I have always had OCD. It was, without any doubt, inherited from my father - whom, god love'm, would vaccuum religiously once a week, spending about an hour doing so in our tiny house, going over each square-inch of carpet at least four times to make sure every speck of dirt, lint, or dust was gone.
I never knew that I had OCD, and to this day, I have never actually visited a doctor for it. It was only brought to my attention by my husband, who was mystified by my inability to complete tasks out of order, and my odd habit of straightening items in front of me, or actually stopping to think about the arrangement of plates, cups, and dishes on the dinner table.
I am sure that my case is a mild one, as it is by no means debilitating. In fact, now that I've noticed my own "psychosis" (as we like to refer to it), I am understanding it, intrigued by it, and actually - quite grateful for it.
When I was home for Christmas last winter, one of my younger second-cousins was blatently affected, too, by this clearly-genetic sydrome. I was chatting with his mother, when we noticed he was re-organizing the plastic cutlery, carefully, quiety separating the spoons from the forks. He looked intense, almost bothered by the mess. His mother talked about him as if he weren't three feet from us - "I don't understand what his problem is." She hid her face with her hand and was visibly embarrassed by her son's quirk. Moments later, she ordered him to stop. I realized then, that what she saw as a abnormal - almost freakish - in her son, was actually a beautiful attention to detail that she should embrace, rather than be ashamed of.
Since then, and since paying attention to my often pointless obsession with organization, I've realized how deeply this compulsion takes its course in my life, and how much of who I am is affected by it. My job as a web designer makes more sense to me than ever - only someone plagued with OCD would stand the mind-numbing task of cleaning up code, carefully, neatly making certain that each line is in order, and is as efficient and lean as possible.
And design goes without saying, I'm realizing. Graphic design is like an addiction for someone who's mind feels a release - a calm - in the visual organization of objects. Whether it's my home space, my work space, or my computer screen - everything in it's place: neat, clean, organized just so. I don't quite understand when I have it - that is, when the pieces of the puzzle are in tact - but when I see it, I know it. And my compulsion is satisfied.
How beautiful it is to revel in our own oddities!
I never knew that I had OCD, and to this day, I have never actually visited a doctor for it. It was only brought to my attention by my husband, who was mystified by my inability to complete tasks out of order, and my odd habit of straightening items in front of me, or actually stopping to think about the arrangement of plates, cups, and dishes on the dinner table.
I am sure that my case is a mild one, as it is by no means debilitating. In fact, now that I've noticed my own "psychosis" (as we like to refer to it), I am understanding it, intrigued by it, and actually - quite grateful for it.
When I was home for Christmas last winter, one of my younger second-cousins was blatently affected, too, by this clearly-genetic sydrome. I was chatting with his mother, when we noticed he was re-organizing the plastic cutlery, carefully, quiety separating the spoons from the forks. He looked intense, almost bothered by the mess. His mother talked about him as if he weren't three feet from us - "I don't understand what his problem is." She hid her face with her hand and was visibly embarrassed by her son's quirk. Moments later, she ordered him to stop. I realized then, that what she saw as a abnormal - almost freakish - in her son, was actually a beautiful attention to detail that she should embrace, rather than be ashamed of.
Since then, and since paying attention to my often pointless obsession with organization, I've realized how deeply this compulsion takes its course in my life, and how much of who I am is affected by it. My job as a web designer makes more sense to me than ever - only someone plagued with OCD would stand the mind-numbing task of cleaning up code, carefully, neatly making certain that each line is in order, and is as efficient and lean as possible.
And design goes without saying, I'm realizing. Graphic design is like an addiction for someone who's mind feels a release - a calm - in the visual organization of objects. Whether it's my home space, my work space, or my computer screen - everything in it's place: neat, clean, organized just so. I don't quite understand when I have it - that is, when the pieces of the puzzle are in tact - but when I see it, I know it. And my compulsion is satisfied.
How beautiful it is to revel in our own oddities!
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