We talked about OCD recently in my psychology class. It reminded me of my high school days when my hands had to be “clean.” I would continuously turn on the faucet, lather on some soap, rinse, possibly repeat.
Red, raw, chapped hands. Tiny spots of blood from small cuts because the skin was so dry. Red up to my wrists.
There was so much more to my OCD than this, and there always will be. But this is one part of OCD that is mostly treated. I am not embarrassed to be at my desk and use my hands to write, type, or simply sit. Even though my problem runs much deeper than this, I am glad that at least one chapter is finished.