DO IT!, came the voice out of the speaker. I jerked the phone from my ear and stared at it.
"Uh, that was not what I was expecting to hear, Mr. Labeouf.", I replied, as a wave of shock ran through my body. I felt like my stomach had become a very, very small and very, very hot blast furnace.
JUST DO IT!
"I'm not really sure I'm ready for this." My voice trembled.
Yesterday, you said tomorrow. So JUST DO IT!
"O-okay. Will you stay with me? I can't do this alone."
Nothing is impossible!
"Right. I'm walking into the kitchen now." Silence on the other end.
"Pulling out the drawer..." My heart seemed to thump against my ribs violently. I closed my eyes. "Calm down. You can do this. Just a couple of seconds, then it will be over.", I thought.
"Okay. I have the knive in my hand." Suddenly, I wanted to throw it away as far as I could, run out of the room, just get away from this situation, from who I was. Why couldn't I be normal?
"I can't do this". With a metallic clink, the knive landed on the floor.
You should get to the point when anyone else would quit, and you're not gonna stop there! NO, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? DO IT! I flinched.
I waited.
I stared at the knive.
I picked it up, approached the counter and looked at the cucumber lying there. Slowly, I raised the knive, vivid graphical images of all the ways in which I could harm myself and others with it flooding my brain. I didn't even try to shake them off this time. It was futile. Instead, I focused on the task at hand: cutting the damn cucumber. Panting, I stood hunched over the counter, beads of sweat trailing down my face. The blade hovered over the cucumber.
I counted in my head. Three. Two. One. Thud The blade touched the wood below the cucumber.
"I did it! Oh my God, I did it! Thank you, thank you so much!" Tears rolled down my cheeks and mixed with the sweat. "I can finally use knives again. Thank you!", I sobbed into the phone.
Yes you can!
"Now, I'll just have to keep going." I exhaled deeply. "I'm a little afraid I might relapse."
My therapist's voice took on a calmer tone. He pronounced every syllable with deliberate attention.
If you're tired of starting over...stop. Giving. Up.
"You're right. I'll keep going. I want to get out of this mess. Thank you so much."
~5% of Americans suffer from OCD. They are tormented by involuntary and unstoppable thoughts, usually embarrassing or violent in nature. These thoughts feed from your deepest fears and cause sufferers to avoid ordinary daily situations, such as leaving the house, socializing, having sex or using knives. And it has nothing to do with being a tidy person.