Obsessive compulsive behaviour and anxiety are usually the least of my issues. Physically limiting issues, potentially dangerous if not managed, chronic lack of sleep and the mental health issues that come with chronic illness and isolation are usually the order of my day.
Today was different.
Today my OCD came out to play, big time.
I went up into the back field to scavv some old bricks to make plant pot ledges using the left over concrete slabs propped up in the corner. In my yarden, everything has to have a function, nothing is left discarded.
Then I set about moving around the huge heavy blocks of stone and concrete slabs until I had an arrangement I was satisfied with. This wasn't helped by it all being on a slope, which was what I needed the old bricks for, to level things off.
So far so good. Now I had to somehow fit in the heaviest concrete slab which I could barely lift.
Three hours later, much of which spent swearing like a pirate, I was reduced to tears.
I couldn't get the damn thing level on the sloping surface no matter how hard I tried. I had to dismantle it all and start again and it still wouldn't work.
OCD strikes again. Had to be 100% level. Just a slight bit off and I was beset by overwhelming feelings of dread.
So here I was, surrounded by a pile of huge stones I could barely shift, crowbar in hand, in floods of angry tears, with the occasional expletive plaintively issuing from my vicinity.
This is how I felt...
It's not like normal OCD stuff where you faff about with little things. This was pieces of architecture. You can't just move at a mm left or right. It needed crow barring and hulking into mm perfect position.
Eventually I got so angry I tore it all out, heaving the rocks down the path and throwing the huge slab out the back gate in disgust.
I put all the rocks back and was far happier with the arrangement. Here it is...
The slabs are on the left. On the right is another example of the demands my OCD makes of me: even the pile of unused items has to be organized into something ordered.
After all this, my brother popped his head over the wall and I recounted the story. He advised me to move the slab in the alley because if anyone tripped over it the council would probably sue me.
I kind of went off on one then, cursing the council, the imaginary people who'd tripped over the discarded slab, the government, all the covidiots, stupid people in general and the very nature of the fabric of time and space.
My language was colourful to say the least and I'd be surprised if the neighbours didn't hear.
Anyway, the slab is currently propped up against his garage, teasing me with it's mere presence, proclaiming my insanity with every glance I give it.
I never did use those bricks I got from the field.
Today was different.
Today my OCD came out to play, big time.
I went up into the back field to scavv some old bricks to make plant pot ledges using the left over concrete slabs propped up in the corner. In my yarden, everything has to have a function, nothing is left discarded.
Then I set about moving around the huge heavy blocks of stone and concrete slabs until I had an arrangement I was satisfied with. This wasn't helped by it all being on a slope, which was what I needed the old bricks for, to level things off.
So far so good. Now I had to somehow fit in the heaviest concrete slab which I could barely lift.
Three hours later, much of which spent swearing like a pirate, I was reduced to tears.
I couldn't get the damn thing level on the sloping surface no matter how hard I tried. I had to dismantle it all and start again and it still wouldn't work.
OCD strikes again. Had to be 100% level. Just a slight bit off and I was beset by overwhelming feelings of dread.
So here I was, surrounded by a pile of huge stones I could barely shift, crowbar in hand, in floods of angry tears, with the occasional expletive plaintively issuing from my vicinity.
This is how I felt...
It's not like normal OCD stuff where you faff about with little things. This was pieces of architecture. You can't just move at a mm left or right. It needed crow barring and hulking into mm perfect position.
Eventually I got so angry I tore it all out, heaving the rocks down the path and throwing the huge slab out the back gate in disgust.
I put all the rocks back and was far happier with the arrangement. Here it is...
The slabs are on the left. On the right is another example of the demands my OCD makes of me: even the pile of unused items has to be organized into something ordered.
After all this, my brother popped his head over the wall and I recounted the story. He advised me to move the slab in the alley because if anyone tripped over it the council would probably sue me.
I kind of went off on one then, cursing the council, the imaginary people who'd tripped over the discarded slab, the government, all the covidiots, stupid people in general and the very nature of the fabric of time and space.
My language was colourful to say the least and I'd be surprised if the neighbours didn't hear.
Anyway, the slab is currently propped up against his garage, teasing me with it's mere presence, proclaiming my insanity with every glance I give it.
I never did use those bricks I got from the field.
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