Life is so fragile.
There's extreme hoarders and skin pickers and hair pullers and obsessions with teeth and fears that the foundation of your house will crumble and crush you. There's people who can't walk farther than a block in any direction from their house. Some can't drive, because they panic when they get stuck in traffic.
The obsessions are so different, but most of them follow a common pattern, at least in how they start. Most of these people say their obsessions flared up immediately following a tragedy or sudden loss. They usually showed symptoms as kids, but they always managed to get along until that one day when everything changed and nothing seemed certain or secure.
Then I start to think about when I was about 9 years old or so. By then, my baby brother was a year old and was sleeping through the night. My dad worked 7/7, meaning he was home seven days straight and gone to work in another city for seven days. I didn't really have much of a bedtime when he was gone. As soon as my brother was laid to rest in his crib, my mom would lay down on the chair, couch or bed and just pass out. Most of the time she wouldn't turn off the lights or television or anything.
So, as a child who had watched way too many episodes of "COPS" and the nightly news, I was afraid that a burglar or a rapist or a serial killer would walk through our unlocked doors and rob us, rape us or kill us all. Those are the kinds of images that would keep me awake at night (gee, and I wonder why I've always had trouble falling asleep...)
I soon figured out that the only way I could alleviate any of my stress was to get out of bed and walk through the house myself and make sure all the lights were off and the garage door was closed and the doors were locked.
There were three doors and a garage door. A total of four things to check. So I had to get up once, turn off all the nights and lock all the doors and close the garage door, and then I'd go back to bed.
When I first started my nightly ritual, I was satisfied with just walking through once, but then after a few weeks I started to doubt my work by the time I got back to bed. When that happened, I'd get out of bed and I'd do another inspection. Then I'd get back in bed.
But sometimes I needed a third walk-through, just to make sure I hadn't missed anything. Then I'd go back to bed.
And then it got to the point where I'd need a fourth inspection, just in case.
I had to do it four times. I had to get in my bed and under the covers in between each time. I didn't realize at first that I was doing it the same number of times every time.
I never did it when my dad was home, because he would turn off all the lights and lock the doors and stay awake until past my bedtime, so I guess I felt safe.
Another story: When I was in college I drove nearly every day. To work, to school, to church, to friends' houses and fun parties. I can't even explain how or why, but somewhere along the way I temporarily developed this "thing" where I wouldn't exit my car without going through all the radio stations and making sure I wasn't missing any songs I liked. If I hit a song I liked, I wouldn't get out until it was over. And then, when that song was over, I had to go through the process again...until I went through all the radio stations once and didn't find a song I liked.
There was a year where I couldn't play the radio if I was "on time" or "late" for an event...because if I hit one or two or three songs in a row, I would be late for whatever I was supposed to do. I would get very anxious when I turned off the car if I was in the middle of a "good" song or hadn't checked the other stations for their songs. My breathing would become shallow, my heart would race, and I couldn't think about anything else but that stupid car radio. And to this day, I have no idea why. I had no particular problem the car radio thing was supposed to prevent. I didn't believe I was going to get in a car crash or break my mother's back if I didn't do the radio thing, but I had to do it because my mind wouldn't let me think about anything else until I did it.
(Aside: Luckily, I didn't have this problem when I was driving other people, probably because I don't play the radio when I have passengers. If I started out driving somewhere with the radio off, I wasn't affected. Also, this weird thing didn't apply to CDs or when I was a passenger in other people's cars.)
Don't get me wrong. These weren't major obsessions that interfered with my life in a major way. Plus, I'm not like that any more. I check the door once. I get out of the car whenever I want, as long as it's not in motion.
But then I think: What if my oddities are a sign that, aside from the grace of God, I'm only one tragedy away from wanting to wash my hands hundreds of times a day because I'm afraid I'll give someone a deadly virus or visiting a dentist 50 times a year because I'm afraid all my teeth are going to fall out?
There's an old cliche commonly attributed to English Reformer and martyr John Bradford that says "There but for the grace of God, go I." (although he most likely actually said, "There but for the grace of God, goes John Bradford," but that's a moot point.)
And I have at least a few friends who love to quote Isaiah 26:3. (I wonder if they only do that while I'm around).
You will keep him in perfect peace,
Whose mind is stayed on You,Because he trusts in You.
But, just in case, if anyone sees me touching a doorknob 15 times in a row, you might want to check on me. Thanks.
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