I have OCD.
I’ve had it since I was a child.
Thankfully, 98 percent of the time it’s not that bad. More or less, it just makes me do ridiculous things every now and then. I’ve found the best way to deal with my issue is to laugh at myself. I know how ridiculous my fears can be, and I deep down I know that I am not really going to infect thousands of people because I sneezed once in 1998. Here is a story that happened in the restroom at work one day a while back:
So I am sitting on the potty, doing my thing. I’m wearing my flats and nude panty hose that I am attempting to bring back in style. Everything is going great. Lalalala… don’t have to answer the phone for a few minutes. I’ve got my dress up and I’m rocking it. I’m on a toilet, yo.
So I finish and pull my hosiery up.
That’s when I noticed it.
There’s a stain… on the floor. Right in front of the commode.
“Oh snap. Was that me? Did I really do that?”
I knew I didn’t (and couldn’t have) made that stain. But it’s OCD. It’s that .00001 percent inside of me that says I did.
In the time it took me to analyze the situation, someone else has came into the restroom.
“Well snap. I can’t wipe it up or they’ll think I did it. Awww man, I don’t want them to see me wiping this up… ohhh…. what to do?”
I stood there in the stall, pretending to have hosiery trouble. Lalala, I’m pulling up my hose. “Oh this hose… brand new pair… sticky, sticky.” Snap, snap, and I picked at the hose.
Finally, they left.
After the door shut behind them, I pulled some toilet paper off of the roll and placed it on the floor. I put my foot on top of the paper and started to wipe. It truly was a stain and had likely been there for a while. However, wiping it was working, so I kept at it.
After a minute or so, the stain had disappeared. I took massive amounts of clean toilet paper, wrapped it around my hand, and grabbed the floor paper. I flushed everything down.
Well, not exactly.
It’s OCD, remember.
I realized I had flushed the toilet with the same foot I’d been pushing the toilet paper on the floor with. So I had to take more paper, and wipe my potential-yet-non-existent shoe germs off of the flush handle.
Finally… I was able to wash my hands and get out. Whoo… never imagined I’d be writing about the bathroom at work.