Long Time..No Write

*peers over desk carefully*

Hello?? Anybody home???

Apparently not. 

Except for me, anyway.

This blog used to be a different blog, used by different people, for different reasons.  Actually, it used to be an OCD blog, and I was one of the writers. 

Around 2008, most of the writing “staff” dis-dappeared, including the administrator. 

So, here we are 4 yrs later, and I’m thinking they won’t mind too much if I make something old new again.  🙂 

I really don’t think they mind.

I haven’t blogged in quite a while.  I started seeing a guidance counselor and they suggested I start journaling again.  Since some of my inner most feared and personal stuff was on this blog anyway, and since no one else is using it..

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Talk Much??

I’ve noticed recently a new quirk. I guess the quirk itself isn’t new, but it’s become more prominent. And I only do it when I’m alone, either in my car or at my house. THANK GOD FOR THIS! If i’m at someone’s house or have people over, I can leave the room if I have to. It hasn’t gotten THAT bad yet though. And I mean yet.

It will start with a thought. Sometimes the thought is a completely rational thought, other times it makes no freaking sense at all, and sometimes it’s sing-songy (WTF?). And I’ll think it, and think it, and think it.

Finally, the thought will start getting on my nerves because it will keep crawling back in. The thoughts are generally a sentence or two and that’s it.

The only way to get the thought out of my head is to say it out loud. So, picture me, wandering around the house or driving down the road, randomly spitting out one or two sentence thoughts that sometimes make no fucking sense. Like none. Or worse yet, singing a sentence or two that is obviously not meant to be sung.

My cat must think i’m just a riot!

Man, I’m fucked up 😆 Thank God it’s me though, because I don’t think anyone else could handle being me as well as I do. Woo Hoo!

222

Call Me Count Chocula

I LOVE to count.

I count stairs, steps I take, cars, just about anything I can count.

It started when I was very young.  I used to count cars on long trips.  Then it was red cars, then blue cars, then white cars, so on and so forth. 

I remember being in church and counting hats. Then blue hats, then black hats, you get the idea.

It’s so bad, that when there is a funeral procession I have to look away and count to 10 before I look back so my car count won’t be correct. (it’s bad luck to count cars in a funeral procession in case you didn’t know.)

I always figured I was normal.  Of course, I realize i’m far from normal.  What is “normal” anyway?  Is there such a thing?  Normal is boring.  I’m far from boring!  I like the sound of that better.

The greatest thing about wordpress is that it counts your words for you.  Thank God cuz I don’t have time to count them all right now. 

174

Wax On, Wax Off

 

It’s funny how I expect people to just tolerate my OCD and love it, and me, but sometimes it’s hard to tolerate from others.  In some cases anyway.

Here’s the thing.

There’s a guy that sits behind me at work.  Something of a strange duck you could say.  Very friendly though, you almost CAN’T make fun of him because he’s so nice.  He’s very annoying though.  He is always butting into conversations, pretending to understand inside jokes.  Kinda like that guy that laughs at the joke after everyone else is finished.

I can tolerate all those things though, and would, if there was just one thing that he would stop:  The Mr. Myagi handrub.

For those of you who have never seen the movie, The Karate Kid, Pat Morita plays Mr. Myagi, an older Japanese guru of karate and all around funny quirky guy. 

Towards the end of the movie, the bad guys, the Kobra Kahn, and their horrible sensei, do an illegal move on Mr, Myagi’s star pupil, Daniel, (The Karate Kid) and hurt his knee real bad.  In the training room, Mr. Myagi is going to work his magic on the knee to bring Daniel back into the final round to beat the Kobra Kahn and win the championship.  His move starts with a loud clapping of his hands and then he FURIOUSLY rubs them together real fast, like he’s warming them up. 

This guy behind me does this hand clapping/rubbing furiously move about 5,000 times a day.  No shit.  It is immediately followed by a deep breath and him rubbing his hands on his pants.  It’s a wonder he has skin left, I shit you not. 

The LAST thing one person afflicted with OCD needs is another OCD afflicted person close by.  Because I notice him doing this almost every time, I have to count how many times he does it.  So, it kinda goes like this:

Guy :rubbing hands together

Me: *mumbling* one

Guy: rubbing hands together

Me: *mumbling* two

This goes on ALL day.  Not only that, but the girls that sit by me know that this seriously drives me mad so they do it too, which throws my count off.  Can you see the frustration I’m feeling here?? If i’m on the phone or go away from my desk, that throws my count off too.  This means the next time I hear it, I have to start over.

Days he is out are truly happy days for me.  My brain, and OCD, get a rest.

I got Dolla’s! Holla!

I often have difficulties when I’m shopping.  I have no problem shopping, don’t get me wrong.   I LOVE to shop (and straighten shelves at Target).  I love buying things.  It’s paying for them that is the problem. 

No, I don’t steal.  It’s the change.  The damn change they give me.  It’s NEVER straight! WHY???!!!

I worked in a bank for 4 years.  I was my manager’s dream.  My money was always neat, facing the same way and always in sequential order.  My wallet is the same way.  Isn’t yours?

