I’m so ocd

I once heard a Kardashian say that her ocd was insane while organizing her fridge according to color. Oh how I wish that was all there was to ocd. Making things look pretty is not ocd. Ocd is obsessing. Over little things. And then adding compulsions to those thoughts. And that, right there, that’s what makes it both dangerous and exhausting. And not fun at all. Having random people around me exclaiming in pure excitement that they are so ocd is actually part of the reason I want to write about my experiences.

Ocd for me partly does come down to wanting everything to be perfect. Which makes sense in this Instagram perfect world. But let’s be real here, when it comes to my house, me obsessing over everything results not only in a perfectly styled home, it also brings major stress with it. Everything has to be tidy. Every room. Always. The only acceptable mess in my house is the one that my kid creates, which results in a very cute Pinterest friendly mess since all of her belongings are insanely gorgeous, but let’s not deviate already.

My point is, although I love collecting and displaying precious pieces, obsessing over this level of perfection is just exhausting. So what if the pillows on the couch do not align perfectly? So what if the play doh colors are mixed together in their tiny containers (even just writing this makes me cringe actually). So what if the beds aren’t made up to the point where I want to start making the bed while people are still in it?

Let’s just say that at least my house looks pretty, so far the very tiring, but not so harmful side of it all.

Ocd for me mainly is walking back to my car to check if I have locked it correctly not once, but five times. Not because I am afraid that I did not lock it and it might get stolen. No, I have to walk back, even though I know for sure that I have locked it, simply because the voice in my head tells me to. If I ignore this voice, it will turn out that I did not lock the car correctly. That alone might be problematic, since the car could get stolen. But that is not why the voice wants me to go back five times. I simply have no choice but to listen. Because if I ignore the command, something terrible will happen to myself or to someone I love.

So… That is what my ocd has been like. For over a decade. At times all-consuming and sometimes lingering in the back of my head. But always there, never any less terrifying and forever making me tired. Welcome to the dark side, we do not have candy.