OCD As A Sport


Have you ever watched the madness of obsessive compulsive disorder unfold? If it wasn’t so tragic it would be funny. Well, it’s still funny. Hand washers. Light checkers. Counters. Clean freaks. Wall touchers. Pattern walkers. Control. Control. Control. Scale recalibrators. Symmetrical obsessors. Randomness can fuck off. I was once afraid of hair. Hair on soap or in the bathtub so I took showers in the dark. My sister turned on the lights just to watch the epic meltdown. I used to weigh myself incessantly. Recalibrate the scale using a 5lb weight because it had to say the magic # or my whole day would be a miserable shit of a 24 hours. I was and am not organized, but I have an insane amount of control over insignificant things so that I don’t completely collapse in on myself. Food. There’s one. Eating disorders are a form of ocd. Because a human being in control is like God. And sometimes God chews up food and spits in the garbage or doesn’t eat at all or eats and then throws it up. If my french fries touch a pickle they are tainted and I can’t eat them. If my pickle is on a white plate, it should just get back in the damn jar because I don’t like white plates There the damn devil I tell ya. I need to eat my food from a square blue plate so I carry a square blue plate in my purse. What happens to your brain when you go insane? It gets stuck. A thought gets jammed and it tries to break free by turning a light off three times or touching a picture of Elvis. We are not meant to have this much control. Life is order out of order. It is unpredictable and we hate it. Some of us hate it more. Sensitive people are the worst. I am one and I absolutely have to have some constant thing or I will feel like gravity has left me. In those rare moments where I’ve relinquished control to God, I felt relieved until the next moment of extreme humanity. Car wrecks happen regardless of how defensive you drive. Ever had sex with a clean freak? Don’t. It’s like apologizing for Jackson Pollock. Probably should choose a different arena to exercise a sterile environment and get all showy with your ocd. From outside, this all looks crazy but to the ritual haver, it is the difference between life and death or at least a terrible day and a good one. I am not an advocate for the pharmaceutical industry so I will just say that there are ways to momentarily stop this sort of stuff. Near death is one. It definitely slaps the proverbial hysterical woman right back into line. I’m not so sure it is chemical in nature… at least not at the start. I think something happens way back that changes our biochemistry or at least temporarily puts our brain on repeat. Children of controlling parents need control. Children of absent parents need control. Who knows? I’ve learned to laugh at the crazy making bullshit like when I count steps and take the last one twice to make it even or drive back home to check the iron that I know damn well I turned off. In time, my ocd has faded into a normal level of control. No more pube on the soap making me scream and sending my whole day to hell. I’ve grown out of it. But I still count things, sometimes. I like even numbers. And some commercials and words make me feel weird for a while. Tangent thought: The irony of someone with ocd touching a picture of Elvis … who also had ocd, makes me laugh. Somewhere out there, someone is doing that. Just not me.


About Ara

Poet-writer-indie music/art editor @viragomag.com. http://viragomag.com/author/ara-harris Author of "Original Soundtrack Not Available". Not here to appeal to the masses. View all posts by Ara

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