If the obsession was gone...

My therapist had me write this as a starting point for deciding whether getting rid of my OCD, or at least the main obsession that is both my safety net and kryptonite, is worth it. I haven't decided. Anyway, here's what I came up with. Read at your own risk. It's uncensored and feels very vulnerable. I'll be honest, I'm a little scared to post it, but here it is.


My life without Emi... what would it look like?

I pulled back the blankets, looked outside at the beautiful falling rain, and shuffled out of bed, ready to start the new day. It was going to be a hell of a long day, but with a good breakfast and an early start, we’d make good time and be well on our way to sunny Southern California.

After a hot shower, a hotter cup of coffee, and two bowls of cereal – with soymilk, thank you – I hucked all the bags into the Jeep and we were on our way. I was glad Adam was driving, and that we were taking his Jeep; that way I could read the new mystery novel series I’d been dying to sink my teeth into, and I’d have plenty of room to stretch out my long legs en route.

“Hey baby,” said Adam, planting a kiss on my mouth before he shut the car door. “Did you get the little cooler from the fridge?”

“The one with all the Mikes?” I asked.

“That’s the one.”

“Got it, it’s in the trunk with all the duffels. You ready to hit the road?”

“Ready to hit the road,” said Adam. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”

I hopped into the backseat next to Deirdre and leaned my seat back to dive into the book. It was a tasty hell of a book, packed with action and humor, and babes to boot. I could just imagine them making a movie of it, staring Kate Beckinsale, or maybe Keira Knightley. I hardly noticed the first five hours flying by, and I only looked up long enough to switch to the second book in the series.

“Good book, I take it,” said Deirdre.

“The best,” I said. “It’s getting me so pumped for all the roller coasters. Oh hey Deirdre. Hand me one of those Snickers bars.”

I popped it in my mouth and opened volume two, which kept me well occupied until somewhere around Eugene, where we made an emergency stop for Laura to puke her brains out, despite her honored place in the front seat.

“That’s a bitch,” I commented, looking up briefly from a steamy sex scene.

Deirdre shook her head. “Saw that coming 400 miles ago.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, taking a sip of my soda and turning back to Jamie and Nicholson getting it on. “I guess we’ll be here a few, huh?” I stretched out, taking in the juicy details, making note for later that night, where hopefully Adam and I would have a hotel room to ourselves.

Presently, Laura re-entered the jeep, looking peaky but relieved.

“Hey hun,” I said. “You want some ginger ale or anything?”

“No,” she said, “let’s just go.”

“Alrighty.” I shrugged at Deirdre and turned back to my book.

****

I drove past Lake Union and felt nothing… nothing but joy for being in Seattle. The seaplanes weren’t a symbol; they were part of the scenery.

I read a novel about a girl with bulimia, and I only read the vomiting scenes once, thinking nothing significant of them when the novel was over.

I wrote a story about fast cars and rich food, and nobody threw up. I wrote a whole novel and felt no need to focus obsessively on it. No characters with frail health, no unnecessary hangovers… just a perfectly understandable one here and there, and I didn’t dwell on their digestive misery, just remarked on it and carried on.

My friend got carsick on the way to the mall, and I didn’t care. I didn’t want to hurt myself. I didn’t want to join her. It just was, and then we got to the mall and everything was fine, and we had fun shopping.

I watched Ten Things I Hate About You, and nobody stared at me when Kat lost all the tequila. And I felt nothing. No adrenaline. No fear about the awkward looks. Just an admiration for Julia Stiles’ and Heath Ledger’s amazing acting talents.

I took an anatomy class, and there was nothing outstanding about the digestive system. It was just another part of the human body.

I got food poisoning, and it sucked. Physically, and only physically. I threw up and then I felt so much better, and then my day was fine. And so was the next week, and the next month, and a year later, I had no idea as to the date on which it had happened.

I moved on with my life.

****

But was I ready? Emi was the horizontal threads of my fabric, the Id, one might say. Lauren, the Ego, was only the vertical thread.

Take Emi away, and all you see is a pile of very colorful thread. One dimensional and uncomplicated.

When Lauren couldn’t take it alone, when she was scared and stuck somewhere unfamiliar, she wanted Emi to hold her hand, blind her to reality.

Who cares if my best friend raped my sister? I can ignore it and write stories where everyone is sick. That’s familiar, safe, I know how to deal with that, I’ve done it for years…

What heart problem? It can be covered up with an obsession just like anything else.

I CAN’T HANDLE HOW EVERYONE IS HURTING MORE THAN I AM. I know. I can pretend. I’ll tell Emi all about it, and we’ll obsess together. It’ll be fun, and she’ll tell me how to feel like them. I can experience it all, everything but the bile sliding up my throat… yes, I can understand… I can come so close…

But never close enough, and in the end, I’m angry at Emi. To bring me so close to Understanding and leave me on the outside, how could she?

It’s not her fault. She can’t change my physical body, only my mind.
But is changing my mind worth it when it leaves me “Miss Halfway,” tearing me further apart in the end?

But to be one direction of threads with no weave is torn apart too.

How, exactly, am I supposed to be whole?