F1 Weekends

For four years I haven’t been able to watch/enjoy a Formula 1 race now;

I have memories from Formula 1 going back to 1992/3 and have been actively following it since 1995;

But since four years ago of course OCD successively robbed me of the ability to enjoy anything;

I distinctly remember watching the 2018 USA Grand Prix and being so so frustrated with myself, unable to focus for fear of enjoyment, which was already the norm; It was a good race, too; I’ve since experienced the same in 2019, 2020 didn’t happen and I still had this problem whilst watching the 2021 USA Grand Prix; If anything this year has been the worst of all since it’s been the best year in a while…

Some things I’ve regained the ability to enjoy, but this is a tricky one and F1 weekends are consistently triggering for me
(How fucked is that?);

As someone who thrives on the adrenaline and excitement of thrill-seeking things, usually through doing, F1 is right up my street; It’s the only thing I can get excited about through spectating;

This weekend was an F1 weekend and now my knees and brain are sore from noticing every possible imperfection in the environment around me in the lead-up to the race, moving around my room doing things, re-doing things, rewinding the race and doing them again…watching the race start itself is physically unbearable as there’s so much pressure to not give in to OCD…

It takes up a lot more time than it should and then further time from having to rest and regain my composure…it’s so fucked up. The event itself is supposed to be restful, exciting and energising. I would probably do some exercise whilst watching it. I used to feel great afterwards;

But of course I can’t miss a race because of OCD (I mean the urge to watch it is still stronger than the fear of OCD) and each weekend I begin with fresh hopes…it helps with my social isolation for one thing; Yet always when it comes down to the race my heart is beating faster, my senses are heightened and…OCD ruins it;

Immediately once it’s over I stop noticing all those ‘imperfections’, I feel exhausted and can truly try to rest and reset my brain and regain focus, and try not to be annoyed at myself for injuring my knees.

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It’s been more than thirty years since the wolf and the winter cold. And now, as then, it is not fear that grips him, only restlessness. A heightened sense of things…

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