Picking my own brain - just avoiding the cracks

I believe the time has come for me to write another blog. So here I go!

Hmmm. I wonder what I should write about.

I think I’ll write about something that affects me each and every day: my OCD. My obsessive-compulsive disorder.

I am one of the millions that are in the throes of this disorder. It’s a mild case, thank God, but one that is increasing in severity as we speak.

I guess I’ve had it all my life, but I’ll get into when it really came out in the next few paragraphs. I just figured it was me. Like it was just who I was. And that the stuff I did was common. It wasn’t until later that I discovered that all these random idiosyncrasies and tics and my various habits that made absolutely no sense were not normal. So I looked it up, and low and behold there was a disorder for it.

Now, you might call shenanigans and say that I’m just putting a label on a few tics of mine, but I did have it confirmed by someone who could confirm these things.

In discussing this with someone and figuring it all out, I came to the conclusion that it really came to a head in 4th grade. Which, not so coincidentally, is when my brother started doing drugs and my life on the home front began to slide into a not so fun place. So I just started to do little things that I could control, these small little things that gradually became a bigger part of my life. Now I can’t escape it.

Sometimes I doubt whether I truly have it. I won’t deny that. But that just makes me believe that I do have it all the more. Because that’s a symptom. The constant obsessing over it. And when I go out for a walk? If you didn’t know that I was doing stuff, you probably would never notice. But I never step on cracks (occasionally an errant footstep will fall on one, but it doesn’t kill me) and I’m always counting my steps. Even when I’m in the house. I’m counting, always. Everything gets counted by me. It’s exhausting. And the walking thing really sucks. Because it started out just avoiding cracks and counting steps. Now I’m avoiding pretty much everything that isn’t solid concrete. If there’s gum that’s been there for years, I won’t step on it. If there’s some sort of stain or something, I won’t step on it. Although it turns into a case by case basis at times. Like if the sprinklers just ran and there’s no way to avoid the water, I’ll just make sure my foot is entirely surrounded by water. So I can’t step on half concrete/half water. It’s got to be all of one.

And that’s just walking. Christ, there are millions of other little things that just constantly dominate my brain.

Music—just sounds really; it can be like talk radio or something—helps, but not as much as it used to. Especially since I’ve come up with little OCD’s about my iPod and how I listen to it and so on. Nothing escapes my brain. I’ve got to come up with something for everything it would seem.

I must admit to there being some advantages. But, trust me, I’d give up these advantages in a heartbeat if it meant that brain could finally relax for a second. Since I count everything, I’m pretty damn good at math. Other than that though, I can’t really think of when it’s a plus.

I get really offended by people in regards to it sometimes. I like to joke around about it. Truly I do. It’s like any problem: turn it into comedy. There’s not a whole lot of opportunities for OCD jokes, but on occasion, I’ll say them or my friends will, and we’ll all laugh. I’ve got no problem with that. It’s when I mention that I have OCD to someone and they immediately claim they do as well. And then they proceed to tell me some random tic of theirs and expect me to sympathize with them or something. I honestly get a little offended by that. You don’t have OCD. Just because you like to arrange all your clothes by color or because you have to have doors closed and can’t stand them when they’re cracked, doesn’t mean you have it. It’s very frustrating to try and explain this to someone because they start to get defensive and blah blah.

I understand that there’s a certain attraction to OCD. It’s kind of one of those cool things that make you seem really smart or something. And I get that. Because there’s a small part of me that likes having it. A very small part. The same small part of me that likes that I wear glasses (now contacts). It makes you feel special. Unique. That’s it. It makes you seem unique. But I’d give this shit up so quickly for peace and quiet. Because the negatives so far out weight the uniqueness of it.

I don’t know what point I’m trying to get across here. I guess the point I’m trying to make is have a little respect for this disorder. Because trust me it is a disorder. It really interrupts my life.

My mom gave me a little mini bottle of hand sanitizer in my Christmas stocking or something. And I decided that I’d take it with me to school. I had to stop after like three weeks because I was using it so much. If I touched my desk, I’d have to sanitize. If I shook hands, I’d have to sanitize. I decided I’d rather just fight it then keep giving in like that.

I’m not a mysophobe (germaphobe) per se, but I do get occasional attacks of it. For example, I’m cleaning my bathroom floor a few weeks ago, and I started to clean around the toilet. As I started to think about what exactly I was cleaning, I really started to freak out. I had to movie to a different side of the bathroom and clean over there.

This disorder can be so debilitating. And I only have a mild form of it. But it is getting worse. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had to go on meds within the next five years.

What I’m asking is to please have a little respect for the disorder. Understand how it can be such a huge part of someone’s life in a negative way. And joking about it is fine, just don’t be a huge dick about it.

So this is my little confessional about it. I’d like to say it was cathartic, but it wasn’t. I still have it and that will probably never change. But maybe I’ve offered an understanding of it.