Living with OCD is exhausting. Greg is almost always worn out, yet so many of his days are filled with little more than trying to keep up with laundry and getting himself to the grocery store to buy the things he is always running out of: bottled water, body soap, bar soap, hand soap, dish soap, dish detergent, laundry detergent, paper towels, Pledge spray, Clorox wipes, boxes and boxes of the individually wrapped Wet Wipes he carries around in his back pocket. If he’s lucky he’ll find enough time and energy to grade his students’ papers or work on his own writing, but that’s only if he trusts the water tonight and doesn’t have to rewash all of his clothes because he didn’t take them out of the dryer right away. More than anything, Greg would like to have friends to invite over for dinner or share a cup of coffee with, but always his anxiety takes over and the thought of anyone being in his apartment, besides myself and his cleaning person, is just too overwhelming. Often his thoughts paralyze him. The bed is dirty (even if the sheets were washed yesterday. Maybe he didn’t wash them well enough). The couch is dirty (even when it’s not). The chair is dirty (even though he hasn’t sat in it for days). He has no choice but to lie down on the hardwood floor and convince himself there’s a reason to keep breathing. His greatest fear is that someday he’ll be a father but too afraid to touch his own child.
(click the link to read the rest of my letter and see how you can help Greg get his life back)