You Had A Bad Day

A bomb has gone off in my bedroom, old diaries debris, pieces of paper and thought records, scatter ground zero. Thirty minutes earlier I was rocketed out of bed into a pristine room.

By now I’m bouncing around the house singing and whistling “Cause you had a bad day” by Daniel Powter.

The words “bad day” are looping in my head, and I’m amplifying them out to a cheery tune. To an untrained eye I’m running around manically happy. My head is on fire.

I had promised a carer from last night’s Chester OCD support group meeting I would dig out the contact details of the best CBT counsellor in the Chester area. Her business card is in my room from six years ago. I still have everything in my room from six years ago. I’m a hoarder. I keep everything because it may have a use in the future. Everything I touch gains sentimental value. I’m the crazy cat lady.

To an untrained eye I’m running around manically happy. My head is on fire.

For somebody so organised it should be easy to find one business card. Time is pressing though, and in twelve minutes I need to be on the bus to Shotton to meet the camera crew. I’m no bailer, I refuse to miss our photography session.

I’m never late. I used to be the most punctual person on the planet, arriving for meetings twenty minutes early. God forbid somebody I barely know think I’m unorganised. Now I arrive a frantic whirlwind, with seconds to spare. But I can’t be late.

The search continues as I wade through the carnage I have created. Each scrap of paper I throw around is a potential future blog post. A treasure trove of writers block gold, for when the dark times creep in and I need inspiration. Kindling to get the furnace going when the treacle in my mind is slowing everything down.

I keep everything because it may have a use in the future. Everything I touch gains sentimental value.

I can’t find the jewel I’m looking for, and the bus leaves in ten minutes now. I haven’t even waxed my moustache nor done my makeup! Today I face the world o’naturel (like every other bloke in the world).

Tick, tock . . . tick, tock . . . I call time on the CBT business card hunt. Rationally I know I can blast a two minute google search to find the information when I return back to my cave, but the idea that I can’t find it is a thorn in my mind.

I hate people going through my shit . . . If I catch you red handed you better book an appointment with the rhinoplasty surgery

I fly out of the front door yelling back to my family “don’t even think of going in my room, it looks a mess but I know exactly where everything is!” I believe it myself, completely forgetting that a lost sliver of paper sparked this chaos. I hate people going through my shit, everything is filed away in some system that only makes sense in my head. If I catch you red handed you better book an appointment with the rhinoplasty surgery.

In the forty-five seconds I do stand at the bus stop I manage to send a text last night’s carer explaining the delay in the details, smoke a fag, and hop around on the spot while grabbing my note pad to start scribbling away.

I have way too much energy for somebody who has only slept five hours and didn’t fit breakfast in. I was up till all hours writing a response on Jades blog. My comment was as long as this post but it refused to save and send. My head could not sink into my pillow until it was re-wrote and sent.

My entire body was pumping on the bus, all this intensity excites me . . . it scares the shit out of me . . . but excites me more. It’s the roller coaster you are strapped into. Sure half of you knows it’s safe, but the other half tells you to release shepherd’s pie into your knickers.

It’s the roller coaster you are strapped into. Sure half of you knows it’s safe, but the other half tells you to release shepherd’s pie into your knickers.

I embrace the free fall knowing full well I have a parachute. I tell myself it’s my OCD, and that sometimes it’s good to have a rest and roll with the compulsions. You need a break from fighting them every moment of the day, but in the long term you must continue waging the war. Pick your battles, win the crusade.

The snaps above where taken in Ruthin, where we all arived at after pilling into the people carrier in Shotton. Click on the lil' ones to make em' all big.

Chatting away to everybody, as we headed west further into Wales, helped bring focus back to my manic mind. I grew calmer still as every ounce of concentration was harnessed to focus on the white gate that i mussed have taken one hundred shots off.

For more information about photography as a therapy check out my Snappy Snaps post.

For more photos by yours truly, head over to OCD Worlds Flickr photo stream.