Okay so today I had this significant moment, and I’m gunna share it with you. I suddenly remembered a particular compulsion of mine that used to cause me a great deal of anxiety if I didn’t complete it. I literally laughed out loud when I remembered it – not because it’s funny. It was more of a giddy moment, because I realised how far I’ve come in terms of OCD recovery. So I stood there in my kitchen, laughing gleefully whilst shoving pop tarts in my mouth (because what makes a great moment better eh?)
Okay. So. If you’ve previously read my blog then you know by now that I’m not what is deemed ‘normal’ in the eyes of this dusty, germ-riddled society. SO THEREFORE, you can’t judge me for what I am about to divulge (that’s just the rules of this blog – I didn’t make ’em).
I used to literally clean the soles of mine and my families shoes with wet wipes whenever they came home hahahahaha I’m just kidding (I’m not). It makes me feel kind of embarrassed when I look back on it, but I try to keep reminding myself that it wasn’t me, it was my OCD.
Go on. Imagine. I’m inconspicuously creeping towards the front door after my sister has arrived home, kicked off her shoes at the door, and retreated to her bedroom. I have to be secretive because I don’t want to get caught, because if I get caught doing this then it will make it weird………. So I slide out my pack of baby wipes from my coat pocket and I fling a fresh wipe in the air…ready…prepared. I frantically scrub the soles of my sister’s Vans with said wipe until it feels ‘right’ (I’ve tried to numerically quantify ‘right’ but PLOT TWIST it’s actually a trap).
Imagine this ritual twenty times a day, each time completed with the utmost confidentiality and stealth, baby wipes waving in the air like war flags. I WILL BEAT THE WAR ON GERMS. (Spoiler: I never did.)
I’m laughing all-over again as I write this because I just realised a flaw in my seemingly well-rehearsed plan. Surely if I wanted to kill germs, I should have been using medical-grade antibacterial gel, or at least Dettol wipes (bigup Dettol oi oiiiii), but no, I waged a war on germs with Johnson’s bloody baby wipes. MY EFFORTS WERE FUTILE I TELL THEE, FUUUTILE.
So what caused this particularly ridiculous compulsion? I believe it was an amalgamation of factors. Firstly, it was the aforementioned fear of germs and dirt coming anywhere near me, my family, or the house in which we reside (inside = good, outside = baaad). Secondly, it was a feeling of responsibility towards said family. OCD literally had me feeling like I was the only germ-woke person in this household, and that everyone else was ignorant to germs, so therefore I had the role of sole-cleaner bestowed forcefully yet gratefully upon me by the gods. I was the key to my family’s health and survival. OCD killin’ it again with the narcissistic logic…
Anywho, I’ll stop nattering now because I literally just wanted to briefly share this one compulsion with you and that’s all. Basically, the moral of the short embarrassing story is; Recovery happens day-by-day and there are peaks and troughs, so it’s hard to actually track how far you’ve come until you’re cry-laughing maniacally in your kitchen, tears streaming, whilst clutching pop tarts to your chest and feeling ecstatic that your shoes are dirty.
Today I feel grateful.