My OCD (Or ODC as it SHOULD be).

What do you think a story titled My OCD is going to be about?

OCD (Or ODC as it should be) is something that has been in my family for generations and the particular strains have been handed down and down until they have landed spectacularly in my lap in the 21^st Century.

 

It all started with grocery shopping.

When I tried to become an adult and attempt to buy fresh and healthy food options for myself, I would find myself getting very uncomfortable by the way the checkout assistant took no notice of the way I had meticulously placed all my items in a neat row on the conveyer belt. Fruit was with fruit. Then there was a space. Cold items were with other cold items. Another space. Packets of cereal and muesli bars were with other like-minded produce. Space again. She proceeded to take no notice of this and randomly throw all my items in each bag, despite the grade 4 glare I was giving her.

 

I stack my books neatly in groups in the bookcase. Vampire trilogies belong in the Supernatural section, biographies belong together and arts & entertainment tomes nestle for space on their own ledge. This is the way it should be.

 

I get anxious about being on time everywhere I go. Even if there is no specific time that I actually have to be somewhere. My parents tell me to arrive at their house any time after 5pm. This automatically means that I will arrive at exactly 4:55pm and there are no ifs or buts about it. People are so casual about time. I will be sitting in the car waiting for my partner to get his s**t together so we can leave and I can literally hear the seconds ticking by until I am a boiling mess of resentment, rage, nerves and skin rashes.

 

At work, I am even worse. Recently my colleagues held an actual intervention for me as they felt that the following items were detrimental to the way work was performed in our office.

• It is not necessary for me to keep notes on who makes coffee for other people in the office,

• It is not necessary to tell them to clean the desks each night,

• It is not necessary to tell my Manager off because he did not enter a journal note correctly,

• I do not need to panic if my coffee cup touches someone else’s’ coffee cup,

• It is not my place to nit-pick how other people eat their food.

• I don’t need to frantically wash my hands after every single cigarette as no one else can smell my smoky hands.

 

It is not something I enjoy. My OCD doesn’t ever allow me to relax and just be in the moment. I am always too busy worrying about the next event that I have to be on time for, or whether someone has touched my cutlery or accidently used my coffee cup. What if someone doesn’t put the seat down in our work bathroom? What if my partner decides to take a shower at 9:55am when he knows that I need to leave at 10am on the dot? What if the checkout chick puts my apples in with my Tim Tam packet? Or worse, the bread? Or, Horror of Horrors, what if someone puts my Harry Potter book in the shelf NEXT TO THE SEX & THE CITY MOVIE GUIDE?

Author's Note

Do what you have to.