The Invisible Among Us

Recently, I was at a meeting and a woman, tongue in cheek, asked one of my colleagues and me, "Who is the most OCD among us?" as we arranged sticky notes on a large sheet of paper, conscious that they kept falling off.

Well, I thought, cringing and internally raising my hand, that would be me... given that I actually have OCD.

But, to an outsider that means the pursuit of perfection. The perfect line. The attention to detail, until it is utterly, perfectly, unassailably right.

I submit to the court three examples:

Exhibit A is my kitchen floor. Two weeks ago, while baking, I spilled a large number of oats on the floor, and while my husband helped me sweep them up, MANY OF THEM STILL REMAIN.

Exhibit B is a pile of shoes in front of my back door that make it difficult to open the door from the garage side.

Exhibit C is an expired coupon under the mail pile I planned to use, but am no longer able to. Eventually, maybe in a couple of months, I will recycle it.

I am tidy, but not neat. I like things ordered, but not necessarily clean. OCD is not about perfection. It is about rules that one has that govern other behavior, if, when not followed, cause nearly acute pain. This is the fallacy of the outsider, of the wanton declaration that so-and-so is "so OCD." It's pure nonsense.

Personally, live in a perpetual catch 22. I am trying to be good, but I am not good "enough", so I must punish myself for not being good, but by punishing myself, I am not good. This is an obscenely gross oversimplification of the issue I personally have.

So, let's talk about the invisible. Here we are. If we are good... good enough... you will never find us. But, if you never find us, we will always be invisible.