This one time a mental health care speaker came to my high school. She mentioned the usual... depression, bipolar disorders... but then this one I’d never heard of before came up. I guess it was kind of disturbingly ironic because she was describing me. It was Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I didn’t think I was doing anything strange, I of course realised, that say, maybe washing my hands ten times after touching one little something was perhaps a bit much but I also thought that was what everyone else did.
As it turns out, I ‘learned’ this behaviour from my mom. We never talked about it. It just wasn’t done. Yeah, she’s in a bit of denial about it but now I’m older, I can see through that and realise that she knows. She just doesn’t want to admit it... just like me and that sore gum that eventually turned out to be wisdom teeth. As soon as I knew they were wisdom teeth, the pain crashed over me like a wave and later I marvelled at the sheer force of my mental willpower. I was afraid of it being the wisdoms, so I kept telling myself that it wasn’t. Every now and then they would twinge but as soon as the truth was inescapable – perhaps a year or so later, I couldn’t sleep without painkillers. Fortunately the extraction followed soon after.
Anyway, I wonder if my mom learned this behaviour from someone else. Maybe I’ll never know. It’s not like we aren’t functional human beings though. We both shield this behaviour from everyone else. I panicked when I first realised what was going on, I didn’t talk to this specialist about it, just asked for a brochure and mentioned it to my then boyfriend. He, much like the previous toothpaste on face at school episode – overreacted and made a huge drama of things – and ran off to tell his folks. I got the feeling that they thought I was just a stupid little school girl wanting attention.
Well, of course I was, but not about this. I wanted support from this dork, instead I was told to forget it while he kept regaling me with his ‘I’m a schizophrenic! Give me attention!’ routine. That sounds harsh but it’s true... He was always very suggestible – wanted to be a killer, racer, rapper, fighter, prophet or an army man whenever the next hit movie came out featuring something like that and it was always forgotten when the next big hit arrived.
I know, we all have crazes and fads will always be around. I stressed if I was the same, but deep down I didn’t think so. That little pamphlet explained to me *why* I kept doing these things that otherwise made no sense. I’d just never stopped to really wonder why it happened. In a way I felt relieved, that this wasn’t my fault and I wasn’t a bad person or a weirdo at all.
There was this woman I met through an OCD chat room and we talked a lot that year. Her husband was practically housebound because he just couldn’t do anything at times. I was thankful that I wasn’t like that but I also despaired because I knew I didn’t have the strength to stand up and say, hey, I need help over here. It’s not just the strength though, I don’t want help and I would rather eat glass than accept help. I do want help, I just can’t bear the thought of people having the wrong idea about me or thinking they’re better than me. That’s not to say I think I’m better than them, of course, just more irrational thoughts.
I often wonder if the people who giggle when arranging stationary on their office desks, claiming its OCD actually have it. Sometimes I just want to snap at the people I know well enough to know that they’re just anal bastards who are afraid to say to their co-workers – stop borrowing my pens, Frank! – in case that’s too rude, to stop laughing about it. What’s so funny anyway? It just makes people think that OCD sufferers are just neat freaks, when honestly it can be crippling at times.
To know I can lock my car doors, check them, walk all the way to work then stop and stress that maybe, maybe I didn’t lock it after all, oh but I know I did, but I think you’re wrong. You didn’t do it right, now someone’s going to steal your belongings and it’s going to be all your fault. Now there’s five minutes left, should I get to my shift, or should I sprint back to my car, check the doors that I know are locked and risk running late?
It sounds so stupid. That’s probably the worst thing about it. You know you’re sane, but then all these crazy thoughts just pop up and they’re yours but you’re fighting them. I know my car is locked. The second I begin to doubt myself however, I’m gone. I can’t concentrate, I get nervous, and I can’t see or think about anything else but getting back and fixing the problem. It is all that matters.
Work has helped a lot. It’s like I switch off for the most part when I’m there. Lately I’ve been carrying around a permanent hand wash attached to my person, but to be fair... people just cough and sneeze all over you. They don’t care how germs spread, irrational worrying or reasonable truth. It is absolutely beyond me how someone can tap tap tap their money against their teeth... even after they DROP IT! I mean what the hell? Do you have any idea where it’s been? It could have been stashed in someone’s sock for safe keeping for five years, that floor could have been previously vacated by someone who just trod in dog waste..It scares me to think that there is no common sense at play here.
I’m not sure, but I think I’ve been fairly depressed for a while too. The OCD isn’t too bad when I just stop caring altogether. I’ve always felt detached in a way; I can love someone to the extreme on Monday, but the smallest thing I perceive as an offense on Tuesday (which could be nothing) makes me despise them beyond all comprehension. Wednesday is usually a clean slate. It’s just easier to not care so much.
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