‘My OCD’s the worst!’ The pretty girl behind me laughed as she wiped off the speck of dirt on her table with a handkerchief.
I wonder if she has them too. Those thoughts. Those unspeakable thoughts that the lips dare not carry.
I wonder if she avoids her baby niece and nephews because she is afraid she would hurt them if they dare cry again. Because of the thought of her slitting their throats that sprung out of nowhere when in reality, she’d never hurt a fly.
I think if her OCD is the worst then she must also flame up with rage if someone touches her just-washed laundry because only the good Lord knows where those hands have been.
I wonder if she washes her buckets five times over before she washes her dirty clothes, and if she repeats that when she makes a single mistake or does not pay enough attention.
I wonder if she sits quietly when her mother complains about the soap in the bathroom finishing within a few days.
I wonder if she’s religious. If she’s Muslim. Does she changes her clothes every prayer time or does she throw the one she has on in the laundry basket because she has to be completely ‘clean’ before her Lord? I wonder if she gets yelled at for spending an hour in the toilet each time she goes to pee because she has to make sure there’s no filth on her and showering long enough can give her an assurance of some kind.
I wonder if she washes her hands right after coming in contact with any surface, whether dirty or neat, making sure she repeats it three times just to get all the ‘germs’ off. I wonder if she wakes up in the middle of the night to wash the bathroom just because she has to and not because she wants to.
I wonder if she locks her door three times over before going out with friends, and then in the middle of a good time, all she can obsess over is if she locked the door.
If her OCD is the worst, she’ll try to ignore it you see, but if she does not go back and check, someone could break into the house and steal her younger sibling who are asleep even though they have their own key inside. You know there are a lot of things that could happen and it will entirely be her fault. So she would have to excuse herself in the middle of a really good movie at the cinema, would have to rush back, fear and panic gripping her only to be dissolved when she gets home and the door is locked.
Does she have nightmares too? One of her hurting the people she loves? Does she sometimes feel the urge to run away from home because she is afraid they are not safe around her? Does she ever feel that? Maybe she—
“I can’t stand dirt.” She giggled, using the same handkerchief to wipe her face.