Living with OCD is like living in a puzzle that must constantly be restored ...

and it is my responsibility to restore it because I know no one else sees the pieces,
let alone that the pieces are out of place. 

When I wake up in the morning, something “clicks” in my brain, the switch is flipped.
All of a sudden I am fully aware that the kitchen counter must be wiped,
the printer and speaker cables are facing in unparalleled angles,
the welcome mat needs to be shaken,
the floor must be swept,
our stacks of books are leaning too far,
I put a bag of brown sugar on the wrong shelf,
and there are too many shoes in our shoe basket. 

These things call me, beckon me to fix them. And they are so hard to resist.
Because everyone knows the weight of an unbalanced puzzle piece is tangible.

"When I tried to understand this,

it was oppressive to me

until I entered the sanctuary of God ..."

Psalm 73: verses 16&17

My controlling nature clearly communicates a lack of faith in God. I'm working on this.

More pictures during the storm yesterday. This is our city.

Since posting about my OCD, a few people have asked about its pervasiveness in my life. I think everyone must understand how difficult it is to describe your own experience of normal. But what I'd like to say is that more than any compulsion, what I often notice are the obsessions. A few times a day I'll have a thought that my mind didn't conjure and that I don't claim as my own, but it sticks with me, and uses the faculties of OCD to repeat and repeat. I know I worry more than I ought to, and I know worrying is a common downfall. But what's most disturbing about these thoughts is that I really don't recognize their voice. I can't describe it any other way.

It is very relevant, however, because since childhood, the best way for me to open the hatch and force those thoughts out has been to write ... on napkins, journals, blogs or receipts. I never feel more trapped than the times I'm stranded without a pen.

I'm going to break some new ground here.

I'm going to talk about

obsessive compulsive disorder.

Namely, mine.

Because I'm at the end of my rope, and

I have a feeling (I hope) blogging will

do me some good. Or, in the chance

someone can commiserate, I really hope

it will do them some good.

I journal about this privately, I talk with

Jake about it and sometimes I share it

with friends. But in those cases, my thought

feels like dusty, old, non-news.

Journalists hate non-news.

So I'm hoping that blogging will air these

used rags out. I'm desperate to approach

it in a new way.

I also have to say I was very inspired by

this fine lady and superb writer, Meg.

She has long been writing about something

like this, her own hurdle.

But are they really so different? Everyone

has a mountain to climb. And some of us

wake up to the same mountain every morning.

I stare mine down daily, in hopes of blazing a

trail with my eyes.

One of the qualities that makes OCD

so hard to decipher is that it's such

an all-encompassing element for me.

OCD often effects (sometimes

determines) how I approach my job,

my priorities and my faith.

It would be wonderful to someday be

able to distinguish between what's

really me and what's imposed on me.

Another thing I question is if recovery

is an actual possibility. I used to think

so. I have experienced great moments

of relief thanks to prayer. But at times,

I can only hope to find a way to live

around this ... or in it but not under it.

It might always be a part of me.

Then, what now?

Oh, my friends, I hope to discover.