Diary Of a woman living with OCD

12 كانون الثاني 2016 | 00:00

I am restless.

I Turn about a hundred times in my bed.

Sleep escapes me. I am exhausted, but I cannot relax enough to sleep.

My body itches all over. I turn a few more times , then I scream "What the hell!", and i immediately jump out of bed, put on my slippers, then quietly fix the bed and take a good long look at my room.

I put everything in its place, open the drawers to check that each item is where it should be, and that nothing unwanted has accumulated...since last night.

Then I open my closets. I have already given away ten items yesterday. But that doesn't stop me from squinting hard at my clothes, just in case there is an unwanted item I could happily get rid of, and thus feel lighter.

Then I remove the Hoover from its hideaway and I slowly, deliberately clean the carpet with it. The fact that I have already "engaged" in that ritual yesterday does not stop me from attacking the carpet as though I were in fact facing my imaginary enemy.

Once satisfied with the way my room looks I switch on the dim light and I smile triumphantly, whispering to myself: "Now I can peacefully move to the next room".

It is late afternoon of EVERY SINGLE DAY...And by the way it is safe to say I have OCD.

Our house in Beirut has three balconies, seven rooms(three bedrooms, two living rooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom), and three corridors...And every single day I go through ALL of them, one space at a time, starting from my room, and clean the hell out of them, noticing what each space needs...And willingly surrendering to its "desires".

I cannot let a day go by without indulging in this ritual which has earned me the reputation of a "hysterical" woman.

I follow mum and dad from room to room to see if they are "disturbing" the "peace" in any way, and i then happily go about putting everything back in order.

If mum is eating ( and mum is ALWAYS EATING) in the living room without placing her food on a plate, i shoot her a deadly look, and i run to the kitchen to supply her with the "Safety net" I need to feel relaxed.

I "thrive" on the smell of detergents, and whenever the market lady sees my "shadow", she smiles happily because she knows I have come to buy the whole store, since I have definitely used all the detergents i bought "LAST WEEK", and thus need more supplies.

I have endless trash bags that i use for every single room, and I walk from room to the other finding unwanted things to throw in them. There is always a trash bag in a corner of my room ready to be filled with garbage.

Each day I use at least six big bags, and the neighbors go insane when i place them outside so that the worker can throw them away. Not because they smell bad- since i spray them all with deodorant- but because they cannot figure out the mystery of a small family having six trash bags thrown on a daily basis.

If i do not "supervise" each room every day, I simply do not get out of the house. I cannot leave home without knowing first that I have given attention to every single detail in each tiny corner.

I clean, I throw, I give away, I organize...And THEN I allow myself the liberty of living the rest of my day and night as I please.

Dad says I make him feel like he is living with a sergeant in the army, or worse...that he is living in a boarding school!

Mum calls me "Milia" in reference to an old woman who used to live in her village Chekka located in the north of Lebanon. The woman owned a one room house. yet she spent all her days cleaning as though she lived in a castle!

Whenever I get home from work, I frown and i eye each room to assess what awaits me after i have eaten and Almost slept for a few minutes.

No one dares to talk to me when i am in the cleaning process because they all say I look like a serial killer in action. I bark at them, threaten to destroy them if they do not obey my cleaning rules, I shoot them deadly looks, and i do not allow them to enter the room i am busy "Disinfecting" (Heaven knows from what!).

Then, as soon as i have finished my cleaning, i become sweet, adorable, saintly, and i tell them poetry recounting my love for them. I even smile.

And whenever my brother Hady visits us, he almost chokes when he enters the house from the heavy smell of detergents"overlapping each other" and he shouts accusingly: "you are gona get us all killed from asthma".

If I am in the middle of cleaning, I show him my dirty side. However, if I have finished, i smile saintly and throw myself in his arms, as though i cannot tolerate this much cruelty.

And mum desperately whispers: "Milia!".

And if she is in a ferocious mood, she says out loud :"yiii, Tahet El 2ared!". (It is a bad phrase in Arabic!).

ما رأيكم بتحضير هذه الحلوى العراقية بمكوّنات بسيطة مع المدونة ديما الأسدي؟

إظهار التعليقات

يلفت موقع النهار الإلكتروني إلى أنّه ليس مسؤولًا عن التعليقات التي ترده ويأمل من القرّاء الكرام الحفاظ على احترام الأصول واللياقات في التعبير.

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