I became aware of the fragility of life before I could understand it. Loss was a constant possibility and I learned how to hold on tight to the control I thought I had. I needed to believe that watching her car from the window would bring her back. I needed to believe that hearing their voices before I finally fell asleep would ensure they would be there in the morning. Because what was the alternative? I could not as a young child understand that some people just got sick. Some people just died unexpectedly. Some people just got lucky and others did not. How could I feel okay in that world?

I’m not sure exactly what drove me to the window the first time, but I’m guessing it was panic. I could either fight or flee. And I chose to fight. To will her to come back through my actions. Anxiety drove me to act. Actions that turned into routines. Routines that turned into my very own sacred rituals.

I did “grow” out of the behaviors I described in my last post, but only when they were replaced by others that were not so disruptive to those around me. I would stay up late tinkering with my dollhouse until it was in perfect order. I had to be very careful to catch every imperfection. Because if I didn’t, what would happen as a result? Only when I could be sure I’d tinkered enough could I fall asleep.

Eventually it would get to the point where it would take about an hour to just make it to my room.

Fix the pillows. Check…Wait, did I do it right? Better go back and do it again.

Check the stove. Check…Ugh. I still feel off. Do it again.

Make sure the windows are locked.

Check the doors.

Check the oven.

Check, check, check. Three times each. If I still felt uneasy then in multiples of three.

This is obsessive compulsive disorder. On the outside, it looks a bit comical, right? Think Jack Nicholson’s character in As Good as It Gets. Even someone with OCD can laugh a bit watching someone refuse to step on cracks in the sidewalk.

But I also know what it feels like on the inside. The incessant nagging. It is like someone is controlling your body. You cannot stop even if you want to because the fear of stopping is far greater. The fear of losing control. Or for me, the fear of losing her. My mom. Even after the behaviors got more and more illogical and had less and less to do with her, I still had to do them. I could not take the risk. Just in case.

To this day I do not think I’ve fully rid myself of the OCD demons. I still have my private ritual. Always at night. I check the doors. I check the closets. I check the oven and stove. Maybe you do too. Many of you probably do based on conversations I’ve had with others.

That damn nagging though. It is still there. It still tells me I need to check things in a certain order and a certain number of times.

Just.

In.

Case.

Cue Soon You’ll Get Better by Taylor Swift