I found this really interesting because I’ve always loved reading. Books have been my escape, my adventure, my way to experience different lives. But there’s a twist—what started as a passion has turned into something that I’ve wrestled with for quite some time now: obsessive compulsive reading disorder. It’s funny how the very thing that brings me joy can also feel like a weight sometimes.
At first, I thought it was just my enthusiasm for stories. I mean, who wouldn’t want to devour whole series in one sitting? But then I started to notice that I was re-reading the same chapters multiple times, obsessively picking apart every sentence. I’d find myself getting stuck on a single paragraph, convinced there was some hidden meaning I’d missed. It was a little maddening. I’d spend hours caught in a loop of rereading, and while I loved the content, I felt this strange pressure to extract every ounce of significance from the text.
There was one book in particular that exemplified this struggle for me. It was a beautifully written novel that tackled deep themes of loss and love. I wanted to absorb the story completely, but I found myself lost in a cycle of rereading each section, trying to grasp concepts that, in reality, were meant to be felt rather than analyzed to death. I began to dread picking it up again, knowing I would inevitably spiral into that obsessive loop. I started to recognize that my love for reading was becoming tainted by this compulsive need to analyze every detail.
I can’t help but wonder: What is it about certain books that triggers this response? Is it the complexity of the narrative? Or maybe it’s my desire to get everything right? It’s like a little puzzle I have to solve, but instead of feeling fulfilled, I often feel frustrated and drained. It’s such a strange balance to navigate—between enjoying a book and feeling like I’m stuck in a mental hamster wheel.
I’ve started to explore ways to manage this. Setting timers has been surprisingly helpful. I give myself a set amount of time to read, and after that, I put the book down. Sometimes I even switch to a different genre, just to shake things up and give my brain a break from that intense focus. I’ve also found that discussing books with friends or joining a book club helps me process my thoughts in a more relaxed way. Hearing their interpretations makes me realize that reading doesn’t always have to be about dissecting every word; it can also be about connection and shared experiences.
I’m curious if anyone else has felt this way about reading. Have you ever found a passion turning into something overwhelming? How do you navigate that tightrope walk between enjoying something you love and feeling overwhelmed by it? I’d love to hear your thoughts!