I'm the person in your office who squares things off on desks, puts 5 reams of paper in both drawers of the copy machine (because why do something half-assed if you have to do it at all), and buys her own pens and scotch tape when the company switches to cheap shit. I'm the one you come to for a tiny screwdriver, dental floss, or a professional grade cuticle nipper. I clean my phone and my keyboard and my mouse. Frequently.
My Pendaflex files are color coded, with typed labels in color matched tabs. I will redo the whole system if I have to add a file. The Tabs have to be even all through the drawer. I'll work 3 hours without pay to make sure it's perfect.
I have every possible size and style of paperclip, sticky notes in all sizes and colors, and bins and trays for everything. Everything goes back into its proper place. I have really good scissors, a solid stapler, extra staples, a heavy tape dispenser, extra rolls of tape. My name is on the bottom of everything.
This is probably why I no longer work in offices.
When I cook I take out all ingredients and line them up neatly on the counter. I measure everything. I follow recipes as though they were the Word of the Lord.
When I bake I sift flour onto a sheet of waxed paper, measure, level the cup with a special metal spatula that's wide enough and straight enough to level flour and sugar perfectly. I plan ahead so eggs and butter are room temperature. I rotate the cookie sheets when I change racks, and use a timer set to exactly half the suggested baking time.
The dishes in the cupboard are organized by size and type. Glasses and coffee cups need to be in rows. My cleaning supplies are stored neatly in baskets. I fold cleaning rags.
I line dresser drawers and shelves, my T-shirts and sweaters are precision folded, and everything is neatly stacked. My clothes all face the same way in the closet, and are separated by type. My sewing thread is sorted by color type, and kept in ziploc bags.
(In the last few years I've reached a place where I can actually put a dark blue (but well faded!) shirt into a washing machine loaded with light colored clothes. This is fantastic!)
My friends tell me to get help, but not until I've organized their kitchens and sorted their closets.
I have storage bins under the bed that hold wrapping paper, ribbon, pretty stuff I'll use on presents. I have a theme for Christmas wrapping paper, it's different each year. This year I used embossed gold foil, red,burgundy and gold stripe foil, and plain shiny red paper, with wide, gold wire-edged ribbon in 3 styles.
I can laugh at myself now, and I can relax some of the rules for proper living from time to time, but I used to have a pretty hard time living with me (and so did others).
When I was a little kid, I had to get 100% on every spelling test. I had to get 100% on every arithmetic quiz. I had to be in the 99% percentile on everything or I was devastated - not unhappy, devastated. I practiced making letters on that weird paper with lines and dotted lines until each was perfect. I learned to iron so my pillowcases and sheets could be smooth and crisp. I made charts for my brothers and sisters, delineating chores and homework schedules. They were not generally cooperative. I thought better charts might help. They didn't.
I was 14 when I started having breakdowns and needing hospitalization after botched suicide attempts. Being human and imperfect was not an option, so I sank deeper and deeper into depression. I had anxiety attacks in school, and faked illness to avoid going at all.
At 15 I discovered alcohol, and some relief. At 16 I dropped out of high school and became a flower child. Marijuana was a godsend for a few years - I had entire hours when I wasn't counting things in my head or worrying about making mistakes - but I ultimately had to leave the hippie life because there were not any drugs that were good enough to deaden my disgust with dirty mattresses and clothes all over floors and piles of dirty dishes.
I did my lifetimes' worth of drinking and drugging in about 10 years (I was always an overachiever, remember?) and was then faced with the daunting choice of insanity/death or cleaning up and starting over.
Getting straight was hideous on lots of levels, but the worst was that there was never any relief from that driving demand to do everything right. I was fortunate in having a recovery program and some very dear and loving friends, but it was a struggle to figure out how to live with some semblance of normalcy. I had some decent therapy, tried various medications, read every self-help book ever written.
Somewhere along the line I started trying something that has turned out to be my salvation. I started channeling that crazy energy into things that would pay off for me. I had my own business for several years, organizing small offices and people's homes, doing cleaning for special occasions (home weddings or holiday extravaganzas) and that led to some fun party planning/decorating gigs.
Teh crazy would still grab hold, though, and my life would get chaotic, so I'd lose clients. (I was diagnosed bi-polar about 25 years ago. I'm not so sure about that any more.)
I've had 6 different "careers", 3 husbands, 13 hospitalizations for what used to be called nervous breakdowns. I've lived high, I've lived low, I've had great successes and crushing failures. The one thing I've been steady about for the last 3 decades was trying to channel that wild energy into productive avenues, even after failures and setbacks. (staying straight has also been necessary - 33+ years, now, with a lot of help from my friends.)
