His name was Dr. Yetter. But to make me feel more comfortable, he suggested that I call him by his first name: Jeff. What could this guy know about me? How could he possibly know what I was going through? During that whole first session, I could see him staring at me. He asked me how I was and I replied that I was fine. He then mentioned to me that I didn’t look comfortable. I sat on the couch in a very ladylike but clenched manner. With one leg tucked behind the other and my arms wrapped around myself, you could certainly tell that I was one big ball of twine just waiting to be unraveled. Through the course of our next meetings, I discovered who I was and what I wanted to become. Even though I was comfortable living in my box, it was impractical of me to think I could survive like that forever. With the combination of therapy sessions and medication, I finally discovered what it was like to live. It felt wonderful not having so many obsessions. It was like being re-born.
</code></pre>
<p>Although there are parts of my life that can be fixed, one area that I cannot do over is high school. Due to my lack of concentration, I graduated with a very low grade point average. I only wish I would have discovered my illness sooner, because I now know, with help, I could have soared in high school. If I had not been so busy focusing on my obsessions and compulsions, I would have surely been in the top of my class. As Carl Bard once said, “Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.” I would love if I could include Nova Southeastern University in my new life. Please consider me as a student for Winter 2006 and beyond.</p>
<p>Suggestions..... Please?</p>
<p>And yes, I know it is super long, but I have no idea how to shorten it without getting my point through. Help?</p>