Midnight reflections

Content warning: This post discusses Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I gaze out the window of one of my childhood bedrooms. There is condensation on the interior of the glass. A small Christmas tree is on the spacious windowsill. The tree is decorated with baubles. I cannot see the baubles' color because it is too dark. I hear the click-clacking of keys on my keyboard. It is silent, except for my typing and the sounds from the occasional car that drives past. It might get rowdy later. Saturday night in the town is loud.

Before sitting down to write, I was thinking about OCD, a condition with which I have not been formally diagnosed but from which I suffer. I have suffered from OCD for years. I sometimes practice compulsive behaviours such as tapping my fingers together while I am typing, running my hands across walls as I walk, and staring at a tap for minutes until part of my brain clicks and takes in that the tap is turned off. These often come when I am stressed and tired, but many stick around in the background. In particularly bad periods, I struggle to play piano, one of my passions.

As I write, I realise that some behaviours have been around for a long time. I have gotten used to them. For example, I sometimes type a word and then hit backspace a few times and retype the word. I cannot continue writing until my brain has processed that I have properly typed the word.

I have fears that are somewhat grounded in reality. What if I flood the house by not turning the tap off? Then I have fears that are not at all grounded in reality. Fears like "If I don't touch the wall in this way, something bad is going to happen." These fears have been with me for years. I would sometimes walk backward up a stair on a set of stairs when I was younger. I was convinced that if I didn't something bad would happen.

After I walk backward up a stair, run my hand along a wall, and retype a word, nothing bad happens. It is thus easy to associate these behaviors with positive outcomes. The outcomes are not positive, however: they are a mental tax that builds up.

I read an account on Reddit of someone who suffers from OCD and struggles to cook. This post resonated with me as soon as I saw it. I worry about whether I will cook meat thoroughly enough. Instead of learning how to cook meat, I avoid it. I avoid cooking other foods where I perceive a significant enough risk of food poisoning. I love eggs. I will eat eggs prepared by someone else. But, I don't cook eggs just in case I undercook them. I wonder whether there is still bacteria in the food. I worry I will get sick. The exception is ready meals, which make up a larger percentage of my dinner meals. I trust them.

Knowing that someone else has experienced an obsession with getting sick from their food made me feel less lonely. Thinking back to my high school cooking classes, I was always worried I didn't cook food properly. I didn't eat anything that I made other than the sweet treats. I am not the only one for whom the fear of undercooking food prevents culinary exploration. One commenter noted the best way to address the fear was to start cooking. Perhaps I should give it a go. The closest I have come to cooking meat is I bought sausages. I had to throw them away because I wasn't going to cook them.

I want to cook in the new year.

I don't know how to cook an egg. I want to learn to make eggs. I should buy eggs and try to make one. Maybe a fried egg? I like fried eggs.

As for my other habits, they come and go. I can try to be more cognizant of them, but some are hard-wired and I have not yet done enough introspection to understand them. I don't know why I re-type words. I just know that I do. The first step is awareness. I now realise that what has become my normal is not indeed normal. Then, I need to be gentle with myself. I'm not sure what is next, but I do know that when I am less stressed and tired I feel better. There is seemingly never an easy solution to mental health problems, unfortunately. All I can do is try my best.

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When I first set out to write this post, I was thinking about how romantic it is to write in the evening. I love how quiet it can be at night. If it is not quiet, I put headphones in. I am undisturbed. I can be with my thoughts and explore them. I ended up putting words to some of my fears because they were top of my mind. Indeed, the blog post one has in mind isn't always the blog post that gets written. When I have an idea, I want to seize the moment and start exploring it. I find myself productive doing so at night.