I’ve been trying to finish chapter four of my psychology book for several hours now. It’s not just that the material is over my head or that the subject matter (the brain) is boring. Mostly I can’t focus. My mind is racing with thoughts that I promised myself I’d try to control, and memories of years past that will never be able to change therefore render useless in my present thoughts. Sort of like when you turn on the television and you see a horrible image – maybe it’s a preview for a movie, or maybe it’s a clip from the upcomming evening news – but you’ve got no control and this image rapes your mind right then and there. Then the images double, triple, and repeat until the preview is finally over and it’s too late to turn back because your mind has already seen everything and stored it away. I think i’ve used the bathroom at least 50 times in the past three days, most of the time I don’t even go. I feel like I don’t have the patience to just sit on the damn toilet and relax. I don’t have the patience to sit on the couch and read my psychology homework and I don’t have the patience to realize that when my dog is whinning it’s because he wan’t attention, and that is simply a trait of his breed. When you’re anxious somehow things become intrusive and everyone angers you just by the slightest touch or smile. Don’t smile at me, you think…I am pissed off and I hate everything, what the fuck are you smiling at? you think to yourself. Maybe later on you realize that it wasn’t that bad, and the person was just trying to make you feel better. It’s so easy to let your anxiety and depression bleed out onto everyone and everything else around you. I actually slept alright last night because I started taking clonazepam again, a sedative used to help at night time. I am very convinced that I lack a substantial amount of melatonin. Either that, or my OCD has found a way to take control of that chemical distribution and override it like some kind of evil mastermind set to rule the world (which in this case is my brain). Even as I woke up from a genuinely improved night of zzzz’s I still needed that cup of decaf. You might laugh at my decaf but it’s alright, because I weigh 97 pounds and that’s all the caffiene my body can handle. Trust me, I’ve tested this theory – it’s been proven, probably more times than neccessary. I tried studying a little before my mom and I were to get ready to pick up my dad from the airport. I started to get upset and angry, and I couldn’t concentrate any more on my homework. I started thinking about how much I dislike my dad, about the relentless embarrassing moments in public, the yelling, the controlling, and soon sheer hatred had come to boil. I have to live with both of my parents because so far I haven’t gotten control of OCD. It’s been quite a while since I found out I had it, and it’s been so long I wonder if I even want to get better. My parents don’t really understand. I finally convinced them to go to meetings about OCD and they went, which I’m greatful for, although I wish I didn’t have to break both their arms just to get them to do it. I wonder if my dad really gets me. I wonder and then I think, no fucking way does he get me. No way will he ever understand. His dad has OCD and has never done a thing about it. Sometimes I notice my parents doing little OCD things, not nearly as bad as me, but it makes me think, am I rubbing off on them? Well needless to say I didn’t get much from studying. I cleaned my gecko’s cage instead. We drove to the airport, both blinded by the overcast sky colliding with the hidden sun in the background. Since it was raining wildly up here we figured we didn’t need them, but of course we had misjudged. When we arrived my mom needed to use the bathroom, so I went as well. I tried to dress androgynous so people wouldn’t turn too many heads, because to be honest I really pass very easily for a boy. I can’t stand people staring at me or talking about me so it bothers me, even though behind closed doors I like my boyish looks. Since I had a beanie on and a jacket with a bundled scarf I doubt anyone could tell me a girl from an arctic penguin. I felt kind of weird because everyone else was dressed a lot lighter. They must have figured I was from the Netherlands or some kind of ice block of a country. We walked from terminal A to terminal B, and then ate some lunch. Before my dad came down from the escalator I went to use the bathroom one more time – by myself. It might sound silly but this is extremely big for me. So off I went, and it was okay, although it never fails that once I get situated onto the toilet seat, a mother with some little kid – usually a boy – gets into the stall next to me. I’ve had boys come into a stall while I’m trying to go and it’s the most angering and embarrassing thing ever. It makes me mad that parents don’t teach their kids what is appropriate behavior in a restroom. I sat with my head down and closed my eyes, trying to relax. Once I was finished I got a sudden rush of confidence. Since I was hot and I wanted to take off my hat anyway, I decided that I would, and march right out of that stall and over to the sink like one of the starting line-up for the Los Angeles Lakers. There were only a few women around and I didn’t make eye contact to see if they were staring. I just assumed either they were or they weren’t. It was a small and vanishing feat for the day, but I did it. When I found my mom again we only waited a few more minutes until dad came down the escalator. Before, when we were sitting in chairs, I was doing a little people watching. There was a nice man in front of me who looked like your all-american working class citizen. Nice. Then behind him a gangsterish looking black fellow with Raiders gear, suavely stroking his extending sideburns. What a pimp. Next to him was another man who, if I’m not imagining things or being paranoid, fit a perfect portrait of a murderer on the front page of the sacramento bee. I could be way off, but it made me think about how anyone, really, could be a murderer. Some people just happen to fit the bill. We got into the car and drove home, my dad talking the whole way, which I completely expected. I bought a four dollar package of earplugs just so I wouldn’t have to listen to his deep raspy annoying banter about whatever the hell he feels like talking about. I know you’re thinking damn, she really hates him. I won’t say it or spell it out because I’m not sure if it’s true, even though the feelings are there. If I admit it to another person then I’d go to hell. Well shit I’m already going there aren’t I? Before I leave Earth I’d better think of something good to do for others and do it myself. I fell asleep in the car, which was great because I was so tired. But when I woke up my entire leg was dead. It wasn’t that dead where you punch it and you’re back to normal. It’s the kind where if you punch it you literally can’t move it at all because of the disablitating pain. I rubbed it out and eventually it went away. Since I’ve been home I’ve used the bathroom around six times, and I’ve gone to every room in the house to try to study. My dad was on the phone and he talks like everyone has hearing aids, so it was pretty distracting. The trickle of the water filter on my fishtank in my room annoyed me, so I turned it off. The couch in my room made my neck stiff. I just can’t seem to calm down. That’s when I decided to write about my day in hopes that it would get some of these things out of my mind. You know, it’s good to write about OCD, because it’s like holding tears inside or a secret you want to tell someone because it bothers you so much. You write about it and a little of the air pressure is released. Since my mom is starting to make scraping noised while she cooks (the computer is in the kitchen), I’m going to retire back to another room – wait – right after I set the table…yes mom.


1 Comment
  1. besaid22 15 years ago

    I enjoyed reading your blog. It’s cool you got your parents to attempt learning about OCD. I’ve had embarrassing moments with my parents, some pretty bad times. I try not to blame them, I just think they are ignorant about OCD. Then I think, why can’t they even bother to learn more. Everything they know comes from Monk. Anyway I’m going to take the advice, and try to start writing about my OCD. Maybe it will help. Thanks.

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