A day in the life

It has been staring me in the face for about 20 minutes now. It shines in the light and mocks me. I feel as though I may throw up.

All because of a stupid hair.

This hair is just sitting there.

Right on the back of the guy in front of me.

He is a guy. He shouldn’t have hair on his clothes. Well in my opinion anyway. This is the final straw. I can’t take this for another minute. I reach out slowly, grasping the hair between my index finger and thumb, but just as I am about to pull away, this kid decides to lean back in his chair.

I quickly toss the hair to the floor, left to live the remainder of its life on the cold tile. The guy turns around with a look of “you better not have been touchin’ all up on me” spread across his face.

I stumble over my words, “I…you…I was just…” I gesture to the limp hair on the floor. He looks back up at me and gives a weak “I’m gonna wait to be creeped out until you’re gone” look.

This is just the usual story for me. It hasn’t always been this way though. It used to be worse, a lot worse.

I always felt that anything and everything was going to get me horribly, terribly, perhaps even terminally ill. I remember a time in junior high when I went bowling with some friends. It was all fine and dandy until I realized I had forgotten to put a band-aid on my thumb to protect my hang-nail. Gross I know, I apologize for that image. Anywho, I ended up texting my mom all in a tizzy, saying how “what if it gets infected from the bowling ball”, and, “what if I have to have it cut off,” etc. Needless to say I survived the incident but wasn’t left unscathed.

I always seem to remember the most traumatic events off my OCD. I used to have to count my steps when going up or down the stairs, and yes I would have to start over if I forgot, perhaps even walking up and down twice to make up for my mistake. At least I got some good exercise. On the down side there was no benefit from turning the t.v. on and off at certain times, just because I couldn’t let my self see certain commercials. I always have to say “I love you”, and “See you later,” to my mom when I leave the house. If I didn’t, something inside me made me feel as though  I wouldn’t see her later.

OCD is my illness, and obsessing is my medicine.

That and three pills a day.

OCD isn’t so bad though. At least there is medicine for it. But even with the medicine I still have a tendency to obsess, majorly. If you don’t smile back at me in the hall I WILL spend the rest of the day wondering why you hate me and what I could have done to upset you.

I’m reading out loud in class and mix up a few words. The class laughs. I worry all day that the entire class now thinks I’m a freak.

Everything is always directed at me (even if it’s not). One friend is mad at another? I just know I had some part in ruining their friendship.

I know I could have it worse. OCD is a serious illness that varies in degrees of severity. I try to take my situation lightly but everyone deals with it differently. So, please do be respectful.

The littlest things can set me off on some tirade of worry and stress. But even with all my moments, it’s great to have friends who can tolerate my insanity.