(Blogger's
note: I'm just too tired for this.)
When
I was younger, I would sometimes tell my dad goodnight in my parents’
room. If I caught him at a certain time, he would be setting his
alarm clock for the next morning. He would make me wait for him as he
repeated the same chant, “The alarm is on. Five forty-five. The
light in on. The alarm is on. Five forty-five.” I had no idea what
he was doing. My mom told me that it was just something he did, like
how some people check several times to make sure they the light in a
room is off. These would be categorized under the "compulsions"
part of the mental disorder known as obsessive compulsive disorder.
Most
of the things I got for Christmas were movies. One of them, The
Aviator (2004), tells the story of Howard Hughes (portrayed by
Leonardo DiCaprio, hence the appeal), a famous pilot and filmmaker
and sufferer of OCD.
The
film followed him from his start, when he first inherited his
fortune, to his kind-of lowest. Well, not really. He flies the
biggest aircraft ever in Los Angeles Bay and then has a break down.
So yeah. At least he made it out of the room he had locked himself in
for who-knows-how long with a grody bears and super long nails.
A
quick Google search tells me that several studies have shown OCD to
be hereditary, which maybe explains why 67% of my father's children
also have obsessive compulsive tendencies. I would say that none of
these are as incapacitating as Hughes', of course, but they still
surely suck. (For some reason every time I walk past the thermostat,
I have to tap it. Whenever I go into my kitchen, I have to close
every cabinet door; when I shut the refrigerator I have to push on it
twice. When I walk down the stairs I hit my hip against the railing
two or four times. I check behind me every once in a while when I sit
on the couch to check for spiders and I constantly crack my jaw and
pop my ears . On top of all of this, I can't do anything in multiples
of threes (thank goodness we have ten kitchen cabinets, amirite?).
The only ones I really know of my sister's is that, if she ever
touches, let's say, my left eyebrow, she flips out and will fight me
until I let her touch my right one and also freaks out if you move
anything in her room.) I doubt I'll ever lock myself in a room and
just watch movies whilst letting my beard grow. Probably just minus
the beard.
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