The Fifty Shades of Grey hoopla is over. The critics didn't care for it so I'm secretly hoping they won't make the sequel, which I know they will. But I will have time to prepare myself.
I'm still on Bobbi Kristina watch. I feel like a terrible person because sometimes I think to myself, "Just die already!" If she doesn't, then all this stupid checking will have been for nothing. I don't want anyone to die. That's how you know when it's OCD, when you know your thoughts are illogical.
Things are good in our life here. My partner and I are feeling very connected at the moment. We both have jobs; my daughter is getting married and the other one is happy in a relationship. Our parents are tolerating us. We've managed several romantic getaways in the past few months. I'm thinking everything is better.
But then I go into the restroom on my floor at work, and pause before I go into the handicapped stall, making sure there is no body on the floor. I have done that forever. Can't seem to shake that one. I use my right index finger to push the stall door open. What makes it worse, a girl or woman, I should say, on our floor commited suicide last fall and I see her on that floor before the door ever opens. She died at home wither her toddler in the next room watching cartoons.
She worked for a different company across the hall; I didn't even know her name until after she was gone. What I most remember about her were her shoes. They were kind of butch loafers. I remember sitting there in the stall, looking at her shoes in the stall next to mine and thinking to myself, "Cool shoes." But I never told her I liked her shoes. She also had a way of balancing herself on her heels while she washed and dried her hands, wiping mascara away from under her eyes. Maybe she had been crying.
I don't know, I wish I had said more to her than, "Can I reach in front of you to get a paper towel?" Will people remember more about me than what kind of shoes I wore?
Last week, the management put notes on everyone's apartment door. There are still three notes attached to doors, sitting out in the cold. (I counted.) Of course, I know that the tenants in those apartments are dead behind those doors, which explains why they don't come out and remove the notes. I guess when their bodies start smelling, they will be found, like the dead guy in our complex a few months ago. I imagine that's where this thought comes from.
And now this damned ISIS mess. I am petrified. I just wish someone would DO SOMETHING!!! I am so afraid that these terror groups have been planning to attack us since 2001, attack what we really love - our children.
My point of this post was that just when I think I'm better, I'm not. Sometimes I think I'm "coping" so well, that I would like to even lead a group, help others with OCD. But then I am hit with the reality that OCD will never go away. I am managing it, but it will always be there. It has promised me that.
But I just keep plugging along at it, and you should, too. Whatever your intrusive thoughts or rituals are, don't give up on life. It's not worth your time.
Namaste,
~b~
