Tuesday, September 11, 2012
I have joked many times here on The Journey about having OCD. The thing is - I DO have OCD and it really isn't a joke. I am not your stereotypical OCD - I don't wash my hands over and over (though I do wash them frequently) I don't count things or have odd rituals before leaving the house......... nevertheless I have OCD.
Over the years I have learned how to manage it - for the most part. But it still manifests itself in my need for order and routine and neatness, my dislike of change, my fear of new places/new people.
This past weekend was extremely hard on me. On the drive up to Kingston I kept visualizing the house filled with boxes and furniture and mess. I kept reminding myself it was a temporary situation. I also kept reminding myself I could NOT get it all done in one weekend. (Just for the record when I moved to this home - I had the entire house washed and all the boxes emptied and the furniture in place PLUS Christmas decorations up in one week)
When I arrived and walked in all I could see was boxes. W had done a wonderful job of getting the sofa in place and a couple of tables and lights set up in the living room. That small area was like a sanctuary for me. As I started to go through boxes in the kitchen I kept taking really big breaths to try and stay calm - to stop the panic from over taking me. It was almost futile....... from the lack of cupboard space to the HUGE amount of stuff ........ I felt like I was drowning. And then to make it worse I kept picturing all MY stuff still to come - and knowing there was NO place for any of it.
When it all got too much I would dash outside and sit in the silly gazebo at the end of the driveway and just breath. A couple of times I caught myself rocking - seeking some sort of comfort from the repetitive movements. Every once in a while (actually more than I want to remember) I would just dissolve in tears and cry heart brokenly.
W was amazing - pulling me tight to his chest - holding me - talking to me - telling me there was room for the "stuff" - his stuff and mine. Everything would be ok. I know I was a burden this weekend - and it makes me so sad. I don't think W has ever seen me this bad. It has been a long long time since I have been this bad.
At one point I managed to talk about the fear of giving up my lil home here. God knows this bloody move to Kingston was MY dream........... yet this move scares me - more than I ever believed possible. On the drive home I let my mind unwind itself - and when it straightened itself out - I realized the only reason I cried over my lil home - was because it is my safe haven. It is orderly and neat and soothes me. I realized that the lil home in Kingston will become neat and orderly and will be my safe haven too in time.
But getting back to my weekend in Kingston........ on Sunday W told me to move all the boxes out of my quiet room. And then he set about assembling my lil daybed. The room was empty - except for the daybed. My quiet space - my safe haven. I know why he did it.......... and I love him for it.
Monday I went out and bought a beautiful comforter for the Master's bedroom - and I picked up some wonderful throw pillows for my quiet room. Monday night I sat wishing I could email W - tell him how full my heart was - how much I loved him - how sorry I was for this episode of OCD. This isn't something I can "say" in words - my feelings - so deep and so painful - can only be written. I know - once he gets his internet back up - he will come here and read this....... and I hope and pray he realizes he is my strength and my rock....... and I don't know what I would do without him.
And so the constant battle continues............
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