OCD Is Real to Me

The other evening when my hubby and I were leaving the house, he said to me, “Are you sure we can go because your kitchen towel is not hanging straight.” We both laughed out loud, but I realized he had noticed my tendency to embrace O.C.D. [obsessive compulsive disorder]

I’m not one to turn pantry labels all in the same direction; check the stove an even number of times before bed; wash my hands eleven times throughout the day; or wear a particular color on a certain day.  I like to say I suffer from a mild affliction.  I like Order - it comforts me.  I enjoy having everything in its place, from knick-knacks to the ruler on my desk. It calms me; it centers my core.

Here are some examples of my affliction:

1.   Trash cans never full; must empty immediately
2.   No fingerprints on bathroom mirrors
3.   Towels to hang with tags to the wall
4.   Toilet paper dispensers always full; half is unacceptable
5.   Kitchen sink spout never to left or right; always centered
6.   Chase down dust on living room table daily

OCD does not rule my life, but it’s part of my daily living.  When the pets or hubby drive me nuts I can fall back on order, comfort, and control.  I’m no rocket scientist, but I can clearly tell you it’s a matter of control. Just like my Friday morning weigh-ins at home, with any gain or loss charted in my handy journal.  Ok, maybe I am obsessed - perhaps I lean toward compulsion, but I don’t let it handicap me.  It doesn’t keep Ja’Nee inside the house or late for an appointment.  It’s just something I do that makes me happy. I’ll not label it a disorder, because it pleases me and hurts no one.

When did it begin? I think back to my childhood room and I remember it as neat and tidy, with a hint of dust and smudges on the dresser mirror.  No OCD there.  I fast forward to my hippie days in Haight Ashbury, and picture a 1-bedroom apartment with a Samsonite card table for dining, and a single bed serving as the couch. Candles in wine bottles lined up in perfect fashion; bright kitchen towels hanging perfectly from the stove handle; sentimental items perfectly displayed dust-free on my bedroom vanity. Yes, it must have begun in Spring 1971 when my life was upside down.  I had no real job; lived hours away from family; analyzed my thoughts during daylight hours, and battled cockroaches at night.

I’m no physician, clearly not a therapist, but believe OCD is a gift I gave myself when I had no lifeline. I grabbed onto it to prove to my parents and others that I had my new life under control and it was a bed of roses.  OCD is now a way of living and coping for me.  I am settled, satisfied, steady when the little things line up in “my” perfect order. I’m not saying it’s for everyone, and I’m not saying it’s a healthy way of living.  It simply makes sense to me.  Thank goodness my husband and close friends accept my quirkiness.

The moral to the story is this:

If you see a friend straighten a towel, empty the trash, take Windex to a mirror, replace the TP, center the faucet spout, spritz Pledge on the dining room table all before leaving the house, just smile and say under your breath, “It’s only a mild affliction and it makes her/him happy.” Then go on your way making certain to count all the brown stones in the driveway gravel (just joking).