What I have historically referred to as my OCD is in high gear. I have to make sure that the doors are locked (both house and car) three or five times before I can walk away. Usually, two times does the trick. Whenever anything in the three Ps of my life (personal, professional, playwriting) is inflamed, the OCD-type bullshit ramps up. I’d say more than one area is in uproar, to a point, so maybe that’s why I’m in the red.
Just sitting here thinking about it caused me to do a bit of research into the whole OCD thing. I don’t think that’s what I have, even though that’s what I’ve always called it. Or, if I do have it, I have a very minor case. Most OCD sufferers find their lives greatly impacted by their repetitive actions, and their repetitive actions are somehow linked to bad thoughts they are trying to quell. I just get stuck on whether or not the door is locked. I’m not trying to keep down thoughts of eating baby birds or jumping off tall buildings in nothing but a yellow rain slicker. Here’s a paragraph about OCD that I found on a health website.
Other common rituals are a need to repeatedly check things, touch things (especially in a particular sequence), or count things. Some common obsessions include having frequent thoughts of violence and harming loved ones, persistently thinking about performing sexual acts the person dislikes, or having thoughts that are prohibited by religious beliefs. People with OCD may also be preoccupied with order and symmetry, have difficulty throwing things out (so they accumulate), or hoard unneeded items.
Wow, how bizarre it would be to continually think about performing sexual acts you DON’T like. There’s hardly enough time to think about the ones you DO like. The article also mentions the huge impact the OCD actions have on the sufferer. For me, it’s not a big deal. Other than being embarrassed if a coworker is getting out of her car the same time I am and sees me walk to the elevator and then back to my car to peek in the window and pull on the door handle and then run back to the elevator, almost missing it because I pushed the button the first time I was there. At least I’m not having to knock on the floor three times before I can get up from a chair. Or forced to whistle Dixie ever time I see a yellow car. Or constantly counting to ten in my head. Could be much, much worse.