I love to write, and I always want to be able to resonate with others in some way. The last two years-ish I have struggled a lot more with OCD and anxiety. More than I ever have since I was in high school! It seems ridiculous to even write it. What the hell could a 38 year old, with three kids handed to her and a husband who works his butt off, even have to worry about? I work from home, I get to read to my heart’s content, and I live a great life. So…what even is OCD? Seriously. Knock it off, right? I ask myself this on the daily. While my ever circling thoughts are circling I ask, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?
Before I keep writing, I want to offer a little warning. Anyone who knows me a little bit or even a lot bit, knows that I curse if I’m not in a setting where it isn’t appropriate. And I apologize, greatly. So, if you’re reading this- now that those words are going to pop out. I’ve spent a lot of years writing, kind of “curating” it to sound “good,” per say…now I’m just narrating it. I’m narrating straight from my crazy ass mind. 😊
Let’s go back to the beginning. The beginning of all my issues. Clear back to 6th grade. It was 1996. Enter the year I got a perm. I hated it with every inch of my being. Every damn day I brushed through my ugly mop of hair until I got it into that ponytail that had absolutely no bumps, that was slicked back into a ponytail into the center of my head. It was so slick I looked like a man in his 50s wearing a ponytail. A man that could have been in that old band, Hansen. Remember them? At this point in life, I thought I was the ugliest girl in the world, and now looking back, I don’t think I can argue. I’m chuckling to myself as I write this.
Going into 6th grade, I was 72 pounds and not even 5 feet tall. My legs were so skinny; I remember trying to hide my knee caps because they stuck out in awkward angles. Now that you get the gist of my horrible physical appearance, let’s talk about my clothing choices. I had exactly two pairs of jeans and two shirts that I approved of that I rotated every two days with. It was exhausting on my mom to wash, but even more exhausting for me- as I was in the deeeeep of my obsession with….guess what? IRONING! I was an ironing maniac. I ironed everything I wore, so she’d have to wash and dry my clothes daily so that I could iron them repeatedly till they were perfect before the next school day. I think my mom used this to her advantage, because I spent my Saturdays ironing all her clothes for the next school week. See!? I wasn’t all bad.
What’s the most common thing you’ve heard of for OCD? The first thing I always thought of was handwashing repeatedly. And oh heck yes, I most definitely fought this for at least a year or more. I washed my hands like I was going to die if I didn’t get it done. I said that lightly now, but at the time, and stick with me here as I explain it, I seriously believed that someone would die if I didn’t do it correctly. I had to wash for so many seconds. I would chant the seconds in my head, and if I got interrupted I would have to start again. Then I’d have to dry them on the hand towel for so many seconds as well. When I was done with that, I’d have to fold the hand towel in half and count a number of times that I “smoothed” the towel out. Then, I could finally hang the towel up and move on. HOLY SHIT it was so exhausting! Even my mom told me that she was sending me to Larned if I didn’t straighten up. I remember playing rec basketball with my hands streaming blood from all the cracks in my hands. I was a serious, straight up mess. Now, I have a daughter with some OCD tendencies, and I hope that I am more patient and more able to understand because I have been there. I have been in those trenches, and still go there. And it sucks! I try to laugh about it on the good days- but on the hard days, all you want to do is cry.
I have so much more to share, but I think I’ve probably shared enough for today. If I didn’t scare you off, I’ll be back with more another day.
Straight From the Mouth of Emily 
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