Skip to main content

A game OCD likes to play

A therapist once told me I remembered "one-liners" from the past.

Turns out what she meant was I fixated on one-liners -- like when an 8th-grade classmate called me "the laziest bum" he'd ever seen, questioning why our teacher named me editor of the middle school newspaper.

There was also the time in 10th-grade geometry, when a friend described me to the class as "short and stubby."

OCD has played those lines over and over and over again, for decades, shouting them when I'm most vulnerable.

In a previous post I mentioned the humor of OCD. While I find absolutely no humor in being made fun of in public, particularly as a child with shaky self-esteem to begin with, I do find it a little funny that my OCD brain clings to these few words from people whose opinions I never actually sought out.

The guy in 8th grade? I don't remember anything else he ever said to me.

And my friend in 10th? We've reconnected a bit on Facebook and I'm certain he doesn't recall that moment because it meant nothing to him.

So why place such great importance on these instances? It took me a long time to realize it, but it's just another game OCD likes to play.

I do better when I remind myself that I have a chance to beat OCD at its game, as long as I remember OCD made up the rules and I'm able to change them.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Could I be clinging to OCD?: Part 2

In a recent post, I suggested that, as much as I fight the idea, I could be holding on to OCD rather than letting it go. That it's a safety net. I made the argument that having OCD around gives me something to blame if things go wrong. But I think I missed the point. The more I consider it, the more I feel that if I am clinging to OCD it's because the compulsive rituals give my brain a sense that I have control over things. Oh sure, in my clear mind I know touching something a certain number of times or counting to a number that feels "good" isn't going to keep every driver I see on the road from getting into an accident, but my OCD brain doesn't acknowledge that. So the OCD repetitions give me a sense that I can have a say in how things turn out in a world that, in reality, is extremely random. As psychologically painful as OCD is, the concept that I can control things just by doing some rituals offsets that -- at least in my OCD mind. Letting g...

The First Signs

It wasn’t until I was in my 20s that I even had a hint I had OCD – or what OCD even was. But then, just by chance, I came across Judith L. Rapoport’s groundbreaking OCD book “The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Washing.” Even the title resonated with me. It sounded like my story. Up until then I just thought I was quirky, maybe weird. But looking back, the signs were there at least dating back to my early teens. My first memory of an OCD compulsion was when I used to line up my shoes on the floor. To my OCD brain, they couldn’t be crooked, one couldn’t point right and the other left. They had to be parallel or it just didn’t feel right, something would be off. Truth is, that compulsion stuck with me until I was probably well into my 30s, when I forced myself to just toss my shoes into my closet and whatever happened, happened. I guess I’ve drifted back toward keeping them parallel, now that I think of it. Next, I recall picking up clumps of dust in the hallway leading ...

What's that noise?

Working most of my adult life in a newsroom, it makes sense that I would hear a lot of fingers tapping away at keyboards. When I started, I enjoyed the sound -- it was the sound of important work getting done. Then one day the click, click, clicking of a room full of fingers on keyboards sounded much louder than usual. It was all I could hear. Suddenly, a sound that I had come to look forward to hearing was making my skin crawl. What was happening? A little research and I found that what was happening probably falls into the category of misophonia, a heightened sensitivity to certain sounds that has been linked to OCD and other forms of anxiety. Give me a barking dog any day. But someone chewing food? It unnerves me. Want to crack your knuckles? Go for it, I'll do it too. But a lip-smacking sound -- even a very quiet one -- can cause my anxiety to skyrocket. None of this makes much sense to me. And I certainly would never ask someone not to chew food. It's...