I came downstairs this morning, walked into the kitchen and stepped directly into a puddle of watery drool. I swear, Bentley takes a drink from his water dish, holds it in his mouth and then just wanders the house letting the water leak out as he goes. Maybe not, but how else can he get THAT much water on the floor!!! Other than being a little miffed that my pajama pants were soaking, this didn’t bother me at all, and I had to pause and appreciate the progress my heart and mind has made over the last few years.
For as long as I can remember, I have battled varying degrees of OCD. It seems to have come and gone in phases ever since I was twelve. At times, I feel so “normal”, I have no fears and breeze through life without so much as a thought towards germs. I see these as happy, light periods of time. And then there are the dark times. When my fear was so severe that I became agoraphobic, hiding from the world because I could not face whatever horrors my deluded brain had convinced itself existed. A psychologist once diagnosed me with having Obsessive Compulsive Contamination Disorder-I just say I don’t like germs. Habitual and ritualistic behaviors consumed my life, dictated what I could do and when I could do it. This has been such a huge part of who I am, and yet, if you weren’t one of the very few people who I confided in, you might not even know how deep into this mire I had sunk. Sure, everyone knows I won’t eat or drink off of anyone except my husband, or that I carry copious amounts of hand sanitizer…but these were things we joked and laughed about. What people did not know were the times I would cry on the floor, forcing myself to resist the compulsion to wash my hands again, fighting panic and fear that I KNEW was irrational; smelling my hands for hints of soap, trying to convince myself that I HAD washed them already. Rationalizing, resisting, and trapped in a mental prison that I had created for myself. Fighting so hard to be free.
It has been years since I have been in a dark slump, and I look back and shudder at how I let myself live. If you can even call it living to be so consumed by fears. I rarely, if ever, share my struggle with OCD; I feel so ashamed and embarrassed by it. It isn’t something funny like on Monk, where I have little quirks that are amusing and adorable-it is life-altering, crippling and depressing. I am so thankful and appreciative that I am currently in such a happy, light time of my life and I certainly do not plan on ever going back. It has been a hard and painful battle clawing my way out of the pit of OCD and I owe so much of my success to people around me (there are some who may never know how much their presence in my life has impacted this area) and also my little puppy dog.
When we first got Bentley, I was already doing well and living free-but he helped push it just a little further and also made me want to share this part of who I am. If you have a dog or especially a puppy, you know that it is impossible to keep your house spotless around the clock. The first few weeks we had him were like a war-zone and I felt lucky to just get the dishes done between potty training, playing, and recovering from sleepless nights. Now, things are not as chaotic with him being 7 months old, but he is still a dog, and he is messy….but I love him so much that I am able to let go of the things that would have bothered me so much a few years ago. I look past the paw prints, smile when I step in drool, and give thanks for the progress that I can see in my life.
I also mop the floors a LOT.