my bedroom is disgusting and i don’t have ocd.

Dirt has never really bothered me but everything else? Different story.


1. my bedroom is disgusting and i don’t have ocd.

When I was a kid I used to be obsessed with how objects were arranged. I used to throw the TV remote up in the air and let it fall to what I thought looked like a ‘natural position’ because simply setting it down looked too artificial and something about that unnerved me.

This isn’t OCD. This isn’t OCD and it doesn’t matter that to this day I can’t simply put my phone down. If it doesn’t look ‘natural’ it’s going to be moved. This isn’t OCD.

I have two older brothers and a dad and from time to time they leave the toilet seat up. When I was younger I had this theory that if I was standing on the bathroom floor at the same time the toilet seat hit the bowl the house would collapse. I had to jump every time I put the seat down to avoid what I was sure was certain death.

But this isn’t OCD. Toilets are dirty, and the fact that I could even touch something that may have been pissed on some point in time proves exactly that. I don’t have OCD.

I don’t believe in the concept of god. I never have and I don’t think I ever will. But when I am at my worst I cross myself as many times as possible just to feel safe.

Every time I leave my dogs alone, dread swallows me whole, because I am certain that they are going to die. There is nothing at all to indicate this will happen, but my head assures me that this is the day every day. To shut these thoughts down, I snap my fingers... a lot.

Not once have I ever left my house and thought that it won’t burn down. Not once have I touched my dogs and not wanted to wash my hands immediately afterwards. And I count. Every. Thing.

But my room is disgusting.

And I feel fine.

So I don’t have OCD.

I don’t.

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