On OCD, Again.

Most of the time I can handle the OCD. Most of the time it's just a little quirky problem of mine, a minor annoyance that has little bearing on my day-to-day life. After all, I attribute my love of numbers to the fact that I spent so much time counting things and enjoying the beauty of squares and the not-so-beautiful nature of prime numbers and the numbers 5 and 7 (which I hate). Do you have numbers that you strongly dislike? And numbers that you associate with colors, that you also then dislike? Like orange and brown? No? I guess it's just me. Not to worry, my dislike doesn't stop with numbers. I hate letters, too. Like the letter "G." It just bothers me.

I can deal with being not-so-fond of numbers and letters and colors. I can deal with having to do things an even number of times, repeating gestures because I feel like I need to, touching things in certain ways - like the elevator buttons in our other office. There's something so pleasant about the way that some of them click (because they're old and they kind of stick in the socket) that I feel compelled to click it over and over again. It would be so satisfying. But I don't, because I'm not crazy I try not to let my OCD dictate my behavior in ways that would be noticeable to others, and standing in the elevator repeatedly pressing the button for floor 2 would probably raise some eyebrows. It's easier to get away with eating M&Ms and Skittles in a certain color order and always in even-numbered quantities.



Sometimes it's hard to stop the social process part, though. The part where I always wonder what I did, convinced that I did something, to annoy someone. I tend to over-analyze everything about my life. I re-live social interactions over and over in my head (which may be why I enjoy Curtis Sittenfeld's writing style so much), looking for a mistake that I might have made. I take things way too personally and I'm constantly wondering if people are mad at me or annoyed at me or tired of my company.

And then there's the irrational anxiety, the knots in my stomach when I think about the dangerous things in our house and the dangerous things out there in the world that I send my child into every day. What's that you say? Every parent gets that way? I get that way and more. We got a lovely set of kitchen knives for a wedding gift and I've never touched a single one. I'm terrified of power tools and have multiple locks on the basement door that I check regularly. The thought of C ever owning a gun and ever having one in our house paralyzes me with terror. What if, what if, what if?

But I do try really hard not to live in the anxiety. I try to overcome my need for validation and reassurance and irrational fears. I try not to spend hours awake at night worrying about some news story that I heard. Sometimes it's just really freaking hard.

Then I get anxiety about anxiety, especially when it comes to Charlie. Why doesn't he like his hands to get dirty? Is that something he gets from me? Is it a sign of OCD? I was the same way when I was little. I couldn't get my face wet when I was swimming. I always had to be near a towel. I could go underwater, but as soon as I came back up I needed to try my face. Why does he insist on a new shirt when he gets a spot on the one he's wearing? OMFG, I did that, too! And he lines things up and he puts things in pairs, and I'm always told that this is normal toddler behavior, but is it normal for MY toddler? Or is it a sign of things to come, like it was with me?

Then every once in a while someone will mention that their kid has some funny quirk and I'll say "ha ha, I used to do that, too!" and then if it's a friend who knows about my OCD I immediately think "ZOMFG, I didn't mean to insinuate that your kid has OCD!" But I don't say it. Because that would be too awkward.

My husband and friends are freaking saints for putting up with me. Medals all around.