The damn Shih Tzu has fleas.

Day 2 of my current battle with Chloe's fleas.  This is a first, not only a first, but this should not be happening as I had her treated with Frontline two weeks ago.  Would you like to know what fleas on your dog does to a person's OCD?  Warning: it's not pretty.

Last night Jared and I bathed Chloe while he picked off her fleas and after I proceeded to attack the bathtub with cleaning products like it came from a nuclear waste site.  Oh, the smell of chemicals is getting to be a comfort to me lately.  Today I find more, not only do I find more but as Chloe jumped on me before trying to sleep, I had one come off her and on me.  I freaked to put it lightly.  I went to the store and got a flea collar since the vet said not to apply more Frontline, I also bought a flea spray (which is apparently okay for some reason).  Chloe had no chance.  After the bath (luckily, and for the record, Connor is asleep and safe in his room when cleaning chemicals are out) she fights me while putting on the collar and the spray.  The entire time she is giving me these puppy dog eyes, almost saying "oh mom, why?", but the OCD doesn't give a damn.

After I assult her, I hope in the shower and scrub until my skin is red.  Don't get me wrong, these fleas aren't infesting the furniture, people or even the cat, but of course this doesn't matter.  If they are on MY dog, they have to be plotting to destroy my house.  My skin hurts, my hands are brittle from the washing, and my nose hurts from the chemicals.

The only happy ending of this story is for the management at the apartments.  Lucky for them, it's raining which will kill off the fleas and larva outside where I know Chloe has picked them up, or I would hate myself if I had to let my OCD tell these people to do something about this.

The Lysol Can

The purple Lysol can has taken many trips with me around the house today.  How much can one person spray in a 900 square foot apartment?  A hell of a lot.  Doorknobs, sink handles, toilets, garbage cans, litter box, and so on.  I can't get the smell of Crisp Berry off of me and it really irritates my nose to the point of sneezing beyond control.  I only do this when Connor is in his crib asleep, he doesn't need to suffer through that horrible smell, or touching the spots I had just sprayed.

This is a new compulsion though, I just picked up the can a couple days ago at Target on a whim.  Ha, what a terrible idea.  I managed to turn my ocd into a joke, a huge step for me, thinking of carrying a lighter and just setting fire to everything which would certainly sanitize the house to the point that I wouldn't have to repeat compulsions.  Of course, the joke would be on me, I would be in the next apartment sanitizing their place instead.

The Make Up Ritual

* Clinique is the best for skin pickers.  Use an even number of strokes to complete the look, if off by even a stroke, keep applying, ignore badly blended areas.

* Eyeliner must be in a straight line and even on both eyes.  Remove and reapply if uneven.

* Eyeshadow has more free reign then the other make up.  Apply then check to make sure it is even on both sides.  Apply more or remove if it doesn't fit standards.

* Blush must be an even number of strokes, the same for each side.  To avoid looking like a clown, be very aware of how much powder ends up on the brush, it must be equal.

* Lipstick/lipgloss/chapstick.  Reapply as much as possible, must avoid having chapped lips as that will cause one to chew them relentlessly.

*Mascara is important for eyelash pullers, it gives texture to enable one to grab on and yank.  As with the others, must be an even number of brushes.  After a pulling fit, reapply.

With OCD, even something as simple as makeup makes one become a prisoner.  

The Start of a Beautiful Friendship.

What exactly is a normal first memory to have?  As I get older I realize that normal isn’t a word that best describes one of mine.  I must have been around five or six years old, as I was living in Rancho Cordova at the time, lying in my room at night being tortured with thoughts of my dad ‘s truck being smashed by a speeding car as he drives away from my house.  I remember he drove a tiny grey truck, although I could be wrong about the color, as my memory is pretty much shot.   My parents were divorced and Sunday was our day together, every Sunday night he would pull into the driveway and take me home in time for The Simpsons.  Anyways, in case it wasn’t a strange enough thought for a child to have, I took it to another level by having a counting ritual to combat those scary thoughts.   Let’s see if I can recall what I did…I started with 1 and pictured the number in my head once.  Next, obviously, was 2.  I would then picture the number 2 twice in my head two times, so on and so on.  As I was only 5 at the time, the numbers would end up just confusing me until I became okay with taking shortcuts that I couldn’t even begin to explain today.  Now that I think about it, that had to be the start of my weird sleeping habits.  God, is there a thing about me that isn’t odd?  Easy answer to that question. 

I can’t decide if the sad part is that I thought this was totally normal behavior for someone my age or that I was a child plagued with these thoughts.

This also has me questioning whether ocd is something you are born with or does evolve over time?   

All out on the table

The question is, why am I writing this blog?  I don't want to become a face of ocd nor do I think I will shed new light on the battle that sufferers face everyday.  The reason for this blog is as simple as the fact that I want to have a place to put down my thoughts.  I can already hear you thinking, "just get a diary"...well I hate writing, and reading my handwriting is as difficult as reading a doctors.  I remember my Grandma making me sit and write neatly and slowly with Alphabet exercises, sorry Grandma, but you failed miserably on that lesson.

So, you are probably thinking, what the hell is ocd anyway?  Imagine a scratched record, it's stuck and repeating that same annoying sound over and over and over...well that's the best example I can give of ocd.  The same thoughts intruding into your brain, over and over, with no way of stopping unless you do certain rituals.  Even with the rituals all you end up with is more thoughts and even more rituals.  It is never ending.  Some days I wish a lobotomy was an option.  Oh, how sweet it would be not to think for just one minute of my day...well, one can dream right?

Here I am, a 23 year old woman battling this for 23 long and painful years.  Now it's time to collect my thoughts, to decide how much I am willing to share about this.  Maybe I will get the courage to put everything out on the table, to say this is what I deal with and I won't hide it anymore.  Yet the embarrassment is what stops me, the fact that most people won't try to understand.  I do realize that if I refuse to hide my battles any longer, then it will take much courage to put it all out there.  Do I really have that courage????