This Is My Brain on OCD
OCD isn’t a preference for organization, it’s a campaign of fear your brain wages on your life
I cannot get up. I don’t want to get up. I am safe in bed. I’m not safe when I’m not in bed.
But I have to get up.
So I sit up gingerly, carefully, cautiously. I push my duvet back and slide to the edge of the bed. I look at my slippers on the floor. I must put them on carefully so my pajamas don’t touch the floor — but my pajama bottoms are too long.
I roll the hems up, then carefully step into my slippers. I hold my breath. I don’t know why; I just do it.
Getting changed is painstakingly slow as I must be careful of every movement. A lot of the air feels bad and my clothes must not touch the badness.
I do my best to be careful, but it takes me 20 minutes to get changed — and part of that is because I’m overthinking what to wear.
Which clothes will be safest?
None will be safest. I know that.
But I can change them every few hours.
It will be fine.
I am desperate for the bathroom now — I had to get changed first because I cannot leave my room in my pajamas — but now I hop through the kitchen…
