I have obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). And my OCD brain told me if I didn’t open up with this fact, this bit of writing would be officially bad.
So, there it is, bold as brass. The way I can best describe OCD is like extreme superstition. I’ve always liked the idea of superstition, in believing in something so much you’d carry salt in your pocket, refuse to walk under ladders, never step on the cracks.
I carried around good luck charms and prayed obsessively when I wanted something good to happen or when I wanted to ward off evil spirits.
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