Roy G. Biv Ain't Got Shit On OCD!

Today was my day to do laundry at my sober living house. Laundry day for some can be a nightmare meanwhile others enjoy it. I for one am very particular about the task. I'm also very particular about A LOT of things most be simply never think much about.These particularities of mine can drive other people crazy and have cost me relationships, money, time and even confidence.

I'm particular about my pen that I must have every day in my right pocket. I use a Zebra 7mm fine tip pen in absolutely only black ink. Same pocket and right behind my pen is a SOG Tritan pocket knife. Neither one of which are too fancy, but that's not what I'm talking about. Everyday you'll find in my right pocket my Zebra 7mm fine tip pen in absolutely black ink only and my Tritan pocket knife. You'd also maybe never notice anything different about me if my no show black socks were on with my grey shoes or visa versa but it won't happen. Black socks with black shoes or no socks even here in the Colorado mountains where the snow gets fucking deep. My socks, boxers, beaters (a-shirt? I'll look it up and change it if anyone cares) pants, shorts, hoodies, sweaters, shoes, hats, scarfs, suspenders and my jackets are all hung, folded, rolled and placed the same way every time. I follow from white through Roy G Biv to Black all sorted lightest to darkest with my shirts. My pants go lightest to darkest and favorite to least which in it's self can confuse even me. My shoes are generally only black of grey, but they always match reacher in everyway except color. My shoes and my baseball hats are washed until clean daily. I even use bleach on my Blue Jays hat. My desk now is as my desk was for years on the car lot I once worked on. I can tell if a fruit fly had landed on it for even just a quick touch down before continuing it's migration. I wear a ladybug necklace that represents my Lady (classy). If it were to break like my last necklace I wore in her honor I might consider taking up heroin and meth again. I would for sure smoke a carton of cigs but only one way.

I have broken laws in order to serve these particularities. I have lost lovers. I've nearly driven my self crazy over them. They nearly drove my family and friends crazy. I am OCD and it sucks. I didn't used to have it so bad, but it gradually got worse and worse and worse.

The thing about OCD for me at least was I could watch it get worse. I had endless internal dialogs giving myself the heads up and begging myself to get ahold of yourself man. You need socks idiot it's freezing. Your toes could fall off or your foot dumb shit listen to me, that which is you. Your crazy to walk five miles this way to go steal a pen when work is that way and you're already late because you decided to wear the black shoes and needed to change both socks and shoes.

Trying to explain this to anyone who doesn't have a similar issue is a futile. As I said mine got worse, but I've always had it. Things other than my clothes, shoes, pen and knife are involved that people unless told would almost definitely never notice. My pocket change for example always right pocket too, but if you watch close I'll reach into both pockets at the grocery store because my wallet is always left pocket. I always put my right shoulder on first but the it second. All for a cigarette and it's left, but that's not the oddity involved. After I hand a cigarette to you I'll place the pack back on my left pocket but it will remain there until I open and close it at least twice. I don't do this when I grab a cig for myself. WTF!? Cleaning means something very different to me than most of you. Thank good in college I lived regularly in THE (got this from a very funny Xmas gif in different context but funny enough you'll know and if anyone knows what I'm talking about you better reply and tell me where I can find that again! She had THE baby, that one) party house and getting laid was not preceded by making sure the fridge had all the labels facing forward. Now I pull all the labels off everything in the bathroom and can ignore the sideways bottles with labels facing every which way. Ignore is the wrong word. For one I see this atrocity you call a fridge, but I learned to just reach in grab and slam the fridge door. I've gone through an entire box of envelopes and entire pads of paper trying to right two words satisfactorily before trying to finish an entire fucking letter. The paper I also must have perfect and must be a pad. No three ring binder shit. Seriously though why do my friends still have the ring binder paper? No kids in school most of them. Did I miss something? Do you have and pads of paper I asked, not some shitty college rules binder paper that never tears right. Ciia Baby, those two for letter words are all that stopped me from writing my girl in prison. Yeah fucking right. The only letters I finished for awhile were because I had gotten so high on meth and/or heroin my eyes were bouncing with my heart beat and paranoia ran think in the air. I must finish my letters no matter fucking what because they are watching. If I don't finish and at the very least head in the direction of the post office they'll know. They'll know everything. That got me through a few more. I'm going to spare you the envelopes b and what happens there. C.... Nope. C.... Nope.

Why did it get worse or start? Because in my life from beginning to now I had very little control over things that made a huge impact on my soul and my heart. My parents alone I could write a blog about for the next year, but even before the phone call that rang through after classes and along night of work at Jean Pierre's with rather inconvenient timing considering the weight of the news of my mother's suicide in the middle of a room full of friends seemingly all looking also rather inconveniently at me, my friends and our community experienced what was known as the Summit County curse. Of my very best friends and my first true love we dropped in numbers by four. That's not even close to the total of the curse that still continues to haunt is but in one year alone we lost a noticeable percentage of kids who barely just started puberty. The actual number I don't want to know. I do know my OCD was my way of compensating for the things way out of my control the same way drugs and alcohol made each day tolerable (ish). And that very connection between addiction and OCD is why I'm going to say here and now no fucking more.

I will not succumb to an irrational desire to have my clothes in order from lightest to darkest following the color wheel. My hat I've already stopped bleaching. My socks were grey (dark grey) in my black shoes once already this week. I put my socks in the drawer with out finding it's match, but I may consider keeping my old practice no promises on this one. Fucking eats me up damnit. My pen too. And my pocket knife. Shit, see that's what happens. Alright I actually already worked the knife out of my system because the cops take all my knives when I get arrested and I'll just about that aisle in home Depot for the next decade. But I do promise to carry my money where ever. Fuck rolling my boxers they be jammed in the drawer with my unmatched socks because I can learn to just open grab and slam that drawer just like the fridge drawer.

I hereby surrender my control of what will be fate because I now realize it is a ridiculous paradox to force free will if fate (God's will listen that applies to you) also exists. For the longest time I hated the saying, "it is what it is. Being a human that admits I'm less than perfect and that there's always something to learn I'm going to embrace that saying now with even a little enthusiasm. So to short things up here it is:

I will hereby surrender and comply with that which I cannot control and acknowledge that it truly is what it is.

And just say NO! Someone needs to help me remember to talk about Reagan. Both of them.

Shit. That was really fucking obvious the whole damn time.

Thanks for skimming another,

AdamRant

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