I have OCD. Life with OCD can be tricky. I am ashamed of it. I am sometimes proud of it, too.
I have OCD and everything around me HAS to be organised. Every aspect of my life must fit in its own little compartment; everything has to be where it is meant to be.
I have OCD. If things are not arranged my way, anxiety floods over me.
I have OCD. Whatever I do for work, for my blog, for everyday life has to go through a rigorous (rigid?) checking ritual. Even a birthday card to my mum has to be checked ten times before I can send it. It is exhausting.
I have OCD. If I notice the curtains are not hanging the way they are supposed to be, I must rearrange them there and then. It becomes my priority. CDs have to be ordered in alphabetical order, by artist and also by album. It is not how I like things to be. It is how things HAVE to be.
I have OCD. When I go to bed, I need to hear the sound of the safety gate as I close it. I have to close the front room door, the one that is slightly noisy, so that if intruders get in during the night, there is a chance we will hear themIt’s the only way we won’t get murdered in our sleep.
I have OCD. I always do things in the same order when I have a bath. The last thing I do when I go to bed is kiss each one of my children, telling them I love them. When I am worried about anything, I have to touch my right temple with my right index finger. If I fail to do so, terrible things will happen.
I have OCD and awful thoughts cross my mind. We never start a road trip without me visualising all of us dying in a gruesome car crash.
I have OCD. When we are just about to leave the house for our holidays, I have to be the last one in the house, checking that everything is in its place, making sure every window is locked, the gas oven turned off, and ensuring every piece of electrical equipment has been turned off. If my husband goes back in the house because he has forgotten something, I have to go back in and check it all again. It takes forever and irritates everyone who has to wait for me, which in turn makes me stressed.
I have OCD and I have to do those things because if I do not do them, the dreadful, engulfing gut feeling will rise to the surface. That awful taste in my mouth makes me absolutely convinced the house will have burnt down whilst we were away. I can’t tell anyone this, can I? They will think I have completely lost the plot.
I have OCD and life with me must be a nightmare.
I have OCD and I am scared to press the ‘publish’ button because I am ashamed of who I am and I know you will judge me. I am naked, exposed. I am vulnerable and that goes against everything I do every day to feel in control.
I have OCD and I love my family.
I have OCD and I want to change. I want to let go, to be less obsessive about things I know do not matter one bit yet I cannot let go of.
I have OCD and I will try my best to make little baby steps towards a less OCD-riddled ‘me because if I died tomorrow, I’d want to be remembered as a loving, caring mum and an easy-going friend, not as the person I am now, with my freakish obsessions.
I have OCD and I have made the decision to change. Hopefully, this is my first step towards normality.