A normal day

Heading back to work after time off with my OCD

Anonymous

I’m riding my bike. It’s a regular day. The morning is dark and gloomy, illuminated only by the street lamps and lights swinging from my handlebars. I’m on my way to the train and ready to begin a day of work. I turn a corner and across my path come a few other cyclists—the same as me, on their way to work, probably deep in thought, exploring the shadowy recesses of their mind at one of the only times of day when they’re all alone. Feeling peaceful?

I join the group of cyclists and we cycle in unison, weaving in and out of each other seamlessly as we try to push ourselves through another day. It’s a short ride to the train station and I try not to think too much about what I am about to do, instead concentrating on the cyclists in front of me.

What will they say? They’ll say I’m crazy and think I’m a troublemaker for being off sick.

You don’t look sick. Everyone has moments of stress, anxiety, pain. What makes you special?

The voices echo around in my head, bouncing off the walls and reverberating, repeating, not going away.

The thought of the judgement awaiting me at the office is enough to make me want to turn around, ride back home, strip off my outdoor clothes and throw myself back onto the bed I’ve occupied for the past three weeks. The bed is safety, security and warmth, a promise of love and acceptance, the feeling you get when you hug your mother. I won’t have to face the world or solve all my problems if I just stay in bed. I can lie still and think. I can go over the thoughts that trouble me and repeat in my brain, making myself cry with frustration in the process as I try to convince myself that yes, I did lock the door and that no, I did not do something bad but I just don’t know what.

The trouble is, getting stuck in this pattern turns the ‘what ifs’ into ‘when’ in your brain and the place you thought was safe doesn’t feel so safe anymore. So, you begin the rituals:

Tap the wall three times, and you’ll be safe. Make sure you don’t accidentally do this more than three times because then you’ll have to start again and worship the pattern of three until everything feels just right. Don’t forget: three times, or three sets of three taps. Three or nine in total. But, tap in the right place too. Did you tap too high or too low? Sorry, start again. Now, I’m certain that I got it right now. Wait, what if I didn’t? I’ll perform the ritual again, just to make sure this time. Tap correctly, and you can go to bed. Or back to bed, if this is the first time you’ve got up since you tried to get to sleep.

It’s funny; when this happens, I feel weird, frustrated, angry, tired, my eyes are heavy, but my mind is sharp and the pattern of three is fighting for dominance and I don’t have the energy to refuse.

The ritual steals my body and mind’s energy—yet fuels it too. Strange.

But when you get the pattern right, when you tap in the right places the right number of times, you can move on.

Sometimes, all that fills my mind is the ‘what ifs’ and the terrible thoughts and the mistakes I’ve made and the pattern of three. I’m often in bed too, when I think about this. My body is secure in my bed, but I can’t be safe from my own mind. My bed is my escape from the world, but not from myself. I just want to bang my head against the wall or replace my brain with another one and live a normal life. I want to go beyond my bed and wash and eat full meals and stop imagining I will somehow hurt someone just by going outside.

Today, the morning is dark and gloomy, but my mind is not. I fight the urge to turn around and run back home to hide from the shame of my own daring to have a normal day. That doesn’t take priority today.

So, I make it to the station. I park my bike. I take a breath.

I’m on the platform. My hair is washed, and I ate breakfast this morning. The train arrives. The doors open. I step in.

A normal day begins. ■