I was in deep. And, I was falling deeper. I was Alice – falling down the rabbit hole and watching everything as it passed me by. Except, my rabbit hole wasn’t fanciful, it was dark. The dong of the clock bellowed and echoed between my ears. The mirror reflected back to me an image I did not recognize, and yet it cried when I cried. It was angry when I was angry. Falling through the center of the earth was something I longed for. It was a way out without having to be the one responsible for the path.
He opened the door to the office and in his hand was a plate of food. My food. I thanked him and put it down beside me – right of my laptop. It looked so good and smelled even better. I kept typing away, answering emails, rat-a-tat-tat on the keyboard and without missing a beat I typed with only my left hand and grabbed a fork full of tilapia with my right. My glaze never leaving the computer screen.
I cringe when I hear or see people say things akin to, “I’m sooo OCD!” When did OCD become a social norm, or something to strive for? I find myself having to justify my OCD diagnosis by saying things like, “I TRULY have OCD,” or “I LEGITIMATELY have OCD.” As in, I take medication for it and it disrupts my life.
I opened my eyes, sleepily. Looked straight ahead. Down the hall. Confused. “Who’s the mom?” That’s the first thing that came to my mind. My mind. Mine.
Everything looked somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t place anything. I had the sense of belonging, but I didn’t know how I belonged. What was my role? Who was I?