When I pay for stuff with cash and I get my change back it’s like they reached in their fuckin pocket and pulled out a wad of bills.  They’re facing different, some upsidedown.  I almost want to  ask them “how can you DO this?”  I actually sigh with frustration.  So, there I stand, holding up the next customer, straightening out my change.  I can’t leave unless it’s straight.  You understand.

I just don’t understand how this can be ok, money all out of sorts.  Oh, God, it makes my get the willies even!

I went to starbucks on the way to work today to get a blueberry smoothie (YUMMY) and I gave the guy a $20.  He gave me back my change, all wadded up (wtf?) and so I had to sit there and straighten it out and face it all the right way.  This is more difficult if I already have money in my wallet because now I have take that money out to mix with my new money I just got.  Highest in back, lowest in front.  It took a minute and then the guy behind me honked his horn.  I wanted to yell out my window “Hey! Like I can fucking HELP it!”

Normal?  Nah, I never fuckin said that.  Me?  Oh, hell yes!

All Kinds of Nervous

Hey there!

I have to say, i’ve been pondering doing this post on my own blog for a while, but just cannot.  I am a nervous wreck even posting it here. 

I feel like i’m sitting here naked for the world to see, and to know.  It’s taking every ounce of courage I can muster to even tell you what i’m about to tell you.

I can’t tell you when it started, I was very small.  I  know, that to date, it’s my biggest compulsion.  I never talk about it.  I’ve never said it out loud, til now

Oh my god, my stomach is actually queasy.  *deep breath*  here goes.

Some people have the compulsive tendencies like washing their hands or checking locks/keys.  I talked before about how I can put my keys in my purse and immediately check to see if they are there.  The whole time in my head going “gee dummy, you KNOW you just dropped them in there, where the fuck they gonna go?” 

But compulsion is a main component in OCD, as we all know.

My biggest compulsion (I feel like i’m gonna get kicked out of the cool club right now, I swear to God)

I feel really embarrassed.  I cannot believe i’m gonna tell you, but I have to.  I feel ashamed of it and I shouldn’t.  This blog, and the people in it are all open and honest, and I know it hasn’t been easy for any of you.  You are all so brave, and now I’m gonna be brave too.

I smell my hands…..constantly.

There, I said it. *peeking through hands over eyes*

I’m still alive.  *huge breath out

I don’t know why I do it.  But I have done it forever. And, no matter how I try, I can’t stop.  My mom used to scream at me. “Quit sniffing your goddamn hands!  Go fucking wash them for christsakes!”  But it’s not because they smell bad, or good,  or like anything for that matter.  I just honestly cannot stop myself from doing it.  It got to where if my mom caught me doing it, she would hit me across my fingers with a ruler or worse, a belt.  She would make me put them out and she would smack them.  I was ashamed.  Something was wrong with me.  So I got real good at hiding it.  I’m still ashamed, and I still hide it.  I think some of my closest friends may have caught on, but they don’t say anything.  Bless their hearts.  It’s easy to mask.  Much easier than you might think.

I feel like going back and deleting everything I just wrote.  Like you are all gonna hate me now.  I guess that sounds crazy, but hey, that’s conditioning for ya.

My son does it.  That’s what even brought this post to life.  My son is a smeller.  Not just his hands though.  He smells his first bite of food, his clothes before he puts them on, and his shoes.  He’s always smelling his shoes.  I tell him that might not be the greatest, being he’s in sports and his shoes stink pretty fucking bad most of the time. 

When he first started, he was pretty little.  3 or 4 I think.  I remember seeing him and being just mortified.  “Oh God, he’s like me”  I thought.  “He’s gonna feel ashamed like I do.”  So, I asked him, once after I saw him do it.

“you got something on your hands? do you want to wash them?”

“no,” he said, ” I just like to see how they smell.”

“why?” I asked.

“don’t know, just do.” he replied. 

I’ve never said another word about it.  I worry that someone will tease him over it, but I think he’s gotten clever about it like I have. 

I’m not sure how I feel telling you this, but at least I have finally told someone.  And if you let me stay in the cool club, I’d certainly appreciate it.

Weird

I must have been 8 or 9 when I realized that I was different.  I liked to count stairs.  But it wasn’t that I liked to count them.  I HAD to count them.  I asked my one friend if she counted them.  “no,” she said.  “maybe you’re just WEIRD.” 

So, weird I was.  Then it wasn’t just counting stairs, it was counting steps, counting cars, counting, well, anything I could count.  I liked to count.  I had to count.

As I got older I realized that if I tried to NOT count the stairs, I would have to go up or down them again.  And count them.  *shakes head* Fucking why????

The closet stuff started in middle school.  I would “organize” my friends closets.  They thought it was great (shit, some of them still do!)  I LIKE to organize.  It makes me feel happy and comfortable.  From there it was more closet/clothes issues, key issues, alphabetizing issues.  The list goes on and on.

It’s funny to me how some things have to be sooooo just the right way, but other things, my car for example, can be completey disarrayed and it don’t bother me. 

I do embrace my OCD.  I embrace being “weird”.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.