Back when I started this blog, it was because I had things to say that I wanted to get off of my chest. Certain things pissed me off, and I wanted to vent to the world about it. I have since realized that when you don't have a completely anonymous blog, well, you can't do that. You can't bitch about your boss when there is a chance your boss could read it and know exactly who you are talking about. (my desire for people to actually read what I was writing overwhelmed my desire to keep anonymous...and really, in today's world, having an anonymous blog is an oxymoron)
Somewhere along the road of my life, I decided that most people are in need of some sort of psychiatric help. I am not sure where this came from, but it seems as though just about everyone can be diagnosed with some level of affliction that can be categorized with three little letters...OCD, PPD, ADD; or others that need full names that everyone knows; manic depressive, bipolar, bulimic, social anxiety, or whatever. And if they can't be categorized, there is still some tragic event in the past which requires therapy. I don't think of this as a bad thing, it is what it is. Americans strive to be happy, but few actually are. (apparently, in order to be happy, you have to move to Denmark) Hence why everyone has some sort of diagnosable mental disfunction. (BTW...it's not like I sit around and wonder what a certain person's issue is, and try to diagnose them. I'm talking generalizations here)
Workaholic and I joke about his OCD...he often will check to make sure that he has set his alarm clock two or three times. (of course, this could be fear of his father instilled in him to not be late to work) He has been known to turn around at the entrance of the neighborhood to ensure that the garage door is closed or the front door is locked. (this could also explain his propensity to watch the same TV series for months and nothing else) I never, ever, thought of myself as OCD. I think of people with OCD as the obsessively clean ones...they wash their hands 50 times a day, or get up in the middle of the night to straighten the fringe on the rug. So. not. me. I vacuum only when I can either see the dog hair on the carpet or there are fur balls in the corner. I put dirty dishes in the dishwasher when they are either piling up, we run out of glasses, or if someone is coming over. You get the picture.
My brother-in-law, who is the closest person I know who could even be considered OCD (with regards to the cleanliness), commented this weekend on Samantha's outfit after she'd been crawling around on the floor...how dirty it was. He said, "Gross, let's go wash your hands. Eww...look how dirty the carpet is, check out the dog hair." My kid has never been sick, and she hasn't exactly been kept in a bubble. (as in, not at all) I like to think that I am exposing her to germs to help build her immune system, without being disgusting and sticky. Because I am not a big fan of sticky kids...although I know it'll happen soon enough. (And YES, she is crawling!! EEKS!! MOBILITY!!! She hasn't mastered the art yet, but the days of setting her on the bed and walking away are long over, as I discovered not once, but twice last week)
So imagine my surprise during a visit with my doctor today when he said, "Oh, you might have a touch of OCD." OCD?? Really?? Me??? I don't think so. But as I kept talking, he smiled a little bit more and nodded more, and I thought to myself, "Self, I think he may have a point." That would explain the insomnia, the constant messing with the hair, the rubbing of the fingernail until it shines. It would explain my tendency to focus on things that most people, well, don't. Example, I am still mad over the ending of Mystic River, which I just watched start to finish for the first time this weekend. WTF-Sean Penn just gets to kill innocent people and get away with it? Really? Is that how it works in Massachusetts??
I am also annoyed over several other things, which my co-workers got to hear about today. (sadly, it didn't make me feel any better) And then I remembered about my blog, and why I started it in the first place. It makes sense now, I can't let go of things. And I wanted to bitch to the world about the shit that I can't. let. go. (it really sucks that I can't do that exactly how I want to) And it's stuff that no one really cares about, and in the long run, I won't either. My doctor that I went to see isn't a shrink, so it is entirely possible that he is way off base in saying that there is a chance that I might have a touch of OCD. But I doubt it, everyone probably does to some extent. In a weird way, I feel more normal now that I get to say that I might have a label. YAY!! I actually thinks it's pretty friggin' funny, me, OCD. HA!
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