The need to be precise

At various points in my life my OCD has kicked in pretty intensely and then other times it gives me a bit of a vacation.  I never know when it will show or how it will show and like I said before, it creeps up on me without me realizing it at all sometimes.

When I was pregnant I tried to stay busy each day.  I got Jack off to school and I would come back and either work or try to prepare something for dinner.  When cooking I would use a spoon to stir the dish and then rest it on the counter.  I might chop vegetables after that or walk away for a second and then come back and need to stir it again.  I would stare at the spoon that I’d just put on the counter and even though I knew it was the same spoon, I told myself it wasn’t.  I told myself that maybe it was contaminated.  Maybe the counter had something gross on it.  Maybe my husband had used the spoon for something else and forgot to tell me.  Using the same spoon meant I might accidentally poison my entire family.  I threw it in the sink.

I got another spoon… and then another and another.  I got a cup from the cabinet and got some water and I took a few sips and then I’d put it down.  I would continue to stir, and chop and cook.  I would go to take another sip of water and there it was again.  That voice inside my head telling me that maybe that wasn’t my water cup.  I went to sip it, knowing I was being irrational but I thought…I’m carrying this baby I can’t take ANY chances.  I’d pour the cup out and get another.  The cycle continued throughout the entire preparation of this meal.

When it was all said and done I’d used almost every spoon in the silverware drawer.  I’d used several cups for one sip of water at a time.  I followed the recipe exactly and then I worried the meat had contaminated everything.  I would wash my hands a hundred times when preparing the meal and then clean the counters.  It still didn’t feel right.

After preparing this meal, a crock pot meal most likely (those are the easiest), I would go sit down.  I would try to begin working but I couldn’t stop thinking about the crock pot now.  Is it too close to the edge of the counter?  I better go check.  Is the plug working so I know that everything is actually cooking?  I better go check.  Is the crock pot touching anything that is plastic or flammable?  I better go check.

All my life had become was checking.  Checking this.  Checking that.   Constantly trying to make sure everything and everyone was okay.  I was exhausted.

This is a snippet of one day.  Approximately 30 minutes of a day that began at 7 and ended late into the night.  This snippet is my mind.  This is what I go through when trying to do a simple task.  THIS is my disease.  THIS is what I’m fighting to try to end. This cycle of crazy/grief/sadness/fear.

Some days I’m strong enough, other days… I’m still strong enough but it is much harder.  I can fight this and I am still fighting this.  I was trying my hardest to fight this then… but once the baby was born, I realized I could no longer fight this alone.

 

 

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