Little Secrets

As humans, we all have a little OCD in us. Rituals , routines or little nagging habits are a way of life for us. It helps people feel normal to do certain things every day. It brings normalcy to hectic lives. It can be as simple as double checking that your doors are locked at night before going to bed. Not wanting to eat food that has touched or "mixed juices" while on your plate. Even the way you like your coffee every morning--and if the guy at Dunkin Donuts puts one extra Splenda in your drink, you swear you can taste it and it ruins your entire morning. As long as these little rituals or habits don't disrupt our days, what is the harm in them? All of it's perfectly fine and again, normal.

Until it isn't normal. Until it's actually obsessive compulsive.

In recent years, these compulsions are documented more and more. TV networks are popping up with shows more and more. TLC had an entire series dedicated to it--the name escapes me at the moment, but some of their gems were people who liked to dress and act like babies (complete with sleeping in cribs, wearing diapers, and drinking from bottles) and a woman who was obsessed with the color pink, so decided to paint and dye everything she owned pink (including her dog). One of my favorites is MTVs TrueLife: I Have OCD.

Now I love this show for a great many reasons. The absolute best hung-over, Sundays are when there is a TrueLife marathon on. Seriously, I will lay in bed all day and watch episode after episode. This particular episode documents the lives of three young people living with OCD.

This guy did this huffing thing for minutes on end when he yawned, uses almost an entire roll of toilet paper every time he has to go, and could spend an hour outside his door making sure the door is actually locked when he goes to leave. It's actually sad because he is a really talented guitar player but his anxiety and compulsions kept him from performing more.

This girl was convinced if she didn't do rituals God would strike down her mother or herself as vengeance. Her rituals involved organizing everything in her apartment to extremes--all labels on products needed to be faced out, and also placed to the left because it was closer to your heart, thus closer to God. She also could not pass a mirror without stopping and smiling at herself in it. And she always had to walk to the left of wherever she was going. She ended up going into an extreme therapy program where all of her fears were brought to her in real life--this involved her going to her mother's fake funeral and watching her give blood.

This girl had a thing for tapping things. If she ever touched anything, no matter what it was, she had to tap it three times. Even if she accidentally bumped into something, she would have to walk back and tap it 2  more times with her foot. This also included if people handed her something--she'd make them tap it three times. She also had issues with choosing things if given multiple options--particularly food. Her case was kind of sad because her parents refused to believe she had an issue, until she took them to the therapist with her and they saw it for themselves.

I'm telling you, if you have an hour to spare YouTube it. It's great television.

Obviously, not everyone has extreme cases of ritualistic tendencies. But on the same token, a lot of people keep their secret habits safe behind closed doors. They are things that we only do when we are sure no one is around because we all fear being judged or found out. Again, this is completely normal.

So, in an effort of full disclosure to my devoted readers and the blogosphere, I will reveal my own OCD habit. My secret ritual. But please, no judging!

Ok.

I wear socks to bed.

Actually, let me rephrase that.

I HAVE to wear socks to bed.

Most people wear socks to bed only in winter; to keep their feet warm in the frigid weather. But for me it's not just about my feet being cold--which don't get me wrong, they usually are. But I also wear socks to bed during the summer when it's sweating hot in my house. It literally just doesn't feel right sleeping without it. I can't really explain it. There's just something about socks that calms me and helps me sleep. It could be that I don't like the feeling of sheets against my toes. Or if I have to get up during the night to use the bathroom, I'd rather have warm socks protecting my feet then feel cold linoleum underneath them--there's seriously nothing worse then the shock of freezing cold linoleum when you are half asleep. But I couldn't tell you which is the real reason. Again, I can't pinpoint it or say exactly when I started doing it.

I know this habit sounds semi-normal and you may be scratching your head thinking, "How is the obsessive? It's just socks!" Well, trust me. It goes a lot deeper than just socks.

Here are two pretty big examples of my crazy.

