A Eulogy for OCD
We’re here today to say goodbye to a companion who never would have signed off on the punctuation.
So many fond memories of packing up my instruments, keyboards, mandolin, guitars. Damn, did I check the guitar to make sure it’s charged? I better take it out again to make sure. Mandolin in its case with an extra set of strings, check. Wait. Did I pack the capo? Nevermind I can use the guitar capo if I’m stuck. Good. I can use it if it’s packed in the first case which I just closed up. Better check this too. Okay, keyboard, pedal, adapter, stand, seat, mic and cable. All set. All set except the mic stand. Did I pack my adapter? I think it’s in with the capo. Okay I’ve checked everything 4 times. The truck is loaded and I know for sure, 100% that I have everything. Thank God I gave myself an extra 15 minutes. Let’s hit the road. Okay we’re at the top of the driveway. I think I forgot my stand. Nope it’s there. Here comes the 4 way stop 4km from my door. I’m pretty sure I forgot my adapter… and my stool.
What were we talking about?
It’s easier to poke fun at this than it used to be.
I self-diagnosed OCD in my late forties.
People-pleasing can lead to you telling your internal dialogue that Thursday, 2055 would be a better time to catch up.
Recovery from addiction can do this too while the people-pleasing does push-ups in the parking lot. Pain in my liver, irregular heartbeat, mental fog, it was all just a distraction from the real work of pretending it wasn’t happening. The obsessive thinking gave all of that messy business a place to crash. Rent was reasonable and visitors were encouraged.
My people pleasing and OCD used to work the lunch rush together after addiction got fired for burning the croutons one too many times. OCD became the silent partner waiting in the wings when things got too hairy on-stage.
The Instrument Awareness Olympics is still an event I train for regularly. These days though, I don’t fight it like it’s an enemy to overcome. It’s more like a casual visitor from the local theater company. The script’s actually pretty funny. We go through our little skit. I chuckle at the occasional line and at OCD’s commitment to the part.
Keyboard, mandolin and guitar, check! Wait did I check the guitar to make sure it’s charged? I know you’re going to ask about the mandolin next. I’ve already checked it off the loading checklist I made for myself. But when you ask, I will know that you’re just looking out for a buddy. I’ll laugh and sigh and for the briefest second wonder if it was you that checked off the whole list.
Awareness, acceptance, love even, have helped me to understand why you come and what you need. What I thought was a prison was maybe just you and me doing a little community theatre.
I guess we’re not saying
goodbye after all.
Photo by Sarah Brown on Unsplash
Peter, such a creative and engaging way to talk about your own experience with a lifelong companion whom I also know all too well! I was hoping the “eulogy” in your article title meant you found a cure! 😅Thank you for helping me feel a little less alone with my OCD brain. 🫶
I loved how you managed to write about something so difficult with both honesty and humor. The opening immediately pulled me into the repetitive thought process; this was so creative. I also love the compassion you eventually extended toward yourself. Instead of turning OCD into a villain, you allowed it to become something you could understand. That shift felt incredibly human and gave the essay so much emotional depth. Thank you for sharing such a vulnerable perspective. This was beautiful Peter!