When I was in the psychiatrist's office, it was so clear to me that I actually knew I hadn't driven over a person, I just felt compelled to check anyway. Somehow, having left his office, that clarity has drawn away as well. I'd been fighting the main compulsion for this, and made some progress, but now I've regressed to worse than before my recent progress. Is it because I've been weaker or the compulsions have been stronger or something else?
I found a guitar pick in the parking lot at church. It was my favorite kind. I was interested in looking at it, so I picked it up and examined it. It was relatively scratched up; parking lot life wasn't treating it as well as it's former owner. Then, I debated between the grave sins of theft versus littering (ooh, sounds like an emotional stage of Erikson! Guess what I've been studying for college.). I had heard that picking up money in the road was actually stealing; you probably wouldn't get caught, but technically it qualifies as stealing. So I speedily concluded that keeping the guitar pick would be stealing, probably from some music leader at church. That left the option of littering. And it had been on the ground when I picked it up. And it wouldn't hurt a car's tire to drive over it. So I dropped it. It wasn't until I got in my car and checked to make sure I still had my identical-but-less-scratched guitar pick in my wallet, tucked away where pennies and dimes (and nickels and quarters) sometimes live, that I remembered that I could have just exposed myself to AIDS by picking the guitar pick up. Maybe there was a hidden needle or something... and my finger's skin felt like something could have penitrated it (microscopic blood full of sufficient HIV virious). But that didn't really bother me, because germs haven't been ruling the OCD so much recently. So there, what a lot of thinking a few moments brought to me. Not that I thought everything out in so many words.
I've probably already said that I got a med increase. Oh, did my brain have fun this morning (to be said in a voice dripping with sarcasm). I made it to church. Some people might not understand how big that accomplishment was, but I did it.
And there was something really wierd about going from my crazy morning thoughts into the crowd of people there for the worship service, and sitting among them. Remarkably enough, by the time for the sermon, I was actually paying attention. That a sermon would do what music would not do, that's impressive. And then I politely lied about being okay when someone asked me how I was after the service. Then I came to the library. I like the library. I like writing. And next I think I will call a friend. And I haven't decided what to do after that. My room desperately needs cleaned, but I don't want to do it.
I found a guitar pick in the parking lot at church. It was my favorite kind. I was interested in looking at it, so I picked it up and examined it. It was relatively scratched up; parking lot life wasn't treating it as well as it's former owner. Then, I debated between the grave sins of theft versus littering (ooh, sounds like an emotional stage of Erikson! Guess what I've been studying for college.). I had heard that picking up money in the road was actually stealing; you probably wouldn't get caught, but technically it qualifies as stealing. So I speedily concluded that keeping the guitar pick would be stealing, probably from some music leader at church. That left the option of littering. And it had been on the ground when I picked it up. And it wouldn't hurt a car's tire to drive over it. So I dropped it. It wasn't until I got in my car and checked to make sure I still had my identical-but-less-scratched guitar pick in my wallet, tucked away where pennies and dimes (and nickels and quarters) sometimes live, that I remembered that I could have just exposed myself to AIDS by picking the guitar pick up. Maybe there was a hidden needle or something... and my finger's skin felt like something could have penitrated it (microscopic blood full of sufficient HIV virious). But that didn't really bother me, because germs haven't been ruling the OCD so much recently. So there, what a lot of thinking a few moments brought to me. Not that I thought everything out in so many words.
I've probably already said that I got a med increase. Oh, did my brain have fun this morning (to be said in a voice dripping with sarcasm). I made it to church. Some people might not understand how big that accomplishment was, but I did it.
And there was something really wierd about going from my crazy morning thoughts into the crowd of people there for the worship service, and sitting among them. Remarkably enough, by the time for the sermon, I was actually paying attention. That a sermon would do what music would not do, that's impressive. And then I politely lied about being okay when someone asked me how I was after the service. Then I came to the library. I like the library. I like writing. And next I think I will call a friend. And I haven't decided what to do after that. My room desperately needs cleaned, but I don't want to do it.
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