The Last (Or First) Time

I’m kind of in a hurry right now, so I could probably do a better job on this… but, I’m kind of in a hurry with this blog in general lately so I’m just going to go with it. This is a parody of that “The Last Time” poem for parents that’s been going around Facebook lately. It’s called, “The Last (Or First) Time.” it’s about OCD, and I originally meant for it to be funny, but it’s kind of funny and sad… but mostly I intended it to be funny.

The Last (Or First) Time

From the moment you realize you have OCD,

you will never be the same.

You might long for the person you were before,

When you had freedom and time,

And nothing in particular to worry about.

Or you may not remember not worrying at all.

You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,

And days will run into days that are exactly the same,

Full of counting and tapping,

Ruminating and crying,

Repeating things over and over,

It might seem like a never-ending cycle.

But don’t forget…

You never know exactly how many times any one thing will happen.

There will come a time when you will feed your baby

for the second or third time.

They will fall asleep on you after a long day

And it will be the fourth or fifth time you ever hold your

sleeping child.

One day you will carry them on your hip.

then set them down,

And pick them up that way again nine times to make it even.

Then wonder whether you should count picking them up and putting them down as “one” or “two.”

You will scrub their hair in the bath one night

And from that day on they will want to bathe alone.

Because you made them wash their hair four extra times.

They will not hold your hand to cross the road,

Not because of germs, but because if they touched your hand

You would have to touch their other hand 2 times.

And then repeat it once so it makes 4.

(But not just do it 4 times in the first place, because that’s different. it has to be two sets of two.)

They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles,

And because it’s 12 AM and AM seems like an odd number and PM seems like an even number

It’s not OK to do anything at 12 AM.

1 AM is OK because 1 is an odd number and AM + odd number = even number.

It doesn’t have to make sense; it just feels right.

One afternoon you will sing “the wheels on the bus”

and do all the actions,

Then never sing them that song again.

Because the number of syllables in the title adds up to an odd number.

They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate,

The next day they will kiss you goodbye two times because the first time didn’t feel right.

You don’t always have to add up all the totals to be even, it just depends on how it feels.

You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face.

They will one day run to you with arms raised,

for the third time. Or maybe it’s the fourth. Or the fifth.

You will send them back across the playground to run towards you again and count the number of steps they take while running, and maybe that will make it better.

The thing is, you won’t even know how many times all of these things happened

Until you spend your entire life counting, and even then,

You won’t be able to account for the times you were too young to have memories,

And can’t be sure whether you in some way knew how to count things back then.

So while you are living in these times,

Remember there are only so many of them and

when they are gone,

you will yearn for just one more day of them.

So you can stop counting.

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Neil Hilborn – OCD

Most of you have probably seen this by now. It’s been spreading around the internet like wildfire — which is a very good thing. It’s a spot-on testimony about heartbreak and OCD, and how they can become horribly entwined. I haven’t posted about it until now because, well, there’s just not much I can add to it. It’s brilliant, though, and anyone who hasn’t seen it yet definitely should take the time to. It’s a powerful 3 minutes.

I don’t want to blame all my relationship problems on OCD, but it certainly does make things a lot harder. It’s like you have a hard work-out already and someone just ups the speed on the treadmill without telling you — or something like that.

I’m struggling to find something else to say, but the only way I could is by going into a long, detailed personal history and while I could do that I’m just not in the mood right now, and there would probably not be sufficient benefit for my readers to outweigh the effort. My problem has always been that it never feels right, I never feel accepted, I always feel rejected, and even when I don’t ask for reassurance what I feel is acceptance of rejection, never that I’m not rejected. OK, maybe there have been occasional times that it felt OK, but they quickly pass. And you know what? When that is always the focus, it’s hard to solve or even identify any other problems that may be occurring.

My daughter is screaming at me right now because she can’t take her boots off (???), so it’s hard to put much thought into this.