If there's a TV special on the disorder, maybe it could be called "Straighten it like Beckham."
The other day, something happened that made me think about an answer to the burning question that, well, hardly anybody is asking. But I'm going to answer it anyway.
What is it like, having obsessive-compulsive disorder?
A little scene-setting here: when I have lunch, as I go along, I usually tuck my trash into one of the bags, like my sandwich bag, so it's just one small packet to toss. (This is not the OCD part.) The other day, I had a small, opaque bag that originally held pretzels. While throwing it away, I glanced at it to make sure I hadn't accidentally put anything important in it, but of course I couldn't see anything past the top layer. I gave a fleeting thought to emptying the bag out to double-check. And then I didn't. I just tossed the whole thing in. And the refrain from Aretha Franklin's Think popped into my head.
Oh, freedom (freedom)
Freedom (freedom)
Freedom
Yeah, freedom!
Because there was a time when I wouldn't have been able to just let that thought go. Even if I had been able to make myself toss the whole bag without looking into it, even if I tried to tell myself that I hadn't had anything important with me at lunch that would have fit in that bag (which was true, but logic holds little sway in such situations), the thought of it would have preyed on my mind incessantly until I finally caved in and went back to the garbage, sorting through it and searching for the bag so I could check. I would almost certainly be crying as well, both because I would know it was illogical and stupid and I still couldn't stop it, and because I would be going through garbage and it was disgusting and when I was done I would have to wash and wash and wash my hands.
That's a little bit of what it's like for me, having OCD, even when it's mostly under control. Feeling victory at being able to throw away my trash after lunch.
What is it like, having obsessive-compulsive disorder?
A little scene-setting here: when I have lunch, as I go along, I usually tuck my trash into one of the bags, like my sandwich bag, so it's just one small packet to toss. (This is not the OCD part.) The other day, I had a small, opaque bag that originally held pretzels. While throwing it away, I glanced at it to make sure I hadn't accidentally put anything important in it, but of course I couldn't see anything past the top layer. I gave a fleeting thought to emptying the bag out to double-check. And then I didn't. I just tossed the whole thing in. And the refrain from Aretha Franklin's Think popped into my head.
Oh, freedom (freedom)
Freedom (freedom)
Freedom
Yeah, freedom!
Because there was a time when I wouldn't have been able to just let that thought go. Even if I had been able to make myself toss the whole bag without looking into it, even if I tried to tell myself that I hadn't had anything important with me at lunch that would have fit in that bag (which was true, but logic holds little sway in such situations), the thought of it would have preyed on my mind incessantly until I finally caved in and went back to the garbage, sorting through it and searching for the bag so I could check. I would almost certainly be crying as well, both because I would know it was illogical and stupid and I still couldn't stop it, and because I would be going through garbage and it was disgusting and when I was done I would have to wash and wash and wash my hands.
That's a little bit of what it's like for me, having OCD, even when it's mostly under control. Feeling victory at being able to throw away my trash after lunch.