But dealing with OCD isn't loving OCD. Here's how that happened.
I was a gifted pianist as a child. I'd had dreams of being a concert pianist, but they were lost when I went off the deep end. After I got straight I bought a piano and took lessons on and off over the years, but I'd developed bad habits and didn't have great teachers, so I was a "talented" average player who loved music and found solace in playing.
In 2004 I lived with a sister for a year - she needed a loving mom surrogate for her daughter during a year of frenzied performing (spectacular soprano voice, splendid training, and once in a lifetime opportunities that all came at the same time). She was also teaching at MacPhail School of Music, and I could study there at a reduced price, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to study with top-flight teachers. After a year and a half I discovered I could access a trust my grandfather had left for educating his grandchildren, but only if I was in a program that would certify me somehow - I had to graduate and have a diploma. MacPhail had a Certificate Program for Performance Achievement, a 5-semester commitment with strict guidelines, and a killer audition. I was 55 years old. Everyone else who entered this program was under 18, but somehow I managed to strap on a pair, prepare for the audition, survive the audition, and I was accepted!
I worked full time at a non-profit during this time, and they allowed me to work a flexible schedule. I took 2 one-hour lessons a week, one with the fantastic woman who had gotten me this far, and another with various other instructors. I studied music theory and music history, attended free concerts and recitals, scraped together the money for rare symphony tickets, attended Master Classes for all disciplines, because a musician can learn a lot watching Master Teachers work with players of any instrument. I read histories of composers, and the scores I was practicing. And yes, it's possible to "read" music and learn a whole lot. I practiced at least 2 hours a day, and often for 4 or more.
I lived and breathed music, and I finally had the perfect channel. All that crazy OCD energy was helping me revive and live a long-dormant dream. I made enormous progress in two and a half years, moving from intermediate to advanced level music. I corrected my bad habits by sheer concentration and focus. I overcame horrendous stage fright by forcing myself to play mini-recitals for my loyal and long-suffering friends.
I spent 20 hours perfecting the fingering for one Mozart Sonata. I went to the library to get CD's of several different performers playing the music I was working on. I wrote in my own fingering on everything I studied, sometimes needing to alter it 15 or 20 times before I had what worked best for my hands. I spent my Summer Semester at an Adult Chamber Music "Camp", held at the school. It meant coaching and rehearsals 4 evenings a week, in addition to my usual 2 hours of private lessons. I was in a piano duo, and a trio with flute and violin. Playing in a group is completely different from solo performing. It was an enormous challenge, and I met it.
My final semester was entirely devoted to preparation for a 45 minute solo recital, required for certification. I was scared but determined. We chose music I loved, and there was a breakthrough when I finally realized that this wasn't about me performing, it was about sharing this astoundingly beautiful music with people, hoping to move them, to help them feel what I felt about the composer and this gift he'd given the world. I played well.
People kept asking me why I was involved in this program - did I expect to perform? teach? I told them the truth - "I have no idea why I'm doing this. I just want to see how good I can get if I put everything I have into it." I got good! I'm not a concert pianist, but I heard a Brahms Intermezzo I played in my recital on the radio a few weeks ago, and I play it better. My technique isn't consistently excellent, but I play that piece better than the pro did, and I'm thrilled that I have the confidence to say that.
I Love OCD because that driven energy could be focused into work that changed my life, and continues to change it. I'm not a poster child for mental health, but 3 years ago I couldn't have felt genuine pride in what I accomplished, and today I can. 3 years ago I still carried a deep sense of failure, of loss, of anger with my human frailties. Today I'm closer to being content with who and what I am than I ever dreamed was possible.
I'm still OCD - I can drive you up a wall when I'm on a tear - but I make great cookies and cakes, you'd love coming over for dinner, and if you got a present from me, the package would be as much fun as the gift was.
I've written this very personal diary because there might be someone in this community who needs to read it, who might be encouraged to hear about someone succeeding after a long battle and a lot of heartache. I wrote it because when things are hard and scary in the world, it's good to know that each of us has survival skills we haven't tapped yet, and strengths we don't trust yet, and abilities we just need the courage to unleash. I meet gifted, wonderful people every time I visit the Daily Kos community, and some of you are starting to feel like friends. I hope there's something here that's worthwhile.
By the way, I got my first paying job as a musician at age 58. I play the organ at the little Catholic Church in town. I have to grit my teeth when they start the abortion stuff, but I love the people in the choir, and did I mention I'm getting paid?