Right now, I should be sleeping, or at least trying to.

Instead, I’m laying on my parents’ couch wondering if I locked my apartment door. I’m going out of town for a week, and I can’t remember if I locked my apartment door.

Did I lock my apartment door?

Fighting the urge to drive across town to check my apartment is making me restless.

“Fight the urge,” my therapist says. “Fight the urge.”

It’s making me restless so I’m writing this blog post. This imperfect blog post. This honest look inside my mind as I battle the OCD that’s raging inside. The obsessive thinking of locking my apartment door. The compulsive restless legs, moving under the cover of my blankets, trying to ease my anxiety.

The rational side knows I locked my apartment door. I checked it three times.

The rational side knows that the only thing worth stealing is my tv, and even then, it’s not worth that much.

The rational side is trying to fight against the disorder, the chaos.

This is OCD: chaos among the order, the storm in the calm.

This is OCD, and this is what’s debilitating me right now.

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