A PART OF MY OCD
A PART OF MY OCD
Everytime someone enters my room, their first comment is about how spotless it looks. I always smile and mumble a shy thank you accompanied with an offhand comment about how it is normal.
Everytime someone spends a day with me in my room, their last comment is usually about how I have OCD. Most of them can barely grasp the meaning of such a community diagnosis. As expected, I still smile and firmly refute their claims for fear of being called mad.
What these people do not know is that under the continuous sweeping is the the need to break free from such compulsions. The relentless cleaning comes with restlessness, inability to do daily things on time and failure to connect with people. It is basicay crippling.
None of these people would appreciate it if they failed to sleep just because something new was added to their room. None of them would appreciate it if they failed to make it for a date simply because they just could not sweep all the dirt off the floor.
None of them would appreciate it if they got bruises and scars on their hands just because the floor had a spot that was too hard and needed scrubbing.
None of the 'community psychiatrists' understands the magnitude of a diagnosis as big as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
All they know is based on a few misinformed Hollywood movies that glamorise OCD as a quirk rather than a disease. And so many people remain covered by the the blindfold that is pop culture.
It would be nice however, if the next time someone saw me sweeping tirelessly, they would understand that I do not want to be doing something so repetitive either.
BIRUNGI BEATRICE
