Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: OCD Perfectionist
My whole life I’ve been a perfectionist and, for the most part, it hasn’t done me any harm. I wasn’t a procrastinator, so I always completed my homework on time. I made my bed and cleaned my room, so Mom never yelled at me for being a slob. And I always had a bag (actually several bags) packed, just in case “something came up.” You have to be prepared for anything. #CrazyPerson
It wasn’t until a year ago that I started to question the extent of my behavior when I watched Scott on A&E’s Obsessed. (In fact, watching this again, I found myself holding my breath.) My OCD-like habits aren’t diagnosed or as severe as those publicized in the media, but they are, nonetheless, habits my friends make fun of me for. Much like Scott, I too avoid certain things in an attempt to keep a neat, orderly environment.
The following are a few things that might make me different than you.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been making my bed. It wasn’t because my parents made me do it. It was just natural to me. When I began living on my own in college, I realized it was more than a habit. It was a necessity. I would be running late for class with no time to brush my teeth or grab a banana for breakfast, but I would manage to make my bed so when I arrived home after school everything was in its place.
The end of May marked one year when I took this obsession to the extreme. Because I have a tendency to lose track of time in the morning, I began sleeping on top of my covers. When I got cold, I would throw on a thin fleece blanket. After all, it is much easier to simply fold a blanket than make an entire bed. Pulling the comforter tight across the mattress to remove the previous night’s wrinkles is a breeze. #Smarty
Before I can watch TV, get ready for bed, eat my dinner, (or accomplish anything for that matter), I must make sure my apartment is tidy. I make piles for my junk. Bills, receipts, and clothing must be organized into categorical piles and stored where they cannot be seen. The pillows on the couch are rearranged, the blankets are straightened, and the stools are turned properly, making them square with the counter.
Finally, I can relax.
The Digital Red Pen
Nothing irks me more than when the “yours” and “theirs” are used incorrectly. So, naturally, when people text me, I spot these like a prostitute in church. Most often, I try to ignore it (and eventually delete the text so it doesn’t eat at me). But every once in awhile, I’ll feel perturbed enough to point it out. It’s not that hard people! You’re (you are) just not getting it!
Ms. Do Over
Help often hurts. Many kind Midwesterners often offer a hand or volunteer to do my job for me, be it cleaning the counter at work or shoveling the snow off my sidewalk. They mean well, but what they don’t know is that I am standing nearby, silently judging them, and getting ready my shovel ready. I will fix those snow lines… they will not be tolerated on my walkway.
Notta’ Dirty Dish
Living with four other roommates in college sent my anxiety through the roof and required “letting go.” We had no dishwasher. Dishes were the worst. Most normal humans cook, do their own dishes, and move on. But that was never the case for me. If I was doing dishes, they all had to be done. Often times, I’d go searching for dirty dishes in other rooms to make sure my bases were covered.
Now, I’ve made it a game. I challenge myself. How many hours can I leave the dishes dirty? For most people, this would be frowned upon. For me, it’s completely healthy.
Wrap It Up
With seven years of experience in the restaurant industry, I’d like to think I know quite a bit about people and service (and have acquired my fair share of server pet peeves). It’s to no surprise that when I dine out, I have high expectations. Like many do, I like to have my dirty dishes removed from the table when I am done with them. Who wants to sit and smell ketchup when you’re full?
But even more weird is the beef I have with straw wrappers. What drives me nuts is not having a clean table to set my food on when it arrives. After removing the straw from the wrapper, I roll it into the tightest ball possible and hide it from sight. Immediately, I feel relief.
Pluck to Perfection
As women, we are constantly battling to keep up with beauty trends and maintenance. The frequency in which I shave my legs varies, but let me tell you about my eyebrows. #OnFleek (Or I’d like to think so). I caution you not to use the visor mirror in your car if you don’t want to develop this obsession.
Several years ago I discovered that the eyebrows I thought I had perfected in the bathroom, were no where near #OnPoint when I checked them out on the way to work. The overhead car mirror magnified flaws I never knew I had. And that was the day I began solely plucking in the car. Red lights… now those are lifesavers.
I Have the Plan, Stan
Flying by the seat of my pants happens… but not often. I enjoy planning out events in my life in order to ensure I have control. If I have no plans, the plans can’t be ruined, right? But if you promise me a happy hour date and skip last minute, my world comes crashing down. What the hell will I do with that time!?
Now that I’ve shared my secrets and have made myself sound like a psycho, I’ll leave. Leave you feeling better about yourselves and perhaps questioning many of your own crazy habits. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you updated. If my habits get any more severe, I may just have my own TV show. Stay tuned. #WeAreAllCrazies