I have obsessive compulsive disorder. I’m not a germaphobe or a checker, I just really hate odd numbers. It’s hard to explain, I just don’t feel right and I have to rectify it. I see one shoe on the floor, I have to find the other before the anxiety becomes unbearable. I buy food in pairs. I have two cars, even though I only use one.
I was so delighted when my kids were born and I had twins, identical ones at that. They were the light of my life, and for the longest time I got my OCD under control. It’s amazing how the love of someone you created can change the way you think about things. How silly I was to think something as arbitrary as odd numbers could rule my life. Thank God for the miracle of life.
When my daughter Sally became sick with Pneumonia, it sent me into depression. I watched as my sweet little child withered away. I sat on the chair next to her bed when the nurse came along and pulled the sheet over her face.
Looking at the linen pulled taught over my daughter’s face, my leg started jittering.
A cold sweat gathered on my brow.
I hate odd numbers.
What do I do with the other one.