When I was young (and yes, this compulsion has a long history), I had this one pair of socks that were my favorite. Yes, kind of strange that I had a favorite pair of socks. They were white, long and had orange pumpkins knitted into them. They were the most comfy socks I've ever had the pleasure of slipping my feet into and they were worn in to perfection. And yes; I wore them year-round. They weren't put to the side for only Fall or Halloween. I was actually yelled at by our babysitter at the time for wearing them during the summer: "Those socks are for Halloween! Give them to me," she said and tried to snatch them from me. Needless to say, I protected those socks with my life and kept them out of her greedy little palms.

Yeah, kind of crazy.

But it gets worse.

Because I went to a Catholic grade school, I had to wear tights to school every day. Which meant no socks. So in the morning as I groggily dressed for school, I'd remove my socks and hide them for two reasons;

1. so my mom couldn't snatch them away and either try to wash them (which I was convinced they'd end up destroyed or lost) or throw them away (which I know she wanted to do).
2. so I'd know exactly where they were that night when I wanted to wear them again.

Totally, totally gross! I know, you don't have to tell me. But remember...I was young and stupid and not up on hygiene yet! Don't judge! I literally wore those socks out--they were holes in the soles. I also continued to wear them...until my mom finally found them and threw them out.

Again, you may be thinking "Ok...you were young. Totally not a big deal." But I wish this habit was retained to childhood.

Over the summer, my parents rented a house in Sea Isle for 10 days. It would be our first full-family vacation in over 10 years and we were all going--my parents, 3 sisters and my brother-in-law under one roof, basking in the sun and laying on the beach all day. We were all pretty excited about it and were counting down the days until we can invade the Jersey Shore. Like I usually do, I was packing for about a week preceding our vacation. With my big Vera Bradley duffel, I packed and packed and repacked. Literally, every day I thought of something I was sure to need down the shore and my bag was getting pretty full--I actually ended up with about 3 bags to take down (and if you're a girl, you know that actually isn't too bad). I had to make sure to bring plenty of everything and options of clothing to boot. Literally packed almost my entire closet and tons of shoes. So, when I moved into my room in Sea Isle and opened my bag to unpack, imagine my surprise when I found that the only pair of socks I had with me were the ones I had on my feet. I was dumb-struck and tore my bag apart; swearing that I had to have packed another one and they were hiding in a far corner of my bag. Was so pissed at myself and seriously contemplated running out to a store and buying a weeks worth of socks. Then I realized it was August and I was down the shore. Who wears socks at the beach? And more to the point, who sells socks at the beach? It's flip-flop and sandal central--the lighter and breezier the better.

I was pretty much resolved to the fact that I was going to have to wash them everyday--which wasn't very appealing-- but I figured I was only going to wear them to bed and I'd be barefoot most of the day anyway. It would be okay.

Little did I know that my body was going to turn against me three days in to my vacation. While out at the bar one night with my sisters, I suddenly felt light-headed and achy. I called it an early night and went home, thinking I needed to sleep it off. I spent the entire night wrapped in blankets because I was chilled to the bone, or drenched in sweat. The next morning it only got worse--full on fever, ear infection and sore throat. It was some form of flu that was going around--my sister got it the week before--and naturally I had to get it the week I was supposed to be laying on the beach all day and partying all night. AND I only had one pair of socks with me. Right when I needed to be all toasty and warm, and not feeling gross in nasty socks. I swear God had a sick sense of humor that week--making me sick AND with no socks and no energy to wash the ones I did have like I needed to. He knew I didn't have socks, I swear! Seriously contemplated ending my vacation early and coming home.

I stuck it out though, but I was never so happy to get home and into nice, clean socks.

Now when most people hear about this, they think I have some sort of fear of feet in some form--which trust me I know people who do. They think I can't stand the look of feet so I cover them up the second I'm not wearing shoes. Actually, this isn't the case for me. I don't mind feet; I don't hate them or like them. I've actually been told quite often--mostly by the little Chinese ladies who give me pedicures--that I have "cute, little feet." 

What can I say? I just like to wear socks! All year round, and especially to bed.

So I'm free of my little secret.
Just don't